#that’s Imre but with his lips

[darkfictionjude]

I for one am saving my MC's lip virginity for Imre. Imre shall be the first and only one to kiss her lips 😌

Y’all are too good to that boy (he doesn’t deserve it) he’s a hoe!!!

One of these days I’m gonna make a side quest where mc can get banged three ways from Sunday by some sexy mfers to see if that gets y’all to cheat on Imre

[imreszekeres]

what is imre like after hes had like. seven shots. What is he like when hes hungover

literally mfw I got this ask

DUDE LOL ok so... Imre is not pleasant under any kind of substance. Let alone a lot of one-- 7 shots may not be "a lot" to some, but for someone who does not drink and never has, it's a fucking lot. No matter his size.

Imre would absolutely be hell under the influence of (a lot of) alcohol. He'd be a moody wreck, among other things. Crying, raging, PTSD flashbacks, nervous ticcing (eg. lip biting, hand wringing, leg shaking), just. completely inconsolable. One minute he's crying because he failed his father, the next he's... not screaming, but definitely raising his voice, which causes enough of a ruckus. about Helena, what an idiot he is, how he doesn't deserve the life/lives he's taken....

Finally you get the poor sap to bed. And he wakes up with a migraine, throwing up, unable to look at lights or even function around loud sounds. He tries so hard to be apologetic but his patience is frayed, any little thing can set him to becoming... frazzled.

"MC! J-just get it yourself, you've lived here long enough...! Oh god, I'm so sorry..."

[crxwnedbarbie]

💋🥀 🩸

💋 — never been kissed? a headcanon about my muses first kiss, who it was with and how they felt about it.

TAKE BACK TO THE PAST... HUNGARY 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐍 an afternoon, the boy of the palace named Imre was following around ten-year-old Barbara. His family served the Lorraine for years, his father was busy with her father discussing adulting topics. Barbie reached the fountain that was in the gardens, Imre stayed observing her as if he was a little scared of her. They played moment priors the middle Lorraine got thirsty. ❛ Want some? ❜ Barbara asked him, after leaning her face to drink the water from the fountain. Imre shrugged shoulders, a little scared of stepping forward. ❛ It's not poisoned. ❜ She warns him. Imre folded the paper in his hand and put it inside of his pocket as he approached her, and the fountain leaning to drink the water, opening his mouth whilst Barbie watched him drinking water she leaned forward and licked his lips and gave a peck on his lips, his eyes widened taken by surprised kissing her back, but the happiness never last long, not when a close fist hits on his face. ❛ Your kiss is so terrible! That's not how a kiss is supposed to be! ❜ Barbie commented as the poor Imre rubbed his nose from her punch. ❛ You punched me!!! ❜ ❛ That's because you are liar! You told me you knew how to kiss! ❜ She stuck a tongue to him, and he did the same to her. Until a ….

❛ BARBARA! Are you fooling around with the son of your father's guard again? You have class right now. You two can play later, and by the way, Imre you have a dance lesson with her. Imre your father is calling you. Say bye to your friend! ❜ The governess grabbed the delicate wrist of Barbie, and she looked backward at him as she was dragging inside the castle.

& Years later the young Imre became her personal guard.

🥀 — the last petal falls! a headcanon about a time my muse has pined or felt unrequited love for another.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 was when Barbara 'crushed' her best friend Reuben, although, she never said a thing to him, nor did she show any interest in him but she caught him flirting with other girls (he didn't see her, in addition, she felt better this way, because she didn't want to ruin their friendship and bond they have). The second time was when she fell for a prince, she fell hard for him, and he was the person she lay with for the second time in her life, however, she caught him cheating on her and passing on her face that other women were way better than her, apart from destroying her (already) self-esteem. Ever since she never got further with anyone, she decided to lock her heart.

🩸 — thicker than water? for a headcanon about my muse and their family; whether biological or a found family, and how they feel about family ties.

𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 middle child, in a way she was always 'forgotten' by her parents, despite them always coming at her when she needed to be the right hand on her eldest sister, if it wasn't anything related to her, then she wasn't useful. But she was hardworking, always tried, and did things to make her parents proud of her nonetheless, despite they never cared about any of her achievements. She made peace with it, she sought love from other sources. Her governess taught her love can come without blood ties. In regards to her sisters, she loves them unconditionally, and she would do anything to make them happy, despite some bickering here and there. Barbara never let the issues she had with her parents affect her relationship with any of her sisters. They don't have absolutely nothing to do with her issue with them.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

Can you do a little supercorp one-shot based on the song Classy Girl from The Lumineers please?

“Don’t even think about it,” Winn mutters to Kara before taking a swig of his beer. They were leaning against the bar counter. It was a crowded night, Kara had never been at this side of the city before,  the air thick with that usual smell of sweat and cigar smoke. 

“W-what? I wasn’t even doing anything, what are you talking about?” Kara protests although her face screams guilty, as if she and Winn had had this conversation a million times before and she had been caught a million times before. 

“You’ve been staring at her like you wanna devour her. Trust me she’s not the girl you want on your list of conquests.”

“Lists of conquest?! Wha-?! I. Do. Not. Have. A list of conquests, Winslow,” Kara scoffs out, irritated that, yes,  they are indeed having this conversation again. 

“Lucy, Siobhan, Imr-” 

“Shut up, Winn.”

“Thought so,” Winn retorts, but Kara is still pointedly staring not even trying at subtlety, 

“But I’m serious, Kara. Not her.”

“Why not? Who is she, anyway?”

“Lena.”

“Mm. Pretty name for a pretty face, who is she, Winn?” 

“She’s a Luthor, Kara.” 

At that, Kara’s eyes snap back at her and Winn feels a bit of relief at the slightest sign of interest in his warning. 

“She’s Lex’s precious sister, if Lex doesn’t skin you alive himself, Lois probably will.”

“Lois? As in Lois Lane? As in Kal’s Lois Lois? What’s she got to do with it?”

“What do you mean what’s she got to do with it? Kara, Lex almost got Clark killed. You do know that, right?” Winn says in disbelief at Kara’s obliviousness. 

All of a sudden flashes of frantic phone calls from Lois and Martha appear in her mind, Kal bruised and battered, the Danvers immediately taking her away, Eliza mumbling about El’s and Lu-

Luthor. 

Oh. Luthors. Lex, Lena. They’re The Luthors. 

“Oh,” Kara says dumbly. 

“Yes, ‘oh’, now you know. So, don’t even think about it Kara.”

Winn turns around to face the bartender, signaling for another pint while continuing to talk Kara out of a potential disaster.

“How about that waitress earlier? The one who called you hand-”

When he turns around his friend is nowhere to be found and his eyes search the bar in alarm. 

And there, in the far side of the bar—the one spot Kara has been eyeing all night—is his friend slowly sauntering her way through. Headed for one Lena Luthor no doubt. Winn fights the urge to clap a hand to his forehead in frustration. 

***

“Finally found the courage to talk to me?” 

Are the first words tossed at Kara as she comes face to face with Lena Luthor. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kara says, a charming smile in place. 

“If you don’t pretend as if you haven't been eyeing me all night, I won’t pretend as if I didn’t enjoy having your eyes on me all night.” 

Lena raises a perfect brow at Kara and it’s a miracle that her knees haven’t given out. 

She parts her lips to respond but no words come out and her mind blanks. No lady has ever rendered her speechless before, it was always the other way around. 

“Cat got your tongue, Miss?” Lena purrs, smug smirk growing

“Danvers. Kara Danvers.”

Kara manages to choke out, Lena makes a face at the name as if in recognition. 

“Any relation to Alexandra Danvers?”

Kara tries to hide her shock and fails spectacularly so, of course Lena would know about the Danvers. 

“Sister,” She answers to which Lena says, “I didn’t know Alex has a sister.”

Kara loosens up at that, if Lena knew her as Danvers that means she has no idea she’s Kal’s cousin, no idea Lena’s brother almost killed the only biological family she has left. She doesn’t want the burden of that hanging over them at their first meeting. 

“Adopted,” She clarifies and for a moment she wonders if she should be concerned that all her brain is capable of at the moment are one word answers. 

“Hmm. Well, tell your sister to be more discreet about her,” Lena pauses as if searching for the right word as Kara waits in confusion. 

“-late night activities, especially if she’s going to involve Samantha Arias.”

Kara feels panic when Lena’s words finally click into place, Alex hasn’t even told Eliza about that, she certainly hasn't told Kara. Kara only knew because she made the mistake of passing Alex’s room in the middle of the night, back in Midvale and moans reached her ears, too breathy and too feminine to be a boyfriend. 

“How did you know about that?” Kara asks a bit hostile, when it comes to Alex and she’d do anything even if it means not getting the girl for once, if it meant keeping Alex’s sexuality quiet till she’s ready to tell. 

“No need to be so feisty, darling, Sam is my best friend. And let’s just say Luthors don’t like it when the people they care about are put in complicated situations,” Lena explains and she doesn’t miss the implications of the name ‘Luthor’ next to the phrase, ‘don’t like’.

Kara feels like she should be more concerned about Lena knowing these things especially if they just met, especially with the history between Lex and Clark but she called her ‘darling’ and Kara couldn’t care less about any of that.

“Now, that we got that over with, would you care for a dance?” 

She extends a hand out as her confidence surges again, only for Lena to stare at it, promptly ignore it and throw Kara off her game all over again. 

“Start small, Kara. How about a drink?” she smoothly evades as she hands Kara a bottle of beer, a Kangaroo on the label. 

Kara’s hand wraps around the neck of the bottle firmly, to fight off the longing of Lena’s hands in hers. 

And so, Kara takes her advice and she starts small. Asking Lena all the right questions and successfully avoiding any talk related to their familial background and Lena had never been more grateful. She learns that Lena doesn’t have a favorite constellation, how she writes her name on the first page of all of her books, how she doesn’t do breakfast and Kara realizes she never wants to know a person more than she does with Lena. Maybe, Winn was right. Maybe she really doesn’t want Lena to be just another name in her list of conquests. 

***

Either Kara had never heard of the Luthors before or she simply did not care, Lena did not know what to make of that,  but what matters is that she has never felt this open with another human being before. 

There was a pull when it came to Kara. She felt it the first moment her eyes landed on the blonde only to find her staring back at her. She watched her all night talk to a man, half-afraid that they were something more. But when she caught Kara staring again for the nth time that night—clear intent behind her eyes—Lena’s doubts fell away. 

“Enough about me, how about you? How come this is the first time I’m hearing of another Danvers in town?”

Kara knew they would eventually reach that. When she was thirteen she was whisked off to the Danvers, her family was gone, pain was all she knew, Clark was too caught up in his life and Metropolis was the least safest place to be for Kara. But when things finally quieted down and the Danvers decided to move back to Metropolis, she didn’t come. Deciding to stay in Midvale for college instead. And then finally moving to National City to pursue Journalism. She spent almost 5 years in the glory of being CatCo’s top reporter, only to be called back to Metropolis because of Jeremiah’s frail health. 

“A journalist. I should be wary of you, you know,” Lena whispers their lips a breadth apart, her hands scratching the blonde baby hairs at Kara’s nape, Kara’s hands finding their place on Lena’s hips. Kara finally got her dance and she knows if she leaned in she’d taste the beer on Lena’s lips. 

“There’s nothing to be wary about. I’d never hurt you, Lena.” 

It was such a heavy statement to say considering they’ve only known each other for 4 hours. But there was something inside Kara that says this was right. 

Whatever is happening or is going to happen between them, it’s right. 

That instinct had never failed her as a reporter before, even got her a Pulitzer so, why should she stop listening to it now?

She stares into Lena’s emerald eyes and slowly closes the gap…

Only for her lips to land on Lena’s cheek. 

She turned her face in the last minute! Kara feels the vibrations of laughter roll off Lena. 

Lena slowly tilts her head towards Kara again and Kara doesn’t bother hiding the confusion on her face. 

“What? I’m sorry did I read things wrong? I totally should’ve asked for con-”

Lena removes one hand from the back of her head to press a finger to Kara’s lips. 

“Classy girls don’t kiss in bars, you fool.”

***

“Do you remember the night we met?”

“Mm. Yes, you abandoned Winn for me, he’s still holding a grudge against you for that, did you know? He told me himself.”

Kara laughs and Lena feels more than hears as she presses herself closer to Kara; naked skin to naked skin, sheets sliding and hair messy. 

“Remember what you did that night?”

“No, what?”

“You denied me a kiss because according to you, ‘Classy girls don’t kiss in bars, you fool’.” 

It was Lena’s turn to laugh this time.

“Did I really say that? God, what a pretentious line, I should’ve let you kiss me instead.”

“You know what was running through my head even though you did that?”

“Mmno, what?”

“I thought, the hardest part is over. Like even if I don’t get a kiss tonight, it would be fine. Because I had already met you, I’ve found you and the hardest part is over.”

“That was as pretentious as my line, darling.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

“Kiss me, Kara.”

[dorottyacrow]

Walter Crow had his fair share of fun in his younger days, always ready for a party back at Oxford and then afterwards, finding the whim to travel Europe. In his youth one might say he had certain. . . Lascivious appetites, which introduced him to Analee while he was in the Kingdom of Hungary. He certainly was not gentlemanly but when he found out she was pregnant with his child, he did what few men would; he married the poor girl. She returned with him to Oxfordshire where they settled down, and Walter finally left his more rakish tendencies in the past. He took his role as father and husband with upmost seriousness, often fretting whether he did enough for his family or not. Although he’d never expected to fall into married life the way that he had, he was grateful for them, and wanted to do right by them. For the most part, he did, but the stress took its toll. He died in his sleep the winter of 1792.

Analee Crow married far above her station, leaving many family and friends back home wondering how she’d done it. Her lips were sealed, of course, and though she and Walter weren’t a love match, they were friends. She respected him so when they were married and she found herself leaving her home behind, she wasn’t terribly disappointed. There were periods of resentment here and there but overall, they were happy together. It wasn’t a love for the ages, there wasn’t passion, but there was friendship, there was commitment, and there was admiration. Not a terrible foundation for a home, she didn’t think. She took his passing especially hard, much to her own surprise. It wasn’t until he was gone that she truly understood how much he had come to mean to her, it had crept up so slowly that she just didn’t know until it was too late. She lamented never getting the chance to tell him.

Imre Crow was the oldest of the Crow children, as well as the only son. Being the big brother meant that he was the favorite of all of his sisters, and he took great pride in looking out for each of them, along with his mother. His father was difficult to please, having such high standards for himself that he instilled in Imre as well, but he understood his meaning, even if he often felt inadequate beside him. Leaving to study at Oxford had been freeing for Imre and it turned out, he wasn’t so different from his father, after all. He too came to enjoy his share of parties and the reckless abandon of young men. Upon his father’s passing, he didn’t entirely give up those vices but he did step up to provide for his mother and sisters. He made several lucrative investments, sending a good portion of the money back home. Being in business with Sidney Wyatt proved to come with some unanticipated risks, however. . . In 1798, when all seemed well to his family, his body was found in the River Thames. Authorities say it was a suicide.

Hanna Bentham is the oldest daughter of the Crow family, and came into this world ready to take whatever it had to offer. She was confided in by her father and Imre a good deal about their family’s financial troubles and made it her mission to assist them by being wed as soon as possible. She had a dowry secured already and goodness, she knew how expensive she was to keep at home. It wasn’t only that, of course; Hanna also envied the other ladies in Oxfordshire their families, and wished to begin one of her own. Her debut was rocky, to say the least, but her second season proved fruitful. She married Mister Bentham after a speedy courtship in 1788, and is now the happy mother of three girls of her own. She’s always been good at keeping in contact with her family, writing to her mother and sisters regularly.

Gizella Camden was the most mild mannered of all the Crow girls. Even Analee found herself bewildered by Gizella’s calm, subdued elegance. Did she really manage to raise that? Someone so poised? Wherever did she learn any of it? It has always been a mystery to every one of them but what surprised none of them was the illustrious match she secured for herself. She married a viscount after her first season in 1791, both of them wildly in love and so beautiful together it made Analee weep with joy seeing her daughter that happy. Her quiet elegance often meant she was difficult for the rest of the family to get close to but regardless, she’s well adored by them all, private as she is. She didn’t do as well as Hanna about keeping regular correspondence but she writes often enough that they all know they haven’t been forgotten.

Klara Crow debuted in 1796 and has had a rough go at the marriage market. She’s got a marvelous sense of humor, often cracking jokes and sparking laughter wherever she goes but she’s also rather brazen. She’ll tell someone without a second thought if they have food in their teeth or if she thinks they have a chance with that prospect so far above their station and. . . Well, it’s hindered her a good deal. When Imre died, she put a pause to her quest to find a husband, halting in her grief along with the rest of her family. Although she was always prone to bickering with her siblings, Imre included, she does still love and care for them a great deal and so the loss was terribly hard on her. When blame began getting passed around, she was implicated in a fair bit of it, always starting fights, always critical, why couldn’t she be more like her other sisters? Now that she’s back for her third season, she’s decided to at least try and water herself down a bit more. It’s becoming more and more difficult to get along with her mother and little sister and though she loves them, she’s eager to get on with her life.

[thegreenfairy13]

A Mother’s Truth

A veeery belated birthday present for the incredible @mexican-texican. I do know you deserve better and I definitely fiddled waaaay too long with this fic. I’m sorry, dear! But I do love you! I hope you’ll like it <3.

Plot: Gertrud reflects upon her son’s rise to power, his infatuation with Jim, and her own delusions. 

Read it here on Ao3. Or here: 

Gertrud Kapelput is in denial. Nobody in their right mind would argue on that. Not even Gertrud - if she was in her right mind.

Sadly, or luckily for her, she left the shores of reason decades ago and set sail for the faraway land of delusion. It’s not like she had ever intentionally lied, she only liked to bend reality to her will. On some days, that would work out in her favor, on others, she would have to dive deeper into her own mind to achieve the intended goal.

So no, Gertrud wasn’t lying for her son Oswald when police showed up for the first of many times to follow. She was simply telling her very own truth. One that didn’t necessarily overlap with reality.

At this point, the frail woman is already used to being frowned upon. Despite the skeptical look on the agents’ faces, she opens her door widely, allows for them to step inside, and to judge the few belongings she managed to save over to this new life she’s living now. She shepherds those condescending officials into her living-room, pretends not to note how they wrinkle their noses at the cobwebs and the dust covering once invaluable furniture. If they only had the slightest idea what castle her decor had once graced, what family she belonged to, they wouldn’t….

Instead, Gertrud tilts her head, offers them coffee, and listens to them telling her lies about her beautiful son, Oswald Cobblepot, son of Gertrud Kapelput, grandson of Imre Kapelputh, Earl of a land long lost.  She huffs out a laugh, a sound that only means to hide the offended, undignified noise she’d else make.

She smiles tightly as she gracefully motions for them to sit down, tunes out as they start making wild accusations how her clever, kind, compassionate, caring, precious boy is supposedly part of the mob, making his way ever so slowly up the ranks. Gertrud can’t suppress an unladylike sneer once they don’t let go of their delusions. She looks over at her boy’s photograph and shows them the door. Back home, that menial task would have been up to one of her valets, but here in America, she used to be a servant herself, a cook for a family who had only known what it means to be rich for three generations. If they had only had known the Kapelputs go back to the middle-ages!

Gertrud grits her teeth remembering how the Van-Dahl’s dismissed her, carrying the legitimate heir to lands and castles the family has no concept of beneath her heart. Despite her dire fate, Oswald had always been destined to become a King. But certainly not one of blood and terror. As if a delicate soul like his could….But then Kings come with a certain strength.

There is more to it than only rumors, things she can’t unsee even if she wants to. Gertrud would be blind not to note the bruises and hematomas covering her son’s face and chest. Her fingers tighten in her darling’s hair as she applies more shampoo, trying to wash away the horrors he must have gone through. She clings to him in a way only the truly lost and lonely cling to another human being. After all, he’s all she’s got left, isn’t he?

And he’s such a beautiful, beautiful boy, right? The women must be tripping all over themselves for a slight opportunity to bask in the sun that is her only son. It’s her greatest fear, that one day some painted hussy will waltz right in and snatch her boy away. As inexperienced as he is, she’d only take advantage of his good heart and leave it broken.

Her fingers stiffen when he suddenly turns to her, eyes shining brightly, and mentions some new friend . Gertrud purses her lips. She knows the look in her boy’s eyes, recognizes it immediately, as it mirrors the expression she used to wear on her own face almost 30 years ago perfectly. It’s the expression of a believer in front of an icon, the look of a person with faith in a greater being, in a savior.  

Her heart almost stops when he reveals the one to have stolen his heart to be a cop. It’s the worst scenario, even worse than him running off with a greedy whore. “Don’t ever trust a cop,” she mumbles as she gently lets warm water run over her child’s head. Once upon a time, it had been a corrupt cop who had dragged her from her home, pregnant, and penniless. “They are bad news,” she adds, and her kid hums in agreement, unconvinced.

She thinks about the agents visiting her mere days ago, stares at a fresh bruise covering his back, and tries imagining her boy being what they claim him to be. It’s a lie, of course, it is, has to be, yet if there’s even a slight chance, the cop is toying with her darling’s heart and life.

“He’s different than the others,” her Oswald adds, finally calming Gertrud’s racing nerves. If her boy, a boy so different from all the others, so special, so unique, says so, the cop must be. After all, wouldn’t Oswald be able to recognize one of his own? Sighing deeply, she accepts how unlikely it will be for her to ever have grandchildren carrying Oswald’s features.

One week later, she can’t find it in herself to look away any longer. Gertrud demands an explanation for the ever-increasing bruises littering Oswald’s delicate skin, for the awkward gait, the pained expression on his face whenever he as much as takes a hesitant step.

She’s appalled at those dots of black, blue, and green, can’t help but trace the outlines of the wounds covering her child’s body, doesn’t even dare to ask what those finely-knitted trousers he all of a sudden is able to afford might hide. Oswald merely smiles in response with an expression so forced it looks painted on.

“I joined a boxing club,” he explains easily, and Gertrud raises an eyebrow at her son. She can’t recall her Oswald, this slender, elegant figure, ever being interested in such barbarous activities.

Frowning worriedly, she takes Oswald up on his offer to introduce his new friends to her.

“Mother, as the owner of Gotham’s most famous nightclub, I need to be able to defend myself. As you are well aware, we’re unable to hide our successes from jealous eyes in a city like this.”

Gertrud’s face lights up. How she could have ever doubted her son is beyond her. Of course, Oswald’s words make perfect sense.

“Please, mother, allow for me to dissipate your concerns,” he tells her, head cocked to the side, looking just as innocently as he had on the day he informed her he had gotten a scholarship and she wouldn’t need to work double-shifts any longer to pay off his school fees. It had been unheard of until this moment, a fourteen-year-old receiving the Wayne-aid for gifted pupils, but her Oswald had always been remarkable. Of course, they had to be hush-hush about it, refused to honor him during an official ceremony, but it had undoubtedly lifted a great weight off both their shoulders.

Gertrud nods in return and decides to surprise her boy the other day. The party greeting her once she places a basket filled with various treats from her home-country is nothing like she would have expected. Those men are nothing like her Oswald, not well-behaved, for sure not nobility. One of them flashes a smile at her, a golden tooth shines in the dim light, and Gertrud’s frown increases. Another one gets up, offering her a stiff bow, while her son fidgets worriedly behind him.

“Mother, this is Mr. Gilzean,” he explains, clearly nervous. The bulky man grins encouragingly while taking the basket from her hands. He looks at the wonderful supplies and trips all over himself to express his gratitude. Gertrud falls silent, tries to make sense of the other figures occupying the room, and wipes her worries away once more. She can’t help admonishing them just a bit though when she decides her eyes practically hurt from all that heavy gold those men decided to wear around their necks and in their mouths.

“It isn’t dignified to put your wealth on the table as you are, gentlemen,” she tells them while the one being introduced as Gilzean offers her a glass of champagne.”

“This is America, mother,” Oswald replies gently as the other men look somewhat sheepishly at her.

Her boy’s words are almost enough to dissipate her worries again. Almost . She decides to keep an eye at his contacts and starts visiting Oswald’s club regularly. After all, it’s a beautiful place, her son is a wonderful host, she’s being treated like the royalty she is, and she’s allowed to sing again.

The men, Oswald’s ‘friends’, clap politely whenever she enters the stage, and encourage her to keep going. The traitorous voices in the back of her head keep telling her they are simply being polite, or thankful for the food she keeps bringing. But then one evening one of those cumbersome men walks up to her, tears in his eyes, tells her how thankful he is that she keeps looking out for them. Crossing himself, he stares up her, awe written clearly all over his face, and vows to protect her with his own life. “You have become a mother to all of us,” he confesses. “Us Italians honor a mother,” he adds, refilling her glass.

Gertrud smiles benevolently, but her boy gives her reason to worry again when the infamous cop shows up at the club. The man named Jim is stern. His shoulders are straight, his jaw is set tight, and her boy seems nervous whenever he is around. Oswald pulls him into a corner, whispers something into his ear, and gestures at her. Gertrud is irritated. Nobody has the right to force such a reaction from her Oswald!

For a moment, the blonde man looks confused, and then, his shoulders sag. He puts on a smile, even if only forced, and bows for Gertrud just like the rest of his men. She doesn’t know what his visit is about, but she knows when a man bends to the will of another. His tone is reserved yet respectful when addressing her, the tone of a man trying to make a good impression. She studies him intently and decides he’s not the worst company for her son. Solid. Simply, but well dressed. Not a painted whore.

Gertrud bites her lip though when his body language changes again, when he cages her Oswald against a wall. Her eyes narrow when witnessing the way he keeps manhandling her boy but she also sees other things. She notes he’s always standing a tad bit too close to her Oswald, even when they are not talking, how their bodies are almost constantly being angled toward each other. She observes the blonde grabbing Oswald’s wrist, how he bites his lip when doing so, and the genuine worry he tries to hide. The way the blonde touches her boy is forceful, yet protective, indecisive.

Stepping closer, she wants to say something but then changes her mind as Oswald locks eyes with her. “This is not what you think, mother,” he’ll tell her later, and she’ll indulge him. She’ll always indulge him.

The next time Gertrud visits the club, she tries to see the place with the cop’s eyes. The man, Jim, he has clear eyes, the kind of eyes that see everything while hers are almost constantly glossed over.

She spots a new figure, a man with black hair who obviously has no concept of buttoning his shirts properly. Putting on her biggest smile, she saunters over, toys with her hair, and leans over the table, shoving up her cleavage in the process like a common hussy. The moment she lays eyes on that man, Sal Maroni, Gertrud is worried about her son and starts flirting as if her boy’s life depends on it. And then she notes the deep, genuine fear etched into her Oswald’s features. She doesn’t want to ask, and she knows he wouldn’t want to answer, so she accepts another glass and curls her hair around her finger.

The fear eventually fades from her beautiful son’s face as does the man she once met. What remains, though, is him constantly mentioning the name Jim. At times, the name is spoken in awe, at times it’s spoken in disdain. Gertrud sees him on the TV sometimes, righteousness and determination written all over his features, and she repeats to her boy how the man will be bad news one day. Oswald shrugs her off but she catches his wrist. “My boy,” she tells him. “My love for you is blind but it also derives from devotion. Does that go for him, too?”

Oswald sputters, clearly flustered, and doesn’t reply. Once he finds his voice again, Gertrud is already busy recalling the lyrics of a song she learned when she was little.

Mere weeks later, Gertrud’s devotion is being put to the test when another one of Oswald’s acquaintances kidnaps her and forces her into a tiny cell. She scoffs when they truly think her dingy surroundings will intimidate her. She notes the camera in the corner, starts pacing the room. Of course, she’s afraid. And she’s angry. She keeps banging at the walls, yelling out to anyone who might hear her how this must all be a terrible mistake, how she’s merely the mother of a well-respected club-owner. Nothing that could happen would convince her in any way that this isn’t the truth. And now the world has proof of her conviction, too.

Her misery ends, eventually, when her Oswald shows up, an entire army in tow. Her eyes light up then when she recognizes how he really grew into the king she always knew him to be. But the snake, Galavan they call him, is sly, and it almost ends in blood and tears - but almost.

The reinforcement arrives just in time, and Gertrud can’t help but flinch and curl in on herself when a single shot echoes through the basement she had been kept in way too long. There are blood and cerebral matter now covering her face. A beautiful woman with long, black hair is staring lifelessly at the ceiling while her son and the other man start shouting.

Oswald is completely out of his mind, wants to lunge forward, knife already in hand, when a heavy hand reaches for him. It’s that cop again, Jim, grim and, unmoving as ever. He steadies her boy, grounds him with as much as a touch even when he behaves in a way she never witnessed before. This is definitely not her boy, this howling, bawling animal that consists only of pain and fear.

“She’s alive, Oswald,” the blonde growls as her son keeps forgetting himself. Gertrud reaches for her child herself, holds him close as he breaks down completely, and continues to shout out horrifying threats. He wants to escape her grasp, and she has no doubt his intentions are anything but pure when he turns towards Galavan again.

Stiff as ever, the cop merely ignores him as he cuffs Galavan, takes his price with him to another cell much like Gertrud’s.

He’ll later testify how her son, Oswald, tried to kill him. And Gertrud will face him in court, unable and unwilling to recall anything in detail. She’ll cry and argue. Where she’ll be emotional, the cop, Jim will remain bereft of emotion. With a straight face, he’ll tell his very own truth how he found Oswald and Gertrud huddled together, terrified of the man now being dragged away forever.

Gertrud will smile in relief then. When it comes to her Oswald, she now isn’t the only person with her very own truth.

[logarithmicpanda]

Here’s my present for @lettersfromtemerant! I hope you’ll enjoy it ^^

Thanks to @ambrosecansuckmyass for organizing the KKC secret santa!

Bastas, son of Remmen, Prince of Twilight and the Telwyth Mael was excruciatingly bored. It seemed everything in his realm had become dull. The purple of the sky seemed faded, the taste of lips on his flesh felt like a shadow of a memory, the air itself was doing nothing more than fill his lungs idly.

With a sigh, Bast emptied his cup of blood-colored wine. It made him feel nothing more than if he had drank water. His eyes rose to the sky. There was no moon. It gave him an idea.

A wild, brilliant idea.

He laughed an unhinged laugh.

All he had to do was get up and let the absent moon pull at his being.

It was that easy to intrude upon the mortal world.

X

The sky changed colors all day long, every day. Bast loved the colors of the sky. He spent much of his first week just watching the sky, eating whatever he could get his hands on, and trying to find his way to humans.

The first one he ran into was a young peasant girl. She ran off as if the devil was on her trail –which was not too far from the truth. Having not particularly bothered with either clothes or cleanliness since his arrival, Bast looked wild and dangerous, his muscular chest trailed by rabbit blood, leaves and dirt.

Only after that unfortunate encounter did the Fae prince remembered to  use a glamour, and to pay a minimum of attention to what he imagined human standards to be – he thought of it as boring and demure, but was certain that once he managed to get humans to feel safe enough to get close to him, he would have no trouble convincing them wildness was much, much funnier.

His next encounter was more fruitful. After several weeks, he made a passing impression of being an eccentric human rather than a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

X

It took him less than two months to get bored with the countryside. He was now fairly confident he could pass as a human, so Bast decided it was time to visit a large human town, rather than the hovels he had been hanging around so far. He walked west.

The town was full of life and bars. Bast also discovered the concept of whorehouses for the first time. Money was boring, but he acquired – stole from an unsuspecting merchant, to be exact – and decided that after months fumbling in haystack, being around professionals would be a nice change of pace.

The girls were bright and shining, and he was doubly generous with them. Eventually, it occurred to him that the roles could be reversed.

He enjoyed himself a long while in Imre.

X

Bast had grown very comfortable around humans. It’s why it surprised him when a youngling – he couldn’t have been more than eighteen human years – saw him for what he was. Bast checked his glamour, but it was firmly in place. The young man’s green eyes shone, and his lips twitched in amusement.

“It is rare to meet one of your people around these parts,” he offered with an open smile.

Bast tilted his head. The bar was full, and no one around them was paying them any attention. Still, he did not feel entirely at ease, under the human’s knowing gaze.

“It is rare to meet one of your people who is not entirely blind,” Bast answered with his best smile, the one that made people feel like a mouse facing a cat.

The human merely laughed.

“I had the pleasure of visiting your parts in the past,” he said, then laughed again, as if he had just made a clever joke.

Bast couldn’t quite decide whether he liked or hated the human.

“Can I offer you a drink?” the youngling said, and Bast decided he could do with the company of a young, red haired human being for a time.

[thearrangment-phff]

LI. Three of Them

October 2017

She was 8 weeks pregnant. Just about a couple of weeks behind Kate who was due in late April meaning Isabella would give birth about a month later. The first doctor seemed to have gotten the weeks wrong which was a surprise to the royal couple. It was then explained that the newest royal babies were quite large compared to other twins at that stage.

"Charles and Albert or Mary Astrid and Elisabeth. Or we could do Charles and Mary Astrid. What do you think?"

"I think they're good names," replied Harry.

"You don't like them, do you?"

"I like what you like," smiled Harry.

"I picked them because both our fathers bare the name, Charles. Mary Astrid was for my mother and great-grandmother. I thought it would be a touching tribute. We can change them if you hate those names so much."

"No. Don't do that. You are far better at names than I am. Besides, we agreed to these name ages ago. I'm sorry."

"I use to be the one to say sorry now you've picked up the habit," observed Isabella.

"I have more to apologize now than you."

"I think we should include your grandfather the Duke and my grandfather the Grand Duke in Charles' name."

"I agree," replied Harry.

"And for our daughter has to have the name Zita for my great-grandmother and Christine for my sister. Do you agree?"

"Of course," smiled Harry.

"Should we already be thinking of godparents? I have but I also think it's a bit too early."

"You do what you think it right."

"Are you just agreeing with me simply because I'm carrying your child?" Asked Isabella.

"Of course. That, and you are my wife. I know that you will pick good names that would honor both of our families and you are much better at this than I am," smiled Harry as he kissed her cheek.

"I wanted to name our daughter Victoria. But nooooooo, Gabriella picked that name for her daughter months ago. She's due in 2 weeks you know."

"Are you going to stay with Gabriella for a couple of days like you did with Adelaide?" Asked Harry.

"I think so but not as long as with Adelaide. I told Emily that I wanted at least 3 nights off to visit her in Switzerland. Henri is in Copenhagen but he'll take a couple weeks off for the baby from the university for her sake."

"What is he studying?"

"Law but he isn't one of the good guys. He’s trying to become a corporate lawyer and they do little good," replied Isabella.

"You believe that?"

"Believe it? I know it. The rich do little good even if they try. Their money is made off the suffering of those they employ. Royals do the same thing. Why do you think I spend my own money on a majority of things?"

"Because you want to look better than Kate," muttered Harry. He went wide-eyed regretting what he said immediately, "I shouldn't have said that."

"You aren't wrong. She's the future Queen of the United Kingdom and I'm the wife of the spare it's a narrative that would have happened if you married me or not. But the image I'm supposed to portray is the dynastic humanitarian wife of the most popular member of the British Royal Family who spends less than 30,000 pounds a year of clothes. While Kate is the commoner wife of the future king who cares little for the work she is doing that she probably spends 30,000 pounds on one outfit alone. Who do you think will win in the end?" Smiled Isabella.

"Kate will be Queen alongside my brother."

"If the monarchy lasts that long," replied Isabella with a little laugh.

"You don't think the monarchy will last that long?"

"The monarchy itself perhaps, there is small chance it will survive, but William as King of the United Kingdom? I doubt that. Your father is the one who married his mistress whom he cheated on his beloved first wife on. I would be surprised if he got a coronation beside Camilla because more than half the country still hates her. Your brother is an ignorant buffoon who wants all of the glory but none of the work. Besides who wants a Queen whose ass and lady bits have been shown all across the country. Then there's George who despite still being a young boy has been so sheltered that his role as a future King will be tarnished because of his parent's obsession with keeping the press at fingernail length. Democracies show monarchies they do not need us to survive that is why the press, especially good press is needed. You can only keep the media away for so long before it comes back to ruin you," explained Isabella.

"I find it to be the exact opposite. The press and the people think they are entitled to everything in our lives when they are not and-"

"We live on taxpayer money. We are at that mercy. You only see the press in a bad lighting because you blame them for the way your parents were both treated during the divorce and you blame them for killing your mother."

"I'm not going to argue about this anymore. You had no right to mention her," said Harry in anger.

"You hold a grudge over your mother's death but that's the only excuse you and brother have to continue acting like children," bit back Isabella.

"I'm going over to William and Kate's apartments. I can't be here right now or I will say something I regret," said Harry as he immediately got up and headed towards the door as fast as he could.

"Like what? Incest? Because there isn't much you can say about my family!"

"How about giving up love for a title? You all seem to do that more often than not!" Yelled Harry.

"My family understands sacrifices! Maybe if yours did then they wouldn't all be getting divorced and have scandal after scandal."

"You're going to lecture me on divorce? Isn't Louis getting a divorce?"

"One cousin! One of twenty-two! Your aunt, your father, and your uncle Andrew all divorced. How is any of that comparable? If your brother wasn't a future king then Kate wouldn't have married him we all know that. That's probably the only thing that's keeping her by his side!" Yelled Isabella.

"Stop! Why is it that you have to take digs at Kate almost every serious conversation we have? You constantly insult Will and Kate while somehow taking, even more, digs at my family. You need to stop that Isabella or none of this is going to work. I'm am tired of you calling them names or pointing out their flaws. Everyone has their flaws, even you, so stop it."

"Name them."

"What?"

"Name my flaws. Go on," taunted Isabella.

"I am not doing this with you."

"You brought it up," replied Isabella.

"You can't look past your own arrogance about your family. You boast about being a Habsburg-Bourbon any chance you get. You thrive off of showing your family to outsiders. You have all this so-called guilt but you continue using your titles and brag about your family any chance you get!"

"First off, I don't brag I simply tell because in case you haven't noticed, my family is very large and have a tendency to repeat names multiple times in a generation! I did for your sake, you stupid baboon."

"I can't handle this right now I'm going to Will's for the night and then we can talk when we aren't yelling at each other."

"She is insufferable when she gets like this! I can't handle her, I don't think anyone can! Isabella is nothing but a spoilt child who believes she is the most important person in the world because of her title," yelled Harry as he paced back and forth.

"Are you done? You've been yelling for the past hour I've been here."

"No, I am not done-"

"Then I'm going to stop you right there. You complaining has made you insufferable. Look, you and Belle have been together how many years?"

"3 give or take," answered Harry.

"Well, I've known her for 25 years in November once her birthday comes. You love her I assume, but I can more than guarantee you that I've loved her longer-"

"You don't need to remind me of that because I would rather forget that little detail. Why did I ask you to come here again? It's slipping my mind faster than you can move your lips," interrupted Harry.

"Because you want my opinion. You know that I know her better than you do and probably even better than Belle does herself. Now, will you let me speak?" Asked Joachim.

"Go ahead."

"Isabella is spoiled but that isn't her fault. Otto von Habsburg wanted all his brothers to marry dynastically. Some did, some didn't but when Isabella's grandfather married a Princess of Ligne things got a bit complicated. Then Isabella's father married a Princess of Luxembourg which was very important to the Habsburgs. Do you have many reigning families have Catholic princesses?"

"Luxembourg obviously. You know I really hate how you, Isabella, your brother, and everyone in your damn families giving me this information then asking me questions as if I'm some child that needs to resuscitate his school lessons," said Harry.

"Well, I grew up with my family history. I knew about my Italian family from my grandmothers, I know about the Habsburgs from my father, and obviously my Belgian side from my mother. Because Isabella and I are double second cousins we know our history, you don't. That's why I'm doing it."

"Whatever," mumbled Harry.

"There are five by the way. Luxembourg, Liechtenstein, Belgium, Monaco, and Spain, but Liechtenstein barely has any princesses and Monaco are barely considered princes so that is never a choice for a Habsburg or a Bourbon. Therefore, Habsburgs marrying dynastically is high because of following older customs. Uncle Otto and his wife Regina had clear favorites. Marry a Catholic princess and your children will be loved, marry anyone else then, don't expect much from them," explained Joachim.

"That's horrible."

"Comes with the name. Women don't have the same standards but it's common for them to marry a man without a title but with royal blood or marry someone with a title," added Joachim.

"Let's get back to Isabella. We're going off topic."

"Right. Belle is spoiled and she's complicated. She has been since we were children. She has Marie Christine ambitiousness, Imre's devotion, Christoph's acceptance, Alexander's creativeness and Gabriella's loyalty. They are utterly devoted to each other because we were always taught the importance of family. She's more like Alexander than anyone else and makes rash decisions. She changes her mind constantly but I know that while she changes her mind every few weeks, in her head it's like she changes her mind literally every second."

"She loves too much and too fast," added Harry.

Joachim had smiled and nodded at his statement, "Belle has been surrounded by love her entire life because our family is big but because we also treat friends like family."

"My family does that too you know."

"I'm not saying anything to degrade yours I'm stating from my experience which is closer to Belle's than you could ever understand. Our family functions differently. Doesn’t help we marry second cousins or marry the cousin of our cousin,” joked Joachim.

“Who are you going to marry?”

“Hopefully my girlfriend Victoria when the time is right, but I always thought I was going to marry Belle up until you came along so I can’t really say anything now.”

“Why did you love her?” asked Harry.

“She was the constant. She was always around but I think it was because her grandmother Josephine Charlotte just wanted her to marry either Amedeo or I. A Habsburg marrying another Habsburg in the main line hadn’t happened in some time.”

“You loved her because she was a backup so to speak?”

“Belle was never a backup she was really the only choice. I ran her into the arms of other men when we would fight I would advise you to not repeat my mistakes,” answered Joachim.

“We’re getting somewhere now. Elaborate,” demanded Harry.

“She would get into one of her moods like she is now. Belle would be happy, smiling, laughing, almost as if she is the happiest person in the world, then it all comes crashing down. She stops eating, stops talking, and her mundane way of life is halted until she can find enough energy to get out bed in the morning. Next, come the anger and aggression. She goes through stages. First is the anger towards others then it’s the anger towards herself and it’s a vicious cycle until she has no more will to fight herself in her own mind.”

“Has... Has Isabella ever gotten mental help before?”

“Never. She was sent to Sevenoaks with my brother and sister when she was quite young then went to Sidwell Friends School in the states before leaving to Yale University. The anxiety and stress were blamed on school. Every parent wants to believe their kids’ mental health is as normal as any other teenager,” answered Joachim.

“She’s showing clear signs. Isabella needs professional help,” replied Harry.

“She won’t accept it because she’ll believe there’s nothing wrong with her. You won’t get help from her family or friends since they are one in the same. You’re talking about a Catholic royal family. We’ve already had enough people poke at our mental health and health just for baring the name Habsburg. She won’t agree to it.”

“I don’t care if she agrees to it. She is my wife and she is caring my children, the three of them need to be protected at all times even if it means saving them from themselves now or in the future,” fought Harry.

“Fine. When you drive her into the arms of another man you should reflect how you treated her now and blame yourself.”

“Drive her into your arms you mean?”

“No, but the fact that you think I would go after her while she’s married is repulsive. You don’t know me but I’ll tell you now to your face, I would never go after Isabella as long as she’s married to you.”

“Who else would I have to worry about?”

“Are you sure you want me to answer that? It would simply be all speculation. No truth at all. I wouldn’t know if Belle ever had feelings for these men or vice versa,” replied Joachim.

“Tell me,” demanded Harry.

“Michel, Henri’s brother maybe their cousin Philip. Henri Antoine of Ligne or Rafael of Orleans-Braganza but Belle wouldn’t have an interest in them.”

“She had an interest in you so I can’t rule them out.”

“Are you really playing the jealous husband right now?” asked Joachim.

“I’m not the jealous type but like you’ve said before I wouldn’t want to run Isabella into the arms of another man. I am one of the most popular royals in the world, a cheating wife isn’t good for my family again.”

“You think Belle would really cheat on you?”

“Why wouldn’t she. Temptation is a devilish thing,” answered Harry.

“Clearly you weren’t listening before. Belle has Gabriella’s loyalty. You don’t know Belle or our family that is showing to me right now.”

“Don’t you find it repulsive that you refer to Isabella’s family as your family yet you wanted to marry her?” asked Harry.

“In your family perhaps it does, but not in mine. What’s going to happen if your children marry second cousins? Would you deny them, love, because it’s taboo in your family?”

“It would never happen in the first place.”

There was a minute of silence where it was clear Joachim was thinking. Harry had thought Joachim was trying to find something snarkier to say but instead, “Did you say the three of them? She’s pregnant? Belle is carrying two babies?”

Harry cleared his throat regretting his words. He was brash because of his clear distaste for Joachim, “You must’ve heard something wrong.”

“Belle is pregnant?” repeated Joachim.

“You will not tell a soul,” threatened Harry.

“Of course. How far along is she?”

“Not much far along. Family will be notified later this week then friends. I’m leaving the time of the press release to Isabella.”

Joachim let out a little laugh, “Never could I had imagined Belle or anyone in my family marrying you.”

“Well, it happened. Nothing is going to change that.”

[matan4il]

Got tagged by the always wonderful and kind @robron-til-the-end. Thank you for thinking of me, Hannah! :*

Post gifs of your favorite actors or actresses without saying who they are and tag 10 people.

You know that “I’d go gay for X?” I’d have sex reassignment surgery for her.

I hid behind the couch when I was 5 because I was sent to bed exactly as his character in the movie was dying. Not cool, parental units.

Might be cheating to include both, but it’s true. I love their dynamics no less than I love them individually.

Same.

Played the best female character in TV history, hands down. I’m 80% sure the role was tailored for her, so even though I don’t know much about her personal life... She’s excellent and underappreciated if you ask me.

Hey, does anyone else remember when we all used to play six degrees of him?

Best lip sync battle in history, singlehandedly saved every male's right to exist.

Love his roles, love that in one of his roles and in an interview I got to hear him speak Romanian.

Again with the cheating because yes, I mean both.

She deserved better. :( I’m tagging @snarfettelove, @iamarobronniffler, @drawlallvowels, @irisnsc, @aaron-fan, @dazzamre, @dasoni, @bellamyblake, @imre-gr, @starsdah-b, @phanlover28

(bonus round of cheating)

[hxesoos-blog]

☂✿ ☏ ✉ x :)

Send me a “☂” for three tweets from my muse directed at yours.

haesoo @chaesoo @jihc​ isn’t is a bitch when you lose your bro??

haesoo @chaesoo @jihc​ not like you’re actual bro bc that shit would be too real

haesoo @chaesoo @jihc​ but like … your metaphorical bro?? your best bro?? your bro for life???

Send me a “✿” for a snapchat from my muse to yours.

haesoo: hry bRO]haesoo: imre aLLy fuc kin DRUAGNKhaesoo: drgnudkhaesoo: durnkghaesoo: wahtever

Send me a “☏” for one voicemail left by my muse on your muse’s phone.

“ YOU –– oh, i got a beef with you, ” haesoo grumbles into the phone as he lays on his bed, high out of his mind, while his bong laid carelessly alongst his side. it wasn’t necessarily the first time his call had gone straight to voicemail with jiho but it didn’t exactly mean that haesoo didn’t do the same, ignore the other’s calls. ( it was just all the pent up frustration and years of friendship that made him do it, honestly. it just wasn’t fair. ) his tongue pokes out to lick at his dry lips, a hoarse cough coming out before clearing his throat. “ you … you just dropped me after what –– ? how many years of knowing each other. and you know how i don’t trust people easily … i fuckin’ met your mom, dude. ” he purses his lips before rolling onto his stomach, using a free hand to poke at his bong in thought. “ –– how is your mom by the way? i bet she misses me. i’m the shit. ” he pauses while furrowing his brows. “ i’m fuckin’ talking to your voicemail … christ, i need to stop smoking this shit. ” he drops his phone, unaware, before reaching for his bong. if his deluded mind were to have known the wiser, he might’ve missed jiho. weird.

Send me a “✉” for three texts from my muse to yours.

[ SMS to DELETED # ] your plays fuckin sucked today

[ SMS to DELETED # ] like were you even trying??

[ SMS to DELETED # ] five laps tomorrow buttmunch

[ SMS to DELETED # ] goodnight :)

[ SMS to DELETED # ] i’ve missed u

[ SMS to DELETED # ] … lol what????

[ SMS to DELETED # ] this is the wrong number ignore

[ SMS to DELETED # ] ur the fuckin ugly ass goblin and if u ever call me that one more time i will personally sue u and ur mother and ur fucking mother’s mother and ur neighbor’s dog and everyone u love i stg

Send me a “★” for a facebook status from my muse to yours.

choi haesoo tagged jiho cho in a life event.august 7, 2016

                        🚩the bros are broken up … forever.              august 7, 2016

[darkfictionjude]

I just want to say that I'm in love with your work. You write like this... with a soul! All these details, anxiety, history, characters (a reference to Nine Inch Nails, with this you pierced my heart through and through) 💓✨ A question about the reaction? How would Ro and the brothers react if they noticed that mc was imperceptibly drawing them?

This is very sweet 💜💜💜

Yeah I knew I wanted the first episode to have a very recognizable lyric that still fit the tone I was going for.

By drawing you mean actually drawing right? Or like mentally drawing? I’ll go with the former. It’s a big long tbh.

Imre: he’d been rattling off about palaeolithic stone tools for a good while before he noticed that all your answers were “wow.” He had broken off momentarily to see what was preoccupying your mind and saw a very poor attempt to conceal a sketchbook, your arm trying to hid away what you were doing while your hand was gently moving along. In that moment you looked up and he looked away. “As I was saying…” he continued. He wouldn’t disturb you. Of course he kept rolling his lips together to prevent a smile threatening to break out.

Nia: fires had always made her feel sleepy. You two had moved the couch around to face it as you’d done when you children. She was laying on her side, her head laying on the armrest, she would sigh contently but she didn’t want to seem trite. She knew what you were doing. The tip of the pencil sliding, the way your finger would rub against the paper, was a sound as familiar to her as her own voice. She knew how you felt about being called out during this and so she merely tried to keep her lowering eyes opened and her face angled for you to get her best side.

Lorcan: he had you do this with other things before, the trees, the lake, a character you’d imagined from a book you’ve read. He didn’t really about it much and merely watched the rain coming down from the porch while you scribbled away. His shoulders were slumped and his mind felt light. He had thought you were drawing the rain but as he bent down to tie his show laces he had seen something that looked alarmingly similar to him. He straightened back up and hoped the night would conceal the pink blooming on his cheeks. But he knew it wouldn’t.

Sally: he hadn’t thought about this as thoroughly as he should’ve. He didn’t want to leave you home alone but he didn’t think of the lack of fun it would be for you to take you to the office. He had tried to make conversation with you but your one word answers didn’t give much for stimulating conversation. You had asked for a pencil and a sheet of paper a while back and he thought ‘what’s the harm?’ He wouldn’t ask further questions but as he looked down and kept writing, he could feel your gaze on him and knew he didn’t have to guess what you were drawing. He found he liked that.

Percy: the things he does for a buck. Since Arthur was indisposed and Sally had to go to work, he had been charged with talking the kid to school. He erratically turned the wheel from left to right, pressed his foot hard down on the pedal and flipped off anyone who honked at just to get there faster and not have to deal with this persistent silence he always found there between you two when he wasn’t bothering you. You left without as much as glance back and he was about to reverse when a notebook left on the seat caught his eye. He took it up, flipped through it until he noticed himself just as he was at this moment. His fingers gently caressed this version of himself. Hmm. They made him look good.

[darkfictionjude]

Hello hello!📸

As always love you and everything you do Jude💖

What are the RO’s favourite place to kiss/be kissed? And if it’s not too much trouble what would you describe their kisses like?

Hello beloved fast-liker anon. Hmmm I’ve always liked this question, I’m a visual learner anyway.

Imre

Kiss: right below the collarbone.

To be kissed: right below his belly button (and no I don’t mean his dick although ofc he likes that too)

How he kisses: it’s hard, almost painful. It’s not a kiss as much as devouring. He keeps pressing your lips so forcefully against his you can’t breath.

Nia

Kiss: lower back

To be kissed: her breasts

How she kisses: it’s gentle, it’s asking and knowing you’re not going to say no. It’s like asking your soul to gently come out.

Lorcan

Kiss: thighs

To be kissed: a specific spot behind his neck (it’s very tender there that is sends a chill down his back)

How he kisses: it’s almost scared. Like he’s never kissed before. But it’s not unsure. It’s expertly done and while his hands are a bit rough, his mouth is as sweet as an embrace.

[darkfictionjude]

RO’s reactions to walking in on mc changing clothes during crushing stage 🙏 🙏 oooh or mc walking in on the RO’s

Hmmmm let’s do mc because they’re reaction would be kind of funny

Imre:

You had been looking for him as you had made him tea. With saucer in hand you open the door and see him sliding on his boxers. Your eyes blow wide open and you and close and open and close your mouth again. He notices you, steps closer and takes the tea from you, he smiles “thank you” and sips. You stand there frozen.

Nia:

She had told you to come over at 4. Knowing this house like the back of your hand you walked into without knocking. You find her back turned to you, shrugging on a bra. Your eyes fly to her ass and when she looks over her shoulder at you she says “help me with the clasp” you try to say something but end up just walking out of the room extremely dizzy.

Lorcan:

You were pissed and you barged into his room ready to scream at him when you catch him pulling his pants on. The curses die on your lips and before you can do anything he looks up to see you his face quickly colours and he points to the door “get out now!” You don’t hear him so he has to physically push out the door.

——————

After that mc spends a worrying amount of time trying to understand why seeing the ROs bodies made them react so stupidly.

[darkfictionjude]

Hi! I love your wonderful game <З Let's imagine that mc walks into a room with a busted lip.a concerned ro asks what happened to which mc calmly replies "they talked shit about you-now they won't" (no scary actions-mc just fought!)

I love how you added that they didn’t commit some scary actions like murder 😭 because I feel if they did they would come with a similar reaction of unbothered

Imre:

Imre opens his mouth to speak and closes with a perplexed look on his face. “Please tell me you didn’t kill anyone. I have a paper due tomorrow I can’t devote time to burying a body.”

You smile, the action stinging from your bleeding lip. “No no bodies today. I just heard some asshole talking shit about you calling you a privileged rich pretty boy and I made sure that’s the last time your name ever comes out of their mouth” you say with a shrug.

Imre hums and walks over to you. He traces your injured lip with his thumb, gently, a caress. With a glint in his eye he says “thank you. I think this qualifies for a reward.”

Nia:

If she notices your busted lip she doesn’t say she just waves you over and pulls you down to sit on her bed. She flips through a fashion magazine and marks off things she likes. This goes on for a few minutes and without looking up she says “so, what trouble did you get yourself to now?”

You roll your eyes and lay your head on her shoulder “it wasn’t me who started it. They were talking shit about you, calling you a cold bitchy whore and now they won’t ever say anything like that again.”

She pats your cheek and continues what’s she doing. “I like my ego stroked in having a knight in shining armour but I don’t need you to fight for me. Next time let me handle it” she says kindly.

Lorcan:

“Oh my god” he says as you walk through the door. He walks over to your side quickly and cups your face, tilting your head up to look at your busted lip. His thumb aims to touch it but he sighs annoyingly instead. “Who did this?” he asks with a steel edge to his voice.

You chuckle and place your hands over his “just an idiot. They were talking shit about you and your family and but trust me that they’ll never make that mistake again.”

He shakes his head and he looks disappointed. “The last thing I need is you getting hurt because of me. First we’re going to get you cleaned up and then you tell a name and an address is possible Crown” he says with a cold smirk and grabs your hand to lead you to the bathroom.

————-

Voila anon. Hope I fed you 💜

[darkfictionjude]

I came for a small portion of angst, I won't lie hehe

What if the mc looked directly at ro when the relationship seemed to have already improved and said "I wish I never met you" in the coldest possible voice?

Hmmm ✨angst✨. Very interesting.

Imre: the smile he had just a moment ago on his face sharpens a little at the edges. Almost strained. His relaxed pose stiffens just a fraction. “Really? You wish you’d had never met me?” he asks in a voice you’ve never heard him use for you. He uncrosses his legs and stands up, putting his hands into his pockets and in a completely unhurried walk her goes to the door. As he lays his hand on the handle and turns his head back to look at you. Still with that small smile, too wide to be honest. “Well, I know where I’m not wanted. And I don’t make a habit to beg, cielo” he opens the door and swiftly leaves the room.

Nia: she was flicking through a magazine when those words left your lips. She froze then and let the page she was holding gently fall. She straightens up and looks directly into your eyes. “So that’s what you say to me after a lifetime of friendship?” her face is relaxed, her eyes are dry and her voice is measured. She sighs and returns to flipping through the pages. “Given that this is my house you should be the one to get the fuck out here then” she says. You would almost be mistaken in thinking she didn’t care if you hadn’t notice a slight tremor in her cheek.

Lorcan: he stops walking before the last word leaves your mouth. His mouth presses together as he squashes the unburned cigarette in his delicate hand. “What was the point of this then? We fix anything? We make amends?” he blinks rapidly. He takes several steps away back. “Yeah, obviously this was your plan all along. Get me to like you so you could–” he huffs and turns his head to the side, his fingers twitching. He harshly wipes at his eye. After a moment he merely walks away.

Hope you enjoy your angst with a nice glass of tear drops 💜

[darkfictionjude]

Hey, hi! Let's pretend that ro's and ms are at the beginning of a romantic relationship. mc frowns/distressed all day and when ro's finds out what's wrong, mc mutters to himself "I'm jealous" remembering meeting someone irrelevant the other day.

As in mc is jealous of someone who was lowkey flirting with the ROs the other day? Yeah I can do that.

Below the cut because this got a bit looong.

Imre:

He’s been talking enthusiastically about Douglas firs on your daily walk. He likes this time of day, both of you surrounded by nature, the only sound apart from the earth beneath your feet is his voice and occasionally yours. You say you like to hear him talk on and on and he likes that.

Today however, you haven’t exactly seemed that interested in what he has to say. You don’t make ask questions, look at him or even make as much as grunt. Rather, you’re staring down, your eyebrows furrowed tightly. He stops walking and grabs your arm. He turns you to face him and tries to peer into your downcast eyes.

“Alright. Is something wrong? You’ve been acting strange all day and not in the lovely way you usual are. What’s happened?”

You swallow thickly and your eyes dart around the ground you refuse to look away from. “I just-”you can’t seem to get the words and that frustrates you. You’re usually not so conscious. You try again. “A lot of people look at you. You don’t see it but I see it. Like that person the other day, they were practically salivating while talking to you and it just makes me feel… I’m jealous” those last words more of a mumble.

To your amazement you hear Imre laugh. You look up then and he’s laughing. He puts a hand over his mouth as his shoulders shake. Your mouth falls open at his sheer audacity and you yank your arm away. You turn away from him intent on going home but he quickly grabs your arm again and pulls you so close your chests are touching.

With that same grin he says “cariño as if anyone could ever come close compared to you.”

Nia:

She had left you in the waiting room while she did her after school volunteer work at the hospital, she had noticed you’d been sullen and quite all day long and had hoped by the time she was done you’d be over whatever it was. But to her chagrin she found you in the same spot with staring into the aether with a deep set frown to the lips she thought so pretty.

She doesn’t like doing feelings. It makes her feel itchy and when she attempts to the result nearly always fails. Even though you’ve known each other since you were kids it hasn’t gotten easier for her to handle your moods. She poops down tired next to you, leaning her head against the wall.

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong with you I can’t exactly do anything to help. I’m not a mindreader birdie.”

You clench your jaw, your eyes flicking from the void to side-eye her. “You looked like you were having fun with that person the other day. That kid that came in here with the cast. A lot of fun, Nia. I know we haven’t been going out long but I reserve my right to feel… oh god” you roll your lips and mumble “I’m jealous.”

Nia blinks and looks away from you trying to remember. “Who the hell are talking about?”

You look at her aghast. “You really don’t know?”

She shrugs “that’s how little they mattered to me. Trust me when I tell you that your the only person I care to occupy all the memory storage in my head,” with that she grabs your hand and squeezes.

Lorcan:

He’s acutely aware of when something bothers you. With the people who matter to him he hates the idea of them being anger with him and so the whole day has passed by with you crossed arm and scowling and him doing his best to please, that’s why he ordered a pizza and suggested you two watch one of your favourite films. He’s been watching you instead of the screen the whole time and his agitation grows worse as he sees you not being amused by scenes you would’ve been if this had worked.

It’s late, the film is almost over and he’ll need to leave but he can’t, if he leaves you like this he’ll spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, thinking of all the things he could’ve said to offend you.

As the credits roll and just blurts out “what did I do?! I don’t know if you expect me to know because I don’t and honestly you’re freaking me out.”

You turn your head slowly to him from your position at the other end of the couch and say coldly “you really think I’m going to buy that act? Did you do that from some left over hate you still have for me?” When he still doesn’t respond you say “that person you were talking to the other day while you were pumping your bike wheel at the gas station. They were all smiles, batting their eyelashes at you. And you eat it up… I’m jealous, ok” you mumble.

He’s surprised by the return of that edge to your voice, the one you used to use on him when you hated each other. His eyes go wide and he moves from his side of the couch to yours, scurrying almost. He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder and is relieved when you don’t brush him off.

“Crown, if they were flirting with me I swear I didn’t know. How could I when you shine so bright you block everyone else out?”

Hope I answered your request anon 💜