#the portrait in the corner was because i got bored

[bluuscreen]

many of him

[nyrasbloodyclover]

parallel lines (canon!aemond x modern!reader)

a/n: i couldn't come up with how aemond ended up in our world, but i didn't want to use standard stuff like the multiverse or idk (you get what i'm trying to say, i am too lazy, basically)

also, this was soooo fun to write please someone request part two

Aemond was not of this world, that was very much visible. His clothes (that suited him very much) completely stood out from the things people normally wore now,his hair was beautiful but unusual, platinum blond, almost reaching his waist, and the sapphire eye that replaced his lost one looked perfect on him.

Long story short, he didn't belong here. His world was of dragons and family dynasties. But, since he was stuck here (for god knows how long) I got to show him the beauty of the modern age.

"What can you even do here? Everything looks the same," he said, thinking of my street and all of the houses. He didn't like that they were built beside each other.

"The beauty of architecture is gone, as far as I can see. You claim to be making a progress and talking about future, but if your society continues to exist like this, it's going to ruin itself."

"Aemond, please don't rain on my parade right now. It's so much fun showing you all the new things in my world since I know everything about yours."

He furrowed his brows, "What parade?"

I smiled for myself. "Nevermind. Do you think Aegon is a nihilist?"

"Your philosophy makes no sense to me. And I think the whole concept of your so-called nihilism is very much stupid. How can you say that you are a nihilist if there is nothing and you believe that nothing really exists? If belief doesn't exist, how can you believe—"

"Please stop and follow me." My head started to hurt from his many many MANY arguments about everything.

"What is this? You know I already told you I don't like your room. Why do you decorate your walls with these gruesome pictures?"

"It's not gruesome, I already told you—"

"And why is there a picture of my brother beside your bed? How does it look so realistic? Are you a witch?" he said with wide eye. I didn't explain to him how printer works yet.

"Stop being so dramatic. I wanted to say— I already told you I keep photos of my favorite TV shows on my walls. Your brother is there because he's very much my type." Not that I am Team Green. Nyra for the win.

"You want him as a husband?" He asked like it was the most impossible thing someone could say.

"Something like that..." It was different speaking about fictional characters you like with your friends than with said character's BROTHER. I could say the most unhinged things with my best friend but I had to restrain myself in front of him.

Aemond was smart, he quickly grasped the whole concept of the modern era. And he was well read too. So when he told me he was bored, an idea came to me.

"Here," I took his hand and led him to the corner of my room where I kept all my books. The large shelf made him smile. He probably had way bigger library at his home, but this'll do for now.

I was happy that he liked my idea. "Can I?" He gestured towards my books. I nodded, as exited as he was.

"Why are they so colorful?" He frowned. I wasn't sure if there were many romance novels in Westeros. Or fantasy. What even was fantasy to them? Guns and women's rights, probably.

"I have classics too. They aren't so colorful," I picked a couple from the bottom of my shelf. "They could help you understand our world better."

I handed them to Aemond, his gaze hypnotized. He probably read most of the books in Westeros, that they bored him. This was something new, something he hadn't seen before.

"Who is Dorian Gray?" I heard him ask. My smile grew wider.

"He sold his soul to the devil for eternal beauty. But his sins began to show on his portrait, representing his cursed soul."

"I think my mother would've liked this."

"Maybe, but look at this one." I showed him my favorite. Frankenstein. "I think you should just read it and tell me what do you think."

After a couple of hours, a whole season of The Walking Dead, and five diet cokes, he finished reading my favorite book. Then the discussion began.

"So what you are saying is that the Creature's actions are justified because Frankenstein is the real monster?"

"Yes. Exactly. Frankenstein made something—Someone and refused to take responsibility. The Creature wouldn't have done all of that if Victor showed him some love. Like a parent. Murder is obviously wrong, but Frankenstein abandoned the Creature. And it yearned for love. Things would've turned out differently if Frankenstein had been there for his creation."

"I still don't agree. Just because our parents don't give us love doesn't mean we get the right to go around and murder people."

I almost wanted to laugh. "You're the one to talk."

He turned his head, almost breaking his neck, "Excuse me?"

"Oh don't play all nice right now. You killed Luke! And for what?" I said, accusingly.

"It was an accident!"

I think we argued until 4am. We couldn't sleep even then, so I switched genres. It was a bad idea.

"Give me that! You're certainly not reading Penelope Douglas!" I chased him around the kitchen, trying to snatch the book from him. And I mean Punk 57. Not trying to be rude, but reading that made me lose brain cells. And I didn't want to explain to Aemond what a vibrator was.

"You'll become stupid! Stop reading that! Do you wanna be stupid??" I said, running around the kitchen table, trying to get to him. He was reading it while avoiding me.

"Are you calling yourself stupid?" He said with a chuckle.

I groaned in frustration. He was so annoying.

He, fortunately, dropped the book after it's third chapter, saying he didn't get the whole point of high school. I agreed with him.

So I gave him Edgar Allan Poe's collection of short stories while making noodles and cookies. The sun started to rise.

"My classmate said he looks like Hitler."

"Who's Hitler? Another person from your modern era I should admire?"

"Please forget I said anything." I reminded myself to shut up.

It was funny how Poe confused him.

"What is this?" He said after reading The Tell-tale Heart. "Why did he hear the heart beat under—"

"His own guilt made him insane," I said, frowning while trying the cookie dough. It was too sweet, I loved it.

I could see him concentrate while reading The Black Cat and completely change his face when he switched to Poe's poetry. I knew he would love it.

"I think Alone is my favourite so far."

"Mine too. But everything he wrote just resonates with me, you know?"

"Even the Premature burial?"

"Especially the Premature burial." He gave me a once over after my comment and I went to get the food.

Aemond hated noodles, that was certain. He almost spat them out, claiming to be too spicy. I rolled my eyes at him. They weren't even homemade.

I gave him one cookie and I could see that he liked it, but he found another way he could annoy me.

"How do you keep all of your teeth while eating this? The sugar is going to poison me."

"It's not, trust me." I chewed my cookie. "I think you should start reading Tolstoy next and then switch to Kafka."

[crazychaoticizzy]

Pretty Portraits

What happens when you, Kugisaki and Itadori find that Fushiguro left his journal behind?

WARNINGS: none. just pure fluff. maybe a tiny bit of angst if you squint really hard.

Word Count: 4.6k

Masterlist

You were just about to leave the booth, only to pause at the sight of a black notebook waiting on the seat. You recognized it at Fushiguro's journal, and when you flipped the cover to see the name written on the inside your suspicions were proved to be correct.

"Hey, Fushiguro forgot his notebook," you said to Itadori and Kugisaki. They both looked away from whatever they were doing, eyeing the notebook in your hands. "Do you guys remember where he said he was going?"

"Uhh, I don't think he actually said where he was going," Itadori said. "If we don't run into him in the school hallways, then we can just leave it in his room."

"Or." Kugisaki drew out the word, sidling up next to you. "We could take a little look inside. See what kind of a person Fushiguro really is."

"Isn't that an invasion of privacy?" Itadori asked.

"Not if he doesn't know."

"I don't think that's how that works," you pointed out.

"Come on, it'd just be a little peek. Besides, he's most likely a really boring person. He probably takes notes on techniques and how he can improve himself. If anything, this will be a learning experience for us if we decide to look through it.”

Kugisaki was right, there was nothing embarrassing in there. You know because you asked one day when he seemed especially invested in his journal. He showed you pages full of notes for different classes and a couple small doodles in the corner. Despite knowing this, you still didn’t want to look through it because you didn’t want to invade his personal belongings.

You shook your head, holding it out to Itadori. “No, I still don’t want to look through it.”

Kugisaki shrugged, taking it from Itadori’s hand and sitting back down in the booth the three of you had just left. She opened it, flipping past the first page, the one with Fushiguro’s name on it. “Okay. Then I’ll look through it and you two can just so happen to look through my shoulder.”

Damn loopholes, you thought. In all honesty, you were curious about what Fushiguro had added since you last saw the contents of the journal.

Despite your better judgement, you sat down beside Kugisaki.

It was just as you had expected, notes about Fushiguro’s classes for a good chunk of the journal. When Kugisaki got tired of staring at Fushiguro’s neat handwriting, she let out a breath and closed it, opening it again to a random page.

More writing, but this page was accompanied by a portrait that looked eerily familiar. The name of the person drawn was on the top of your tongue when Itadori suddenly said something.

”Hey, that kinda looks like Y/n, don’t you think?”

You were way off. You were going to say it looked like a fictional character you had told Fushiguro about a while ago.

”Oh my gosh, this is a letter!” Kugisaki exclaimed. “Hold on it starts in the middle of it on this page.”

Kugisaki flipped back a couple pages, finding that the letter was longer than anticipated. She found the beginning, a grand three pages front and back away from the drawing, and started quietly reading.

”’Y/n, I doubt I’ll ever give this to you or say anything about this, but just know that this is for you.’ Holy shit is this a love letter?”

”Wow.” Itadori stared at the page in awe. “I didn’t think he’d actually write it.” He took the book from Kugisaki’s grasp, flipping through a couple pages.

”You knew about this and didn’t think to tell me?” Kugisaki yelled. She was shushed by a nearby waiter, and she quieted down.

”Fushiguro asked me not to tell anyone, so I didn’t.” Itadori shrugged. “He told me forever ago about this, said he wanted to give it to you when he finished it, but I guess he never did because look at the date.”

He pointed to the corner of the page, where the written date was almost exactly four months ago.

”Damn,” Kugisaki said. “He must have been super inspired about something to write this. Listen, he quoted a couple books. ‘You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.’ God damn, he really used that Pride and Prejudice quote.”

Itadori continued flipping through the pages, now laying the notebook flat on the table for the three of them to see it.

there were multiple pages filled with drawings of you. The pages filled with notes from class were almost completely gone, being replaced by your portraits and short writings accompanied by this reminded me of them to the side.

You stared as they continued flipping through the pages, watching as the drawings improved. The last one was of your side profile, laughing as you held a straw to your lips, about to drink from it. You realized it was from today, and softly ran your fingers over the drawing.

So that’s what he was doing this whole time.

Since that was the last page with anything on it, Itadori closed it and slid it across the table back to you. You didn’t move to touch it, only continued to stare at it.

”Y/n? You okay there?”

You nodded in the general direction of Itadori, moving your hand to grab the black journal. “Yeah. Uh, I’ll take this back to Fushiguro, if you don’t mind. I know you two are busy later anyways.”

Neither of them objected. You assumed this was a situation where they both knew something you didn’t and were most likely over the moon that Fushiguro was finally going somewhere.

You may not be the smartest, but you could definitely piece things together when you’re given enough. You were still unsure, though, so you didn’t want to confront him about it right away.

—

Your knuckles rapped against the wood of Fushiguro’s door, and you gently tapped your fingers against the surface of the black notebook in your hands as you waited for him to answer.

The noise of the door unlocking and opening threw you off guard. It was such a stark contrast to the quiet hallway, and your thoughts had drifted elsewhere completely.

You noticed that Fushiguro stood a little bit straighter when he saw it was you. You briefly wondered if he always did that, or if he only did it for you.

You pushed the thought from your mind not wanting to think about it now.

You took in what he was wearing—gray sweatpants and a black sweater. He looked like he was about to go to bed. It was still early, but you couldn’t blame him. Despite them being your best friends, hanging out with Kugisaki and Itadori could get tiring.

”Uhm, you left this at the booth earlier,” you awkwardly said, holding out the journal to him. “I wanted to bring it back.”

He gently took it from your grasp. “Thanks.”

He didn’t close the door. Instead, he tossed the book to his bed and stepped further outside his room, leaning against the doorframe.

”Where else did you guys go? After I left, I mean,” he said.

”Oh, we just kind of walked around Tokyo for a bit,” you replied. You hid your hands behind your back, playing with your fingers. “We went into a bookstore but didn’t buy anything. We kind of lost Kugisaki and Itadori was summoned by Gojo.”

Fushiguro nodded thoughtfully, putting his hands in his pockets.

You wanted to ask about the drawings in the journal before he continued talking, but you weren’t sure how to bring it up without making it blatantly obvious that you had gone through it. You decided to take a shot, letting your inner self decide what you said.

”Uhm, it fell and I saw some of your drawings,” you said. “Your notebook, I mean. They were really good. I didn’t know you liked doing that.”

Fushiguro’s eyes widened for a brief moment before he returned to his usual stoic expression. His face changed so fast you almost didn’t notice it, but the way he brought his hand up to scratch the side of his neck—one of his nervous ticks you had noticed—told you everything.

”Yeah, I picked it up a few months ago,” he replied. “I do it sometimes at the end of the day to wind down. It helps me relax.”

You nodded. You weren’t sure how to continue the conversation, but you still wanted to know if your suspicion about why he drew you so much was correct.

”Oh, that’s cool. Itadori saw the drawing and said it looked like me,” you decided to say.

”Did he now?” You had caught him with his pants down. He reached up to gently scratch his neck again. “Well, it might have been you. I draw you sometimes for practice. You have a pretty face for that.”

He paused at his own words, crossing his legs at the ankles. He hoped you didn’t notice his wording.

You did. And this time you were the one caught off guard.

”Thank you,” you said. “If that was a compliment. Thanks for saying I have a pretty face.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

Awkward silence ensued again. You weren’t sure how much longer you could beat around the bush for. This same routine had randomly started one day and continued almost daily for months. It was annoying, and you wanted it to end.

So you decided to take a leap of faith.

“Uhm, I actually brought that up because I think I know something, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

An indirect leap of faith, but a leap of faith nonetheless.

Fushiguro was listening to you, you could tell because he was looking directly at you, into your eyes. It made you nervous, and you almost brushed off what you were about to say and walked away.

“So, I wanted to tell you my feelings first. And then you could decide how you feel about them. If you want to, that is.”

“Yeah, of course. Do you wanna come inside?” He motioned towards his room. “To get more comfortable, if you want.”

You nodded, following him in. “Sure.”

He gently closed the door behind you, leaving it open a crack before sitting on the bed with you. It was silent for a few moments before he motioned for you to speak.

You took a breath. “So, I’ve been debating telling you this for a while, I just haven’t. But with Kugisaki and Itadori earlier I decided that I should.” You paused for a moment, putting together the next sentence in your head before you said it. “I kind of like you. Like a lot.” You paused again, deciding that was all you needed to say and shrugging with your hands.

You seemed a lot cooler with this confession that you though you would be. You thought you would be a stuttering mess, trying to beat around the bush so much you wouldn’t even know what you were saying. But you didn’t, instead you feigned outward calmness, but you could feel your heart pounding violently against your chest.

Fushiguro’s eyebrows raised as he took in the information.

The action worried you, because he didn’t move for a few moments after that. You sat, waiting for his response. You almost apologized and excused yourself from his room, meaning to hide in your dorm for a couple days until you would be able to face him again, before he gave you a small smile. He stood up, sauntering over to his dresser and opening the top drawer.

When he closed it and turned around, he revealed a square of white paper and held it out to you. You took it, realizing it was an envelope.

“Open it.”

You did as Fushiguro said while he moved across the room, this time opening the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling out a stack of papers along with a small notebook.

You took the paper out of the envelope as he continued what he was doing, opening the folded sheet.

It was a letter. Addressed to you.

You started reading. It had a similar structure as the one you read from his journal earlier, using some of the same wordings and comparisons.

Fushiguro assumed his previous spot on the bed next to you, setting the papers and notebook down beside him. He watched intently as you read the letter, not saying a word as he took in your reaction to his written words.

You were speechless reading it. You didn’t know he could be so wordy and poetic. He never said much. You assumed that he was just a quiet person that didn’t have much to say. Someone that liked observing more than contributing to conversations.

Your assumptions were mostly correct. Except you didn’t realize he noticed or had this much to say. It shocked you, and you weren’t sure what kind of response would match his words.

You were genuinely shocked that he shared the same feelings. You assumed that the dry conversations between the two of you had started because he found out about you liking him. You thought he found that awkward.

But this letter, an explanation for all those awkward moments between the two of you.

Apparently he thought the same thing you did.

Your eyes quickly drifted over the words when you finished. You truly didn’t know what to say, and figured at least trying to form a response in your head would be best.

Your mind drew a blank on what to say. But you had to say something. You would see Fushiguro getting anxious for your response.

When you looked up to meet Fushiguro’s gaze, he was staring at you. You smiled at him, deciding to speak truthfully about what was going through your head.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered. “This is the most beautiful writing I’ve ever read. Do you really mean everything?”

“Every single word,” he responded. He handed you a piece of notebook paper from the top of the pile he had brought over. “This was my first drawing of you. I just did it without thought one day and continued. You’re really the only thing I draw.”

You gently took the paper from his grasp, looking it over, admiring the graphite lines, imagining the way his eyes might have followed his pencil, focused.

“Are all of these . . .” You motioned towards the stack of papers beside you, and Fushiguro nodded before you finished your question. “Wow . . .”

You were in awe, returning your gaze to the piece of notebook paper before looking at a couple more.

Fushiguro gently took the paper you held from your hand, putting it aside and taking both of your hands in his. He reached for your jaw, softly redirecting the way your head was turned so you looked directly into his eyes.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Y/n. I want to be more than friends.” There was a small amount of fear in his eyes. He was terrified you would reject him, despite already knowing how you felt.

Your eyes were wide, your mouth slightly agape. He hadn’t even said anything monumentally heart-wrenching, but just the sound of his voice could leave you speechless.

“Do you really want that?” You quietly asked.

He nodded with complete confidence in his answer. “I do.”

You couldn’t help the smile that overcame your features as you gently squeezed his hand. “Okay. I want that too.”

He didn’t kiss you, and you didn’t kiss him. Not yet. It wasn’t the right moment, and he wanted it to be perfect. So he didn’t kiss you, even though he desperately wanted to. Wanted nothing more than to feel your lips against his, to run his hands through your hair.

Not yet, he told himself. He could wait just a little bit longer.

—

You and Fushiguro (you’re proud to call him Megumi now, even though you still get flustered when you say his name) had been dating for weeks. By now, the news of your relationship had spread to the other first years, who spent a short amount of time exchanging money before congratulating and bombarding the two of you with questions.

Tonight was the first night the two of you had alone since you had gotten together. Itadori and Kugisaki were out, and Gojo was currently over seas for a mission. You and your boyfriend spent the night in the middle of the training field on a couple blankets, snuggling as you stargazed. Though, you weren’t doing much stargazing, instead talking while he showed you his most recent portrait of you.

You were asleep in the drawing, your arm resting under your head as you gripped the blanket in your hands. You were embarrassed he had caught such a moment. He interlocked his pinky with yours, moving your hands from your face as he told you it was cute.

He left a soft kiss on your knuckle, pulling you to sit up with him as he grabbed his journal.

“Can you look at the sky for me?” he asked.

You obliged with a smile on your face, looking at the sky as you began counting stars.

Fushiguro had recently become more open when drawing you. He had asked you to pose for him more, occasionally gently nudging you into the exact position he wanted. He even sometimes did so in front of Itadori and Kugisaki without shame.

You listened as his pencil rubbed against the paper, enjoying the sound. You snuck a glance at him, turning your head to watch as his eyes followed his pencil along the page. Eventually he looked up at you, smiling before he put his hand under your chin, redirecting your gaze.

You apologized with a light chuckle. He continued his drawing, the sounds of his pencil returning. “You’re just so pretty when you draw,” you said.

You heard his pencil suddenly stop. You turned to look at him to find that he was already staring intently at you.

You peeked at the drawing in his notebook, noticing the vague background. “Oh, are you adding a background to this one?”

He moved his gaze to his lap. “Yeah, I like drawing you at night. The sky reminds me of you.”

“How so?”

He took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. “Well, I realized that you weren’t the sun in my sky.” You raised your eyebrows at him. “I say that because I’ve only ever squinted angrily at the sun. I don’t do that with you. No, I stare at you in wonder and look away when you meet my eyes. I smile when I see you and watch your every action in awe of what you do. I want you to always be present. To be there to help me calm down because just seeing you lifts weight off my shoulders when I’m stressed. Before I met you it was the night sky that did that. It was the night sky that I wished would stay, that I wanted to see to help calm me down.”

Megumi Fushiguro was the only person in the world that could make you speechless, not knowing how to react. And he didn’t even know he was the only person that held this power.

You could feel your eyes burning with tears. He’s constantly moving the bar higher, constantly speaking his mind around you in the most beautiful, poetic way imaginable, constantly taking you by surprise with his words.

You feel bad for never having anything to say in response to him, but he understands how you feel. You usually find yourself replying to him with a tight hug, squeezing him as though if you let go he would disappear.

But tonight, you truly didn’t know what to do.

Watching as your hand moves to cover your mouth, your hand lightly squeezing his own, something in his brain decides that now is the right time. Now is the best time.

He takes a leap, moving his hand to cup your jaw as he gazes into your eyes. His eyes briefly flicker to your lips before he’s slowly leaning in, giving you a chance to reject him if you want.

You don’t reject him. You let him kiss you, freezing as his soft lips met yours. Your eyes were closed, but you didn’t know what to do.

He pulled away, a faint smile painting his lips. “You have to kiss me back, dummy.”

“Sorry,” you apologized. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

He hummed, leaning forward ever so slightly, his lips ghosting yours. “It’s okay.” He kisses you again. This time you kiss back, moving your hand to grip his bicep as if to pull him closer to you.

When you momentarily break the kiss he chases your lips, making you chuckle into the kiss.

“Megumi,” you whispered. He hummed, trying to reach your lips again, making you smile brightly. “Gumi, give me a second.”

He stopped, still holding your hand. “What happened?” Worry was laced in his voice, scared he had done something wrong.

“Nothing, just give me a second.”

You grabbed the notebook from his lap, moving the ribbon to mark the page he was drawing on, closing it and moving it to the side as you shifted closer to him, practically sitting in his lap. He tentatively placed his hands on your waist as you kissed him again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to try and bring him even closer.

When the kiss broke, this time neither of you moving to kiss the other again, your foreheads rested together as you simply basked in each other’s presence.

He felt the overwhelming urge to say it, something he had been thinking about for a long time. He’s not sure what took possession of him, but the words, “I love you,” were slipping out of his mouth before he could even process it.

Your eyes snapped open, and you pulled away from him just a little bit. He did as well, bringing a hand to cover his face as he began apologizing profusely, saying that he didn’t mean to say that.

The smile that was slowly growing on your face fell. You knew that sometimes his thoughts got jumbled together, making it somewhat difficult to voice them. This had to be one of those situations, but hearing him say he didn’t mean it made your heart crack.

He seemed to realize his words, because he cut himself off, going into another tangent.

“No, that’s not what I mean. I do mean that, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he admitted. “I don’t want to force you to jump into things too early. If you don’t feel the same way then don’t say it back. Tell me and I won’t say it again until you want me to, I promise.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings. All he wanted was to make sure you were comfortable with the relationship, but in the process he disregards his own feelings. It hurt you. You wanted him to be open, to allow himself to be vulnerable around you, even if it was just for a few minutes.

“Megumi, I want you to share your thoughts with me. It doesn’t matter what it is, if you want to tell me something then tell me. You won’t make me uncomfortable, I promise.” You leaned forward again, capturing him between your arms and squeezing him. “Because I love you, too. I have for a while. I want you to be comfortable with me. I want to be someone you can talk to, your rock. Please share things with me.”

You felt him wrap his arms around you, squeezing you with just as much force as you were. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath. He loved the way you smelled—lavender, curtesy of the products Kugisaki had bought you for your birthday.

“I know your trying,” you said into his shoulder, “and I love that you’re letting your walls down for me. I’ll wait for you to open up for me, I don’t care how long it takes. I want to know everything about you, I want to love everything about you. Take as long as you need, I’ll still be here. I promise.”

The two of you stayed in your embrace. You felt your heart pounding in your ears as you awaited his reply, hoping you didn’t take it too far.

He gently kissed your collarbone, knocking both of you over so you laid on the blanket. You quietly yelped upon impact, not expecting the action.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. You smiled, readjusting your position so you faced him. You wrapped your arms around him, running your hands through his black hair.

“You smell so good,” he said suddenly, making you laugh. “I love the way you smell.”

You thanked him, feeling your eyes droop. You snapped them open, hoping to stay awake just a little longer, hoping you would be able to spend just a few more seconds with Fushiguro in this moment.

Alas, you fell asleep, but not before you quietly said, “I love you, Megumi,” into his hair.

He smiled at your words, repeating them before he realized you were already fast asleep. He grabbed a blanket from nearby, throwing it over the two of you as he admired your sleeping face before he dozed off as well.

—

You awoke the next morning to a blinding light being shone in your face, followed by the shutter of a camera. You groaned, opening your eyes and yawning before seeing what was happening.

It was no surprise when you saw Gojo, accompanied by Kugisaki and Itadori, standing above you and your still sleeping boyfriend.

“Oops, I forgot to turn off flash,” Gojo said.

You rolled your eyes before closing them again, resuming your previous sleeping position and closing your eyes. “Leave us alone,” you muttered.

You felt Fushiguro stir next to you, assuming he was awake when he let out an exasperated breath.

“See, we would leave you alone. However the second years need to train and you two love bugs are lying in the middle of the field.”

You groaned, forcing yourself to sit up along with Fushiguro. You shooed the other three away as you started picking up your things with your boyfriend, stacking the blankets and taking them from Fushiguro’s grasp as you stood. He followed suit, and the two of you ignored your classmates and teacher as you walked towards the dorms.

“We don’t have anything to do today, right?” you asked.

Fushiguro nodded. “It’s just a day off.”

You hummed in acknowledgment. “I think I’m just gonna go back to sleep, then.”

Fushiguro took hold of one of your hands, the one that wasn’t carrying the blankets. “Do you mind if I join you?”

You let out a fake, exaggerated gasp. “A boy in my dorm? How scandalous, don’t you think?” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Of course you can. I’d love it if you did.”

He smiled at you, continuing the walk to your dorm. Upon entering, you plopped the blankets down in a random area o the floor, continuing to drag Fushiguro onto the bed and under your covers.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” you said as the two of you readjusted yourselves. “I’m normally the only one that comes in here.”

“It’s fine,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head. “Just go to sleep.”

You nodded against his shoulder. “I love you.”

He smiled into your hair. “I love you, too.”

And the two of you would continue saying that. At every chance you got. You would never allow the other to forget that fact for as long as you lived.

This was a late birthday present for one of my friends. Anyways as i was writing I was seriously debating turning the fic in a different direction and going down an angst route. I don’t know I might add a part two to this or something because I do have ideas.

Idk what do y’all think?

Also this was copy and pasted from my notes app so I apologize if it doesn’t look right 💀

[angelasscribbles]

Friendship

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Constantine x Eleanor, Jackson x Bianca, but really it's about the beginning of Liam and Drake's friendship.

Rating: G

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: 1,894

A/N: I had written the first couple of paragraphs over a year ago then put it away with no real idea where it was going. Then @kingliamappreciationweek happened and I decided to dust this off and finish it for childhood/family and friendships/relationships. I'm late, but here it is.

My other stuff: Master List.

Liam was a serious child. Even as a toddler, people would remark about his solemn expression. It wasn’t that he never smiled, he did. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy, he was. There had just always been an aura of thoughtfulness surrounding him. The portrait his mother had commissioned of him for his second birthday showed a somber child. He sat in an elaborate Baroque throne chair with dark red crushed velvet upholstery and a gold leaf finish. He was dressed in a toddler suit with short pants, showing his legs, still chubby with baby fat, his ebony hair brushed back from his face as he gazed solemnly out at the photographer.

Despite that, he was a friendly child who learned by the age of four that being charming got him whatever he wanted from the nannies and the kitchen staff.

A heartfelt, “Please?” netted him cookies, cakes, candies, and plenty of baklava. No one could withstand the cuteness of the little prince. Especially his mother.

His first smiles, at three months old, were for Eleanor. As he grew into a toddler and preschooler, she remained his favorite person, that somber expression turning into a wide faced grin at the sound of her voice or the sight of her face.

She read to him, she played with him, she took him on walks in the garden. She was the antidote to his father’s seriousness.

By the age of six, Liam had learned that his father’s affections were less frequent and harder earned. The bulk of Constantine’s attention went to Liam’s older brother, because Leo was going to be king, and Liam was not. He was only the spare.

Liam never resented Leo for it. He loved him. Leo was his second favorite person in the world, after Eleanor. He started toddling along behind him as soon as he could walk. Leo was older, cooler, and knew all the best games.

Leo was also a frequent rule breaker, while Liam was not. On this particular day, Leo and Olivia had decided to sneak away from the nannies and play in the woods behind the palace.

Leo had read to him until he bored of it. Pushing the stack of books away he exclaimed, “I can’t stand being inside for another moment! Let’s go out to play!”

“Finally!” Olivia cast the copy of Little Women she’d been reading to the side as she jumped up from the oversized beanbag in the corner of the library.

“I want to come too!” Liam scrambled quickly to his feet. He had learned the hard way that if he didn’t keep up with the older kids, he’d be left behind.

 “Sure,” Leo shrugged, “but you have to be quiet until we get past the hedge maze.”

“Past the hedge maze?” Liam asked in alarm, “We aren’t supposed to go past the hedge maze! Father said-“

“Father doesn’t have to know, does he?”

“Maybe you should stay here, Liam,” Olivia said sagely, “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Liam thought for a moment, taking in Leo’s amusement and Olivia’s smug sureness that he would stay behind. He drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, “No. I’ll go!”

“Are you sure, Li?” Leo asked with a laugh, “Last time you got caught breaking the rules, you cried.”

Liam flushed with embarrassment. Father had been so angry. He didn’t like to make anyone angry, “I didn’t mean to break the vase.”

“Hey,” the amusement disappeared from Leo’s face, replaced with sympathy, “It’s okay! It wasn’t even your fault, I’m the one that talked you into playing football in the great room!”

“It’s okay, Liam,” Olivia placed a hand on his shoulder as she leaned down, “but I heard there’s fresh baklava in the kitchen. You should go get some!”

“Yeah…okay….” He agreed half-heartedly.

He picked up an illustrated copy of Where the Wild Things Are with a sigh as he watched Leo and Olivia sneak giggling down the hallway toward the garden doors.

Thirty minutes later he was perched on a stool at one of the marble counters in the place kitchen, shoving baklava into his mouth as he turned the pages of his book when he heard unfamiliar voices.

He turned away from his book in interest as the head of the King’s Guard entered the room with a man and a woman Liam had never seen before. Trailing behind the adults were two children.

Liam’s eyes widened as he took in the new arrivals. A little girl with dark curls and wide eyes took in everything around her in wonder. A boy that looked to be about the same age as himself kept his gaze trained on the floor indifferently, a shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes; hands stuffed into his pockets.

Liam twisted back and forth on the stool in excitement, nearly tumbling out of it as he did.

“Careful there young master!” The pastry chef caught him before he could fall.

“Sorry!” Liam exclaimed as he twisted out of her grasp, his head spinning to keep track of the children, “Who are they? I want to go say hi! Can I?”

“Certainly!” She laughed as she released him and watched as he sprinted across the travertine tile.

The group had moved into the formal dining room when Liam caught up with them, skidding around a corner and colliding directly with the head of the King’s Guard. “Ooof! Sorry!”

“It’s alright,” Captain Sullivan helped him to his feet, “What’s the big hurry?”

“I wanted to meet the kids!” Liam ducked his head, suddenly a little shy, “Who are they? What are they doing here?”

“Okay, okay, slow down!” The captain laughed, “I’ll introduce you! Your Highness, this is the newest member of the guard, Jackson Walker, his wife Bianca and their children, Drake and Savannah. Everyone, this is Prince Liam.”

Liam sucked in a breath of surprise; he knew that some members of the guard lived at the palace. He felt like he was about to explode with excitement. Please let them live here, he prayed furiously. Out loud he said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And we’re very pleased to meet you,” Jackson shook his hand.

The girl shoved her way in front of her parents, a look of awe on her face, “Are you an honest to God, real life prince?”

“I am.” Liam grinned at her.

“It’s nice to meet you Liam,” Bianca told him before pushing the boy forward, “Isn’t it Drake? Can you say hi to the prince?”

Drake shuffled forward awkwardly, lifted his eyes to Liam’s face for a moment then dropped them as he mumbled, “Hi.”

“Can they come play with me?” Liam directed the question to the adults, lacing the fingers of both hands through each other as he pleaded, “Pleeeeease?”

“Oh, yes!” Savannah squealed, clapping her hands as she jumped up and down, adding her pleas to his, “Can we please?”

“I think that would be okay,” Jackson replied, “What you think, son? Would you like to go play with Liam?”

The sullen faced little boy lifted his copper and gold flecked eyes again and found Liam’s face. Drake’s determination to hate everything about this new place faltered a little as saw the genuine excitement bubbling over in the other child. “I guess that would be okay. What do you want to do?”

“Yes!” Liam jumped up into the air with joy, “We can play whatever you want! Hide and seek, or tag in the gardens, we have board games, video games, we could ride bicycles if we get the nannies to supervise us or we could play sword fighting-“

“You have swords?” Drake’s eyes widened with interest.

“Wooden ones but-“

“Can I dad?” Drake turned to Jackson hopefully.

“Yes, go on. We’ll come find you later.” Jackson squeezed Bianca’s hand as they watched their children scurry down the hall with the prince. Relief flooded his wife’s features, mirroring his own. Drake had been the child they had been most worried about adjusting to the move, but he seemed to be warming to the place already.

“What’s it like being a prince and living in a palace?” Savannah asked as she hurried to keep up with the older boys.

“Boring,” came the instant reply.

“Really?” Savannah sounded disappointed.

Drake laughed and Liam’s smile broadened at the sound as he elaborated, “The other kids in the palace are all older than me and no one ever wants to play.”

He was lonely.

“Drake comes up with all the best games,” Savannah told him.

“Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Drake agreed, “Where is this playroom you’re taking us to?”

“Fifth door on the left,” Liam pointed down a long hallway.

“Race you,” Drake grinned at him, “Winner gets to pick his sword first!”

“Okay-“ Liam started to agree but Drake was already sprinting down the hall. It only took a second for Liam to realize what was happening and tear off after him.

The three children tumbled through the playroom door panting and shrieking with laughter.

Drake collapsed onto the floor in purposeful exaggeration as he gasped, “I’m dying….but I won!”

“You cheated you mean!” Liam laughed as he dropped onto the ground next to him.

“It wasn’t cheating,” Drake corrected him, “It’s called gaining a tactical advantage!”

Liam was used to other children being awkward around him, letting him win games or actively trying to avoid playing with him, because of his status. The young prince was absolutely delighted by this new playmate’s utter lack of concern about his title.

Drake had been convinced that the princes would be stuffy, stuck up and boorish. He was thrilled to be proven wrong. He hadn’t wanted to move, yet again. He hadn’t wanted to give up his friends, yet again. His father had promised that this duty station was more permanent. He had been determined not to get attached to anything or anyone, but as they staged epic battles with the wooden swords, of which Liam had let him claim the best one, he found the heaviness that had sat in his chest since his parent’s had announced this move starting to loosen.

The boys quickly became inseparable.

In the weeks and months that followed, Liam became less somber, at least around Drake. He was still a serious, thoughtful child, but he had a quicker smile as Drake drew out his playful side. Drake became less guarded, at least around Liam. He was still a slow to warm up child, but he turned outward a little more as Liam gained his trust.

“Drake seems to be adjusting well,” Eleanor remarked as a maid set the tea service in front of her.

“He is!” Bianca agreed happily, “It’s been four months and he seems completely back to normal! I think it’s because of Liam, honestly.”

Eleanor nodded with a smile on her lips as she blew on her tea to cool it, “Liam is so happy to have a playmate of his own. He’s a different child now. I think this friendship is good for both of them.”

The two women turned to watch as the boys raced through the gardens, shouts and laughter filtering through the late morning air. It was a beautiful day, the children were happy and for the moment, all was well in Cordonia.

[siriusblack-the-third]

Boredom, Flustration and Love Confessions part 1

Hdjdjd my very first non- Percy Jackson fic djsgdkd i hope you like this little drabble

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

It starts like this:

Sirius is bored.

A bored Sirius, James knows, is never a good thing, because the boy will whine in James' ear and poke him in the ribs or bite his shoulder or tug on the fringe on the back of his head that's a bit longer than the rest of his hair (he had a munj ceremony when he was eight and he still keeps the evidence at sixteen) till James is sighing and giving in to Sirius' demands of chaos.

And honestly, James is way too fond of Sirius to be even remotely annoyed by his antics. Also doesn't hurt that he thrives off of chaos just as much as the other boy does.

However, there are times when Sirius doesn't bother to wheedle James into causing mischief, and simply goes off to do it on his own. On those days, he is dead set on giving James a heart attack.

Days like today.

It's a beautiful Saturday, really— the sky isn't too blue but it isn't cloudy either, and the breeze is just this side of cold. Perfect for Quidditch. James is sitting in his favourite seat in the Gryffindor common room, where he is far enough away from the fire that his skin isn't burning and he can stare at the Quidditch pitch through the open window. He and Remus are getting their homework over with between the exchange of sarcastic barbs, prank ideas and wicked smiles. Peter is off at detention and Sirius... come to think of it, where is Sirius?

The Fat Lady's portrait opens, but James doesn't look; he turns to Remus with the question of Sirius on the tip of his tongue, but is cut off by the werewolf lifting his head up and catching sight of someone.

"Oi, Pads," Remus hollers, "fuck've ya been?"

James whips his head up and grins widely at his best mate, who is sauntering up to them with a lazy smirk and an effortless elegance to his long limbs that James never figured out how to imitate. His grey eyes harbour that perpetual devilish gleam that is unique to Sirius, and James' gaze catches on the few stray waves of pitch black hair that are slipping out of his bun. Sirius walks close enough to get a ray of sunshine across his face, and silver glitters at his ears.

See, here's the thing: Sirius has piercings. A fuckton of piercings, ranging from the generic lobe piercings to the playful helix to the risque belly button to the roguish eyebrow to a downright sinful industrial. In total, he has nine piercings, compared to James' simple lobe piercings that his parents got done when he was a baby. Sirius also has a huge collection of earrings and ear cuffs, and he is never seen without at least four accessories in. Today, he's wearing all of them.

James resolutely keeps his eyes away from that attention-grabbing jewellery.

"Cheers, Padfoot," he chirps, and Sirius chuckles as he plops down next to him, lifting a hand to ruffle James' hair. The younger boy squawks and swats at his hand, making Sirius and Remus snicker.

"Alright Moons, Jamie?" he nods at the both of them, leaning back and spreading his legs so that his left one is thrown across James lap. The black ripped denim jeans stretch obscenely across his thick thighs, but James keeps his smile on his face.

"Just the Arithmancy essay," he answers, but keeps his quill down and drops his head onto Sirius' shoulders. "The one about the compression of space-time in Apparition. Where have you been?"

"Oh y'know," Sirius shrugs, and James shifts back to follow the line of his broad, leather-clad shoulders before he catches himself and looks away, heat crawling up his cheeks. "Getting a piercing."

Oh, no.

James notices Remus perk up out of the corner of his eye (the lad has his own impressive collection of piercings) but he is more invested in scanning Sirius' ears for the new addition. A second later, he frowns; all the piercings are old ones.

"Where is it?" he asks, curious. (The poor boy forgets– curiosity killed the cat.)

Sirius' grey eyes flicker with mischief, and James is given barely a second to register the foreboding feeling that suddenly fills his guts before his best friend is sticking out his tongue, a sly tilt to his lips. A flash of silver hits James' eyes.

"Holy shit!" Remus crows, and Sirius laughs, but James' mouth has gone dry. He stares at that tongue, at the sneak peeks of the metal ball he gets when Sirius starts a rapid-fire conversation with Remus, gaze drawn to the full, pale pink lips as they curl around words that James cannot be bothered to listen to.

Oh, fuck.

A tongue piercing.

Sirius has a tongue piercing.

Fuck.

[pitrsattabhaadmeinjaa]

who wants to read a descriptive writing assignment i got in 9th grade where i started a whole story

disclaimer: author was 14 yrs old at time of writing

I could taste the ash.

Standing in front of the great iron gate, one half open, one half seemingly...melted, I could see the last of the fire last night was finally starting to go out, and the sun was coming up. A few stray flames were all that were left of the ferocious explosion that turned Morgenstern Manor into the sight in front of me.

The long rays of dawn swept over the ruined roof, hitting the glass chandelier almost falling out of the front balcony. The reflected light made me lift my arm and cover my eyes, taking a step into the estate, boots crunching on fallen leaves. I spotted a lone crow sitting on top of the mansion, eyes boring into me. The soft rain ash had no effect on it, nor me. I’d like to imagine it was here for the same thing as me, to grieve for people who perished here. The surrounding trees were charred, bird corpses visible.

The explosion was faster than their wings.

Dragging my eyes away, I took a flower out of my bouquet, a cluster or black flowers lined with silver and blue. I grabbed the lot of them from the nursery on the way here. I put it down in front of one of the burned trees and could’ve sworn the crow nodded at me.

I started walking to the manor entrance, going around an almost pristine fountain displaying the goddess Nyx, thriving in the ash. Strangely, I could still smell the faint jasmine from it.

The tiny stones were crunching against my feet as I made my way to the door, opening it, hearing the creak it always made. I was thankful for the sound, deafening in the quiet around me. The door handle felt smooth under my palm, a contrast to the rough hardness of the hand-carved doors.

The floors inside were made of light shades of marble, and the high ceiling of the entryway used to boast the grand chandelier now blinding visitors outside. The table with the key bowl in front of me had a leg broken, blood dripping down its sides. There was a blob next to it on the floor that vaguely looked like a head with short hair, but for my sanity, and appetite, we’ll deem it a fur bag.

I continued into the first sitting room on the right side and felt more than saw all the flies. One was swatted away from my face and the second one thankfully realized I wasn’t its target. I was willing to bet I knew exactly what it was, but for points mentioned prior, I turned back out into the side hallway, even though I wanted to see what had become of my great aunt’s piano and portrait.

Horrific doesn’t even begin to describe the scene in front of me.

There was debris everywhere and blood was dripping down the walls like a tacky horror movie. Broken glasses, spilled wine and food starting to rot littered the floor. Bile was crawling its way up my throat and I was extremely thankful for my boots, because to get to the first floor so I could successfully ignore all this, I had to cross the hallway to stairway on the other side.

Fortunately for me, the corridor wasn’t too long. I crossed it in no time, passing the grumpy portraits of my family matriarchs. I’m sure I could figure out a curve equation from my great-grandmother’s frown.

Hopping over an abandoned purse, I reached the marble stairs, almost slipping on champagne. Heading upstairs, I reached the east wing, full of my family’s bedrooms. I went into my room, ready for a familiar sight.

What greeted me was so—different, not even the most shadowed corners of my memory could drudge it up.

It was no less than a haunted house.

One of the walls had apparently decided to run away, with one of poles of my four-poster bed it seemed. While they celebrated their freedom, I surveyed the damage.

The vanity mirror was cracked, showing six versions of me and my terror of a room in the background. The wooden doors to the walk-in closet/secret room I had discovered were hanging off their hinges, and the bedsheets were ripped. The only thing still standing was my rifle on the wall, a present from grandma.

The sorrow threatened to choke me, seeing my childhood home like this, but I clutched the bouquet and forced the lump in my throat down. The floor had splintered wood from the furniture, and I once again thanked the gods for my boots.

I clutched my bag to my body, stepped inside the closet, went into the portal that had opened while I was grieving for an old life in my room, and disappeared, never to be seen on Earth again.

I had a sister to raise from the dead.

AN: i dug this up from somewhere. damn this is all over the place. you can give advice/constructive crit. please.

[kuwdora]

oh cause i got writing about paintings on my mind... Here's another witcher snippet. Some silly Yennskier wrapped up in my old Jaskier and Geralt story.

The lamp from Jaskier’s desk accentuated the shadows that draped across his features, deepening the lines arcing from the corner of his eyes, making his white beard look sharper, more imposing. It gave him an almost stoic-like appearance. Geralt smiled when he realized what it reminded him of. He leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat.

“You look like your portrait at the university,” he said.

Jaskier looked up, his lips parting in surprise. “Geralt,” he breathed, the relief palpable. Geralt followed the warmth of his voice into the room and Jaskier’s face softened into delight. He watched as Jaskier’s lips slanted into the comfortable and theatrical annoyance when he registered what Geralt had said. 

“That artist did nothing to capture my essence,” Jaskier pointed out, his nose scrunched with indignity—immediately proving that point. That artist had depicted Jaskier as stodgy, unsmiling and too serious, completely at odds with who Jaskier was as a man, even as a professor. 

“Mmhm,” Geralt agreed soberly. Jaskier had spent the better part of a decade bemoaning that portrait that still hung on the wall of the distinguished faculty at the university. Geralt had soothed him with mild teasing and a strategic press of lips against his neck, though Yen always managed to be more clever and playful with her insults and the way she fed into Jaskier’s neuroses about it.

Geralt set down the plate of food containing a small hunk of cheese, half a fish pie and some dates, giving him a variety of options depending on how Jaskier’s stomach and disposition were that evening. He shifted the bottle of wine from the crook of his arm to his free hand. 

“They should have left the other portrait up. The one from ’72,” Jaskier added, lifting his chin and smoothing down his hair.

Geralt felt his lips twitch in amusement. “That was the portrait they retired and Yen liberated? I liked that one.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed and his face twisted in the pain-humor-frustration-delight that always appeared when Yen managed to pull the metaphorical rug from beneath him. Geralt didn’t know why he ever thought Yen would relent in the games she played with Jaskier as he got older. If anything, their games had become more unpredictable and sometimes out of hand.

That ’72 portrait of one Professor Julian Pankratz had made its way to a certain house in Novigrad and hidden behind a tapestry. Yen had spent months manipulating threads of conversation out of Jaskier and carefully dosed his drinks so she could magically capture his voice to piece together and create Sonnet No. 66: Declaration of a Feckless Bard. She had enchanted the portrait to recite the poem in the middle of a conversation they’d been having after dinner, much to Jaskier’s horrifying squawk. He went from confused and anguished to impressed by the creative and technical effort Yen had put into the endeavor.

“Yes,” Jaskier muttered. “I still have nightmares about that, you know. She could have given me a heart attack. What kind of birthday present would that have been?” Jaskier demanded.

“It wasn’t your birthday and she made it up to you. Your heart was more than fine,” Geralt said, chuckling.

“It was the day before my birthday and…she did make it up to me,” Jaskier said, his face softening with the dreamy smile of memory. Yen had become equally as innovative in the ways that she’d fuck Jaskier senseless over the years, much to Geralt’s amusement, confusion, and occasional concern. Geralt was just glad they hadn’t accidentally burnt down any neighboring buildings during one of their sexual games like they did at her home in Novigrad. Yen was still paying off the fines to the magistrate. The church had slapped an obscene interest rate on the fine’s repayment plan because there were those in the church who still bore a grudge against Jaskier for a song he’d sung about the Hierarch’s flatulence in prior decades.

Jaskier sighed and shook his head, his smile widening when he focused on Geralt and pushed himself back from the desk, motioning Geralt closer.

on ao3

[cassynite]

WIP Wednesday

Working on a bit of a longer piece right now to fill another prompt, but thought I'd share a bit of it. Have some Silaena Arendae 👀

And suddenly you are standing in a different wedding, watching over the union of the previous Count and Countess Arendae. Silaena had found you during the banquet after as well--far less surprising for her to be torn away from her new spouse, who was her father's age and an old friend of the Arendae main branch. They had smiled together, her holding his wizened hands, and she had held the crook of his elbow with easy familiarity, but no kiss was shared and when he drifted off to speak to the Dowager Count, you saw no grief or pain of abandonment.

You still remember that conversation, her voice clear in your head as a just-struck bell. She'd found you in the far corner, only a perfunctory guard acknowledging your presence as you took a few minutes of solitude away from the heavy showmanship that came with being the queen in public.

Silaena had noticed you, though. "Is her majesty hiding?" She sank onto the bench beside you with a smile. "I expected some kind of speech when I saw your honored presence among the guests. Perhaps a rousing call for recruitment to the effort to beat back those demons."

"I'm taking the day off," you chuckled. "Wedding attendants are hardly going to want to take up their swords."

"Quite right, of course, silly me. Your speech would obviously be a rousing call for donations to beat back those demons instead."

You had to cough to keep your laughter down; you didn't want to be too loud and attract unwanted attention. "I'll leave that for another day." You paused, and stared at her, the roses twined in her hair, the flash of her storm-gray eyes. She looked the perfect portrait of a happy bride, but you'd known her long enough to recognize that a portrait was sometimes just paint. "And what about you? Planning on dancing your shoes to ribbons? Or just bask in the joy of your nuptials and new title?"

"Oh bask, definitely. You can only dance for so long before you grow bored of it, and noble dances are rather stiff, aren't they? I'm going to spend the night letting everyone come to me and pretend they're happy that I got all the reward and none of the punishment for my errant behaviors, and plan out exactly what I'm going to do with my new home once I'm free of them all."

"You have a good plan, then?" Heaven's Edge, the seat of the Arendae family, was going to Silaena as the new matriarch of the clan. Her father had already openly moved into one of the Arendae estates at the capital, ostensibly to focus on Council duties.

"It will be wonderful," Silaena said. Her cheer was bright and far too even to be natural. "I will have the whole estate, and Nevis--Count Arendae--oh, you know him, what am I saying, Nevis--he says that he wants to start some kind of club to play chess and won't that be exciting, I plan to wipe the floor with them all. And, of course, my father is never going to step foot in Heaven's Edge again, and honestly I'll take a trip to the gulag for that."

"Silaena," you chided. She'd been far more circumspect since she returned home, so the blunt candor is almost surprising. Almost. You still remembered her during her first years out of university, a silver-glinting flit of bubbling laughter and sharp snubs, taking ten years off the life of every Royal Council member and twice as many for the two members she hated the most. When the previous Countess Arendae passed of heart palpitations, there were plenty of cruel remarks of how she had been driven into an early grave by his wayward, unfilial daughter. Plenty of them were made by the Dowager Count himself.

"What? No one's around. You know just as well as I do how he is, how they both were. Honestly, I'm only sorry Nerosyan is going to have to endure his presence year-round now. I already told him he's never meeting my child--any child I might have, and Nevis has agreed with me because he's a wonderful friend, and they can't say anything about it now." She sighs, leaning back. "I'm free as I'll ever be."

Your chest warmed, seeing the smile on her face grow genuine. As far as your extensive line of distant relatives go, she had been your favorite by far; cleverer than most of the court gave her credit for, bright in a way that went beyond the silver glow emanating from her pale blonde hair. When she laughed, the room laughed. Talking to her for more than a few minutes has always given you the sensation of putting down a heavy load after so long carrying it you no longer noticed its weight. You are glad she's back in court.

Perhaps it was that warmth that loosened your tongue. Or, the knowledge that Silaena Arendae would never, ever betray you, not after those long talks in the gardens you used to have, not after she had told you of her plans to run away, and you had kept it to yourself. "Why did you come back?" you ask. "You could have been actually free of all this." She gestures to the party.

"You sound envious," Silaena noted. "Would true freedom be something you want?"

"No," you said, instead of the truth, which was that you couldn't even imagine that future for yourself. "But you did. And you came back anyway. Why?"

"Oh, you know." She gave an artful shrug. "Can't run away from your name forever. I tried. But someone has to be Countess Arendae."

[stageplayhero]

Harper’s desk looks the same.

There shouldn’t be any reason why it would look different — they were meant to come back to work on Monday after the planned getaway on the weekend. In technicality, they had. The being that bore Harper’s face, however, was not them. The staff wasn’t any the wiser. The Mayor had been acting strangely, but they had experienced an emotional event over the weekend. It was to be expected. They were allowed privacy and quiet.

It allowed time for Harper Mark to take in the office.

Their desk is well kept chaos. It’s tidy, not to be unexpected of a Mayor, but it isn’t empty. Framed photos, a desk lamp, pads of paper, a pen cup filled with pencils and pens of varying functionality, and a few trinkets scattered here and there. A protective, good luck charm from Celine. Old notes from the Attorney, still stuck in a pile.

Photographs sit propped on one corner of their desk. A group photograph from an event the group had gone to. A military portrait from William’s time in service. Harper and the Attorney celebrating after they’d graduated.

Harper and Mark, posed together, smiling brightly.

The last photo has been tilted to the side. It’s nicer, as though sunlight and time have not had as much chance to fade the colours. It was put away into their desk drawer after they left the Manor. Yet … it is still there. They set it back up. They wanted to see him again.

The wound in their torso and their stilled heart are testament to that hope, aren’t they, Mark ?

A paper was crumpled up. A draft of a letter. It had been tossed into the wastebasket, but pulled out for fear of being found. From there, it went into a lower drawer of their desk. They planned to deal with it when they got back, to face the feelings once they’d faced the weekend.

Mark ; It’s good to hear from y I didn’t think you would ever Do you know how long I waited ? I’m sorry, if I’ve missed you. Your invitation was a surprise. I still lo I’ll see you then.

They’d never gotten past the first paragraph. Words were too difficult. It seems they’ll never have the chance to find those words. // @rabbitholewritten angst for you, you signed up for this /lh ( that was a lot longer than anticipated oh goodness )

Mark knows without a doubt that he's stepped into a time capsule. The office is frozen in a single moment, one from before the game was set in motion, one from before its owner died.

It's amazing how much can change in a weekend, isn't it, Harper?

When was the last time he visited their office? He had thought about it. He'd thought about calling them. It never let-

Well, now. There's no use dwelling on the past. Not when he has a whole new future ahead of him. Mark advances with a critical eye, and ignores any sense of wrongness that passes over him when he crosses the threshold.

There's familiarity here. A coziness, even, because it's their space, but he won't fall prey to that. Not again. Anyone watching him sort through the items on the desk could have easily taken his expression for grief, an understandable reaction to reminders of their friends. Their sister.

And maybe it is. No, of course it isn't.

It isn't it isn't it isn't it isn't it

Mark walks around to the other side of the desk, and twists the photograph towards him. It's a casual gesture done by someone who doesn't realize it will cause the dam to leak.

They kept it. They kept a photo of the two of them, and put it back up, right here, right on their desk. Why? Why bother? They had a falling out. They left. They had no reason to…

He was walking down the stairs, delivering his speech with all the grandness that was deserved for such an occasion, and the spotlight was on him. Then he looked at them for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The spotlight shifted to them, illuminated every argument, every accusation he'd thrown their way, and every sweet moment, too.

What he wouldn't have given to know what they were thinking.

His hand tightens around the photo, and the other pulls the lower drawer of their desk out. He's moving so quickly to get the item put away that he almost doesn't notice the note, crumpled and out of place.

The smiling images of Harper and Mark are allowed to sit back on the desk as he smooths out the creases of the paper.

Reading it. Reading it over again. Brushing a thumb along the words. Sitting back in their seat with a hand pressed to his mouth, and while the sob doesn't come, he can feel the ghost of it.

Liar. Liar! You're still lying to me!

It's too genuine for that. It's them, after all.

His hands are shaking. Hands that had written those words, that had been held, and kissed, and loved.

And his chest hurts. It must be the leftover aches from this body's wounds, because the alternative is too terrifying.

Something shadowy and poisonous slices through those emotions, leaving nothing but a dull pain. Not a moment too soon, either! He'd almost begun to regret.

Both the photograph and the note are placed in the drawer. They won't cause further harm, there. He studies his hand, turning it from palm to back. One thing is certain: he will have to make adjustments. Slowly, of course, as to not draw attention. Start with a haircut.

Anything to not be reminded of them.

[fumikomiyasaki]

⛈ Find my muse after some kind of trauma - Flynn /Hoshi

and/or

😱 Make a silly face at my muse - Bianca and Amais (only because that sounds wholesome .)

Non verbal rp memes

The crow was curled up in a corner of the city... his wings stained in blood... his expression one of despair and his thoughts... occupied by those same voices that tortured him in the past... that night he was just invited to a fancy party he went to... however a murder occured right in front of him and the expression of the woman... reminded him off something... although he was evacuated... he still was going crazy in his head from this... untill he found a familar touch on his shoulder.

“Flynn... what happened?”

It was Hoshi who found him and looked down on him, the inner voices lightly clearing... but not fully vanishing.

“That face... she looked just like the one I...”

Hoshi helped him up and let him lean on his shoulder....

“No matter what happened... you are safe... I will bring you back to your dorm...”

Although Flynns face seemed more deadly... in Hoshis vision it seemed more like he was crying... the feeling of regret, remorse, seeing the death her saw in the past again before him... for now he had to keep him calm and get him back to normal.

Just as usual Bianca got curious as she ran around the dormitory... her unstable phase just ended and she felt like exploring... just as she looked at one portrait however Amais showed one of his usual attempts to scare people and tried it with her... as he made a creepy face only for her to bat his tongue to her.

“Bleh...” She made a dumb face to compete making them both laugh...

“Seriously Weiss... you are no fun to scare.... will you at least help me with my prank again.”

“Oh oh that sounds fun... do I get to kick someone again?”

“No its more so making somone trip.”

She jumped up and bumped a fist in the air.

“Yay... I hope its Zen, its fun annoying that guy.”

She smiled and followed after where Amais vanished to so they could set up anything. Somewhat Amais was always the candidate for her to find when she got bored just to have some fun.

[seagullcharmer]

once again thinking abt long haired luke..... very interesting individual

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[dmwrites]

There were good and bad days in this world they called Double Life Land. Some days were full of violence and bloodshed and yelling. But most days were quiet, as soulmates nursed their wounds or built their houses or plotted or just took a day off. Those were the good days. This was one of them.

“No, no, I’m telling you, it’s so much simpler to do ten repeaters attached to the back of the chests.”

“Bdubs.” Impulse took the pillow from over his eyes to look at his soulmate lying next to him. “I adore you, I really do, but if you keep trying to tell me that that is a better way of making a storage system, I will kill us both.”

“Aww, you love me too much to do that.” Bdubs chuckled. Impulse smacked him with the pillow.

It was a good day to spend far too long in bed, which they did. The sun was shining under the cracks in the door, all warm and buttery looking. Bdubs sketched out a vague blueprint for the back of their house, and then drew a portrait of Impulse when he got bored of that. Impulse read out loud to him, a book called “The Adventures of the Soup Squad”, which was his favorite fictional book series.

After a long while, Bdubs got up. “Think I’m gonna go to the coco bar. You wanna come with?”

“Nah. I think I better get to sharpening our swords.” Impulse replied, getting out of bed too. “Have fun. Don’t die. You know the drill.”

Bdubs put on his clothes- he and Impulse had tried to fix his raggedy shirt, but neither one of them knew how to sew, so it ended up looking like a patchwork quilt that had a run-in with a shredder (Bdubs adored it)- and kissed Impulse on the cheek before heading out to the coco bar.

Ah, the coco bar. Imagine a common watering hole in a town full of hostile beings. That was this place. It served a number of drinks, mainly hot coco, as it was easy to make with the jungle and it’s coco beans nearby. It was kind of interesting, honestly, to sit down next to the person who almost killed you yesterday and order a beer for the both of you. It was a slapped-together establishment, made of mismatched planks of wood and barstools carved from hand whenever anyone felt down to carve something. An absolute delight of a place; Bdubs loved it.

It was only Grian inside at this hour, making himself some tea.

“Hey Gri.” Bdubs grinned and sat down on one of the stools. “You got any tea to spare?”

“You two lovebirds have a lie-in today?” Grian asked, sliding him a chipped mug half-filled with tea and raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t see you out and about. Scar was going on and on about what you two might be getting up to.”

“Yeah we were straight chillin’.” Bdubs answered. “Good day for it. How’s good ol’ Scarry boy anyhow? Are you living the dream?”

“Oh my god, I can’t even begin to explain what being tied to Scar- and this time I mean it on a soul level- is like!” Grian rolled his eyes.

“Oooo, do tell, do tell!” Bdubs patted the barstool next to him.

Grian must have really needed to vent, because he slumped onto the chair and started talking. “Oh my god. Bdubs, I- it’s been so much. I never knew how much damage that man takes on a day to day- no, a minute to minute basis. We have gotten down to half a heart at least four times in the past few days. And the cats! Oh my god the cats! I have seen that man fixate on builds for a week straight, but this is nothing compared to those damn cats. He’s not at home half the time because he’s in the ‘cat corner’ as he calls it, playing with them. He’d sleep in there if I’d let him. He doesn’t even care that we’re soulmates! He keeps telling me he doesn’t need no Grian and wanders off to study everyone else’s builds. Not to mention!” At this point, Grian had his forehead on the bar, and Bdubs was patting him on the back. “He will piss anyone off. Anyone! He can’t seem to keep his mouth shut, much less stop from meddling in everything we see.”

“Sounds like you.” Bdubs said. He had a huge grin on his face, which Grian, still face-down, couldn’t see.

“It does, and now I get why everyone was so willing to smack the pesky bird down from the sky with a baseball bat.”

Bdubs sighed in pure and unbridled satisfaction. “Well, sounds like you got what you deserved. Karma might take its sweet time, but it got there in the end. That’s what you get for last season! Ha!” Bdubs stood up and walked out of the bar. “Oh, and Gri?” Grian turned around in his seat, looking furiously at Bdubs. “Thanks for the tea.” He winked and walked off.

He went back to his and Impulse’s house. Impulse was outside, gardening.

“Welcome back! I missed you, and I’m so glad to see you didn’t take any damage! I’m so proud!” Impulse opened his arms and Bdubs came in for the hug.

“Oh I just got talking to Grian at the coco bar. He was going on and on about Scar and his Scar-isms, you know how they are.” Bdubs said, head on Impulse’s shoulder.

“Divorced and married and divorced and married. Annoying. Oh yeah, I know them well. Nothing like us though. We’re kind of flawless human beans.” Impulse chuckled at his own joke.

“Oh yes indeed. Everyone is totally jealous of us, I can just tell.” Bdubs pulled back and headed inside the house. Impulse followed, and they spent the rest of the evening chatting (arguing) about redstone and making their wheat into bread.

It was a good day.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Hands

Here goes a small gift to my friends...particularly

@laurfilijames because Fí

@fandomfaeryreads because Kí

@legolasbadass because Dís

and @myselfandfantasy because Ori

Artwork by @personeh (Go give them LOVE!!!)

Hands - a 1000 words of slight ouchie

Dís’ finger hovered carefully over the brittle, slightly irregular frame as if she was afraid that it would fall to dust if she actually laid her hands on it.

Years of cherished memories as well as dreams of an unsure future washed through her mind like a waterfall of light.

“A gift for you, amad,” she heard Kíli’s voice – light and young as the spring branches that she oft left unpruned despite their haphazard growth patterns – resounded in her mind.

Before they had left to join their uncle and king in the great endeavour to reclaim Erebor, her sons, fruit of her womb, essence of her soul, had offered her an ‘official portrait’ of them.

It had been half in jest, a clumsy attempt to make mock of the dread not one of them could deny, but Dís cherished this painting much more than many far better executed ones stored under sheets in dusty attics nowadays.

It was a shaky promise, a glimpse into a hope that was wavering and flickering like a candle as the months melted into her weary bones. Thorin had made Fí – her firstborn son – his heir and – Mahal willing – his rise to power would produce many more paintings such as this.

Nonetheless, Dís knew that she would never love any of them half as much as this memento wrought from bare, naked love and given under the blessing rain of silent tears.

This one was a testament to her motherhood in more ways than one; indeed, she could recognise Ori’s hand and the small signature in the bottom right corner.

He was such a dear boy, and Dís whispered a prayer to Mahal to keep him safe, for he no longer had a mother of his own which made him one of her foundlings who were nested safely within the folds of her brave, faithful heart.

Her eyes fell on her own fingers trembling against her will; just like humans and elves, dwarrows had two hands and five fingers. All her life, they had told her that she had Durin hands, hands made for epic swords like Thorin’s, hidden knives like Fílis, or fast arrows like Kí’s…but hers were achingly empty now.

Oh, how she remembered the pudgy fists of her sons being so rough where Ori’s long-fingered digits had been as shy and gentle as his soul. Here she stood, princess without a king, mother without her babies, staring at the lines of her palms telling a story she was no longer a part of while her mind travelled back to those other hands that no longer rested in hers.

Ori was tired and frustrated, but his wrist stayed supple as he tried to correct the inevitable blur around Kí’s mouth as his friend and kinsman couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than a few minutes at a time.

He had spent hours and days working on this piece, a gift full of love for a dam who had been a rock and a home to put even the Blue Mountains in their colossal grandeur to shame.

“Once you are king, you’ll have to sit for these regularly,” Kíli teased his brother who was leaning lightly against his shoulder as if to let him know – no matter how annoying he got – that Fí would have his back.

“If I ever am to be king, I’ll insist you’re in every single one of those damn portraits,” Fí shot back in a self-important but ultimately humorous tone, “brother dearest.”

It would have been funny listening to them squabble like that, Ori thought, if Kí had not been fidgeting and snacking the whole time which – in turn – made Fí grumpy and restless.

“Hold still,” Ori cried – exasperated – but Kíli moaned that he was bored and hungry, as if the whole wheel of cheese he had devoured since the beginning of this session had not been an indication of that.

“One would have thought that a creature who has that long a life would grow to be more patient with time,” Ori muttered, himself the very picture of equanimity.

“I am quite young still,” Kíli grinned, “it might well happen!”

They all shared a laugh at that, overshadowed by the nameless, faceless dread, the fear that they’d never learn what time would have taught them if their lives were cut short by the evil they were about to face.

“I highly doubt that,” Fíli chuckled and mussed his brother’s soft hair that he affectionately – and often quite mockingly – still called ‘baby hair’ in reference to the soft locks he had once stroked for hours on end.

He was happy to have these two utter fools by his side for the most daring quest of his lifetime, just as he was glad that they had agreed to leaving a token of their love to Dís, who was queen in ways Thorin might never be king if he didn’t learn to let down his guard.

Head held high despite her sinking heart, a woman – alone in the darkness and holding a candle to a slightly blurry but very loving painting – wondered who she was on her own.

Dís, daughter of Thráin, son of Thrór; Dís, daughter of a lost king, granddaughter of a dead one, she thought, Dís, the orphan, the widow, the inconsolable.

A ripple of anger and almost petulant rebellion shot through her limbs like a divine spark.

Was she not also Dís, sister of Thorin II, Thorin ‘Oakenshield’, Thorin the victorious, who would lead their people home?

Staring at the rough sketch once more, imbuing it with life by the sheer intensity of her love, Dís muttered: “I am Dís, mother of those two gloriously ridiculous dwarrows; I am the cradle of the future, I am the beacon of hope, I am the source of solace…and I shall wait.”

Unlike her youngest son, she had learned patience in the empty halls of her childhood, she had mined that virtue out of lonely hours and brought it forth from the wells of deprivation and lack.

Dís was unlike the unyielding rock that was Thorin, unlike the flowing gold that was Fíli, unlike the fitful tempest that was Kíli, she was malleable, tempered, and steadfast; hence, Dís would persevere in faith and endurance.

They would come back – as the snow swirled heavy in the frosty air, suffocating the earth, and muting the screams of the rock underneath her feet – she repeated those words over and over again. They would come back, and she would be Dís ‘The Blessed’ once more.

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I usually don't tag people, so if you think I should have known you might possibly like this, rest assured: I do not, I am very dumb when it comes to people...but you can tell me anyway 👀 LOL

<3 MUCH LOVE, NO HATE <3

[dancingazaleas]

zeke yeager | pta meeting

i literally don’t know how to shut up about him

also this is all because i saw a drabble of dilf!zeke and it’s been on my mind nonstop

warnings/notes: dilf!zeke, fem!reader, cursing, eventual smut, zeke is a divorced/widowed dad(at 33), reader is 21, cursing, zeke has a mean daughter and a sweet daughter, breeding kink, overstimulation, brief choking, slight degradation, shit one shot i’m sorry

you swear to the lord that zeke’s 11 year old daughter is a menace to society.

she’s brutally honest, just like zeke, and mean. she’s oddly mature for her age, and you think it might have something to do with her late mother. she looks almost nothing like zeke, but she certainly inherited her personality from him. she’s got curly dark brown hair that ends at her armpits and zeke’s grey eyes. she has a button nose along with rosy cheeks, something else she inherited from her mother.

“y’know my daddy only dates you cause you take care of me and aloisia,” isolde says to you as she slips on her school shoes.

you feel your eye twitch as you turn to zeke’s other daughter, aloisia, who’s seven and looks exactly like zeke. she’s got his nose, his hair color, and even eye shape. she’s got hazel eyes and a slim face. she’s as bubbly as they come, always greeting people she passes by on the street, always making friends at the park.

“i’m ready,” she holds up her small hand to you, a silent request for you to hold her hand.

“same,” isolde stands up after she swings her back pack onto her back, brushing off the nonexistent dirt on her navy blue skirt.

“zeke, the girls are ready!!” you shout out, taking aloisia into your arms.

zeke comes stumbling out of his bedroom, a white sleep shirt covering his torso and grey sweatpants.

“you’re going in that,” you raise an eyebrow at his attire, “we’re going to a parent-teacher meeting, not the gym.”

“yeah daddy, my teachers are gonna think you’re a bum or something,” isolde snickers.

“i’ll help your dad, go watch tv for a little bit longer,” you chuckle at zeke’s pout and put down aloisia, who runs to the couch.

isolde takes off her backpack and joins her sister on the couch, putting her feet on the coffee table as aloisia puts on avatar: the last airbender.

“i thought the dress code was casual,” zeke furrows his brows as you take his hand and lead him back into his bedroom.

“it is. sweatpants are not casual, they’re lounge wear,” you snicker as he flops onto the bed while you close the door and go into the closet.

you know zeke’s rolling his eyes at you, judging from his silence. you grab ahold of a white button up with light grey vertical stripes on it, trying to picture your boyfriend in the shirt. you shake your head and put it back on the rack, deciding that the default outfit would be best for now. you take a white button up off the hanger and grab a pair of black dress pants from his dresser. you hand him a pair of black loafers to go along with it and some long black socks that would cover up his ankles, you’re so glad you reminded him that they exist. you throw a black belt next to him as well.

“this is boring.”

“zeke, this is a pta meeting, the whole thing will be boring,” you watch him rid himself of his shirt.

“should i wear a tie?”

“no, you’ll look better with one button undone,” you smile as he struggles to balance correctly when he puts on his pants.

he tucks the shirt inside his pants and slips on the belt with ease. he unbuttons a button before he slips on his socks.

“i thought today was my day off,” he smirks at you while you roll up his cuffs a bit.

you roll your eyes and he slips on his shoes. he doesn’t need to do his hair, it’s just effortlessly neat.

“time to go,” you scurry to the front door with the girls following behind you.

“he doesn’t look homeless anymore,” isolde notes when zeke follows you all out of the door.

“not funny,” he huffs while he locks the door behind him and the girls get into the black SUV zeke drives.

you help aloisia buckle herself up in the car seat and then slip into the passenger’s seat next to zeke. he’s grumbling something about ‘uncle eren’ and ‘getting the girls’ as he turns the car on.

————

you try to ignore the women ogling zeke as you all walk down the school hallway. you send isolde off to her class since her meeting is after aloisia’s.

“i hope you’ve been good,” you say to aloisia, who’s holding both your’s and zeke’s hands.

“i have! ms greene says i’m one of the best,” she gloats, and you hope for zeke’s sake that ms greene isn’t bluffing.

you three walk into the second grade classroom, which is empty because you reserved the appointment, only to find the teacher isn’t in there. it only seems to make aloisia more excited as she tugs you and zeke towards the class wall with a bunch of pictures of it.

“look, look!!” she jumps as she points at her’s, “they said to draw our family and she said i did a good job!!”

the picture is a messily drawn family portrait of zeke, isolde, and aloisia.

“you drew (name) very pretty,” zeke smiles at you when you snap your head back to look at the picture in closer detail.

there you are, stick figure holding hands with zeke’s and aloisia with isolde on zeke’s other side. you never expected to be on aloisia’s family portrait, you’d barely been in her life for two years and weren’t exactly motherly. you’re a struggling college student that she occasionally sees crying at the kitchen table with zeke comforting you from behind. she, on very rare occasions, sees you come home, absolutely plastered, with a sober zeke leading you to his room. you’re the woman that wakes her up when you cry on the couch late at night. you were, admittedly, okay with not being seen as their mom.

it wasn’t your place, for so many reasons. one, you didn’t exactly act as a role model. two, you could never replace her mother and would never try. three, zeke never referred to you as such. you’d only ever act like their mother whenever you were in certain situations. but that didn’t mean you didn’t want them to see you as a maternal figure.

it made you want to cry, but luckily you didn’t. you just smile at the picture and pat aloisia’s head in approval.

“you did do a very good job,” you smile down at her and before you can give her a hug, you notice a woman walking into the room.

“oh, you must be zeke yeager, aloisia’s dad! i’m ms greene,” her face flushes while she holds out her hand for him to shake.

“yea, that’s me. it’s nice to meet you,” he shakes her hand.

she turns to you, “oh my goodness, i didn’t know aloisia and isolde had an older sister!”

“no, she’s my girlfriend of two years,” zeke chuckles uncomfortably.

“i’m (name), nice to meet you,” you wave your hand, “i’m just here to keep an eye on aloisia while you two talk.”

zeke and her go to a table in the corner of the room and aloisia drags you towards a bookshelf.

thirty minutes of aloisia rambling about her favorite book go by seemingly quick, and you watch as she cheers when her classmates walk into the room. zeke’s walking towards you, holding a thumbs up with a cocky smile, for whatever reason.

you kiss aloisia goodbye, who doesn’t seem too fazed, and head towards isolde’s classroom. you hold hands with zeke while swinging them back and forth while he repeats everything the teacher’s said to him.

“i can’t believe my little girl’s at a third grade reading level,” he exclaims, “that vocabulary studying did wonders!!”

“you should thank me since i was the one who studied with her cause she asked about my assignments for class,” you taunt and laugh when zeke pulls you closer by the shoulder.

that’s how the two of you walk into isolde’s classroom. she’s sitting at a table with her teacher, miss dunst, and fidgeting with her thumbs anxiously. she’s covering half of her face with her hair. with the one eye you can see it looks puffy and her cheeks are red, as if she’d been crying.

it has both you and zeke rushing to sit down on both side of her, zeke asking miss dunst what happened while you tend to isolde.

“hey, why are you crying,” you’re squatting by her chair and you reach to brush the hair out of her face.

when you see her other eye, you gasp out at the black eye starting to form on her eye.

“oh my god, zeke, look at her face!!”

“that is what i wanted to speak about with you. isolde has been getting bullied by some of her classmates. today, a little girl hit her after isolde defended herself while they argued,” the poor woman looks sad watching you and zeke check isolde for more wounds.

“why has she been bullied? she’s not mentioned this to me or (name),” zeke asks while examining her eye more closely.

“well, during the first day of school, isolde introduced herself and told the class about her family. she mentioned you, mr yeager, and her sister. the kids asked about her mother before i could stop them and she was honest with them and said that she had passed. she then said that she still, in a way, had a mother. your girlfriend, mr yeager.

“i asked her occupation, to which isolde said a college student. the kids got loud but i managed to quiet them down, and i thought it was the end of that. after that, her classmates started to pick on her verbally about your age gap and her late mother. i didn’t find out about it until this morning when isolde was hit,” miss dunst frowns as she explains.

before zeke could open his mouth, you speak up, “i’m the girlfriend, (name). i am hoping that these children will be punished accordingly and that their parents be notified. if this has really been going on all year like you say, then at this point their parents should be involved.”

“of course! i’m giving all of their parents a call after classes today. the little girl who hit her is sitting down with the principal right now, so she should be safe if you two would like her to stay at school.”

“give us a moment,” you smile kindly, which she returns, and walks to her desk to give you ‘privacy’.

“isolde, why didn’t you tell your daddy or i about what was going on,” you ask while she hugs zeke.

she peeks her head out of his chest, “didn’t want to seem weak.”

“why would you be worried about that,” zeke asks.

“after mom died, you were always so sad and stressed. i thought that if i was strong, you would be happier,” she explains shakily.

“isolde, look at me,” you put a hand on her knee, “you were six years old when your mommy died. six year olds shouldn’t know how to accurately take care of themselves, it’s why your daddy was there. i’m sure your daddy appreciated the effort, but i promise you that all he wanted you to be was his happy little girl. you don’t need to be strong at 11 years old, and you don’t need to be strong all the time. like you said, your daddy was sad when your mom died. it didn’t make him weak, it made him a person. and that’s what you are; a person. a little person.”

she sniffles and nods at you, “people can’t do everything by themselves. i’m sorry if we made it feel like you couldn’t tell us, and it’s totally understandable that you felt that way.”

zeke hums in agreement, “we love you, baby. so much.”

“love you too,” she mumbles with a small smile.

“do you want to stay at school,” zeke asks, he didn’t want to force her into a situation where she didn’t want to be.

“i have a math test later, don’t wanna miss it,” she sighs, now looking up at you.

“(name)...?”

you tilt your head while you wait for her answer.

“i’m sorry i’ve been so mean to you. everyone was making fun of me and called it weird, so i guess i wanted to believe that too,” your heart warms whenever she looks away shyly.

great, now zeke’s horny from seeing you act motherly.

————

ever since you and zeke had stepped off school campus, one of his hands was always touching you. it didn’t matter where, zeke was shameless.

even as you unlock the door to the his house, he has his chest pressed against your back and his arms wrapped around your waist. his lips are kissing softly at your neck and his hands are shamelessly groping at your boobs.

“zeke, what is up with you,” you laugh whenever you open the door, kicking off your shoes immediately.

“horny,” he admits, swiftly following after you and locking the door behind himself.

“what about this morning made you horny,” you ask shyly while you sit on the couch.

zeke’s buttons are halfway undone and his belt is somewhere on the floor. he squeezes in behind you, once again pressing his chest against your back.

“acting maternal, i guess,” his beard tickles the back of your neck as he kisses it.

“is this why you told isolde it was okay if she wanted to stay at school,” you snicker at his fingers pulling your shirt over your head.

“why else,” he scoffs, “my only day off in a while and i’m horny. sounds like a deal.”

you whimper whenever he starts biting at your neck and when his large hands slip under your bra.

“zeke, if we’re gonna do it on the couch, can i at least lay on my back,” you ask while zeke unclips your bra.

without a word, he’s thrown you onto the couch on your back and climbing on top of you seconds later. your hands quickly unbutton the rest of his shirt, pushing it halfway off of his body.

zeke throws the shirt onto the floor and kisses you, hands running up and down your torso. he pulls away to kiss and suck at your neck while his hands grope at your tits. you’re stuck between laughing and moaning at zeke’s beard dragging against your neck.

his mouth trails down to your tits, mouth attaching to your left tit while he continues to grope your right one. you let out a moan whenever he tweaks your nipple with his right hand and bites softly at your left nipple.

he pulls away from your chest, tugging off your pants and panties in frustration. it leaves you laughing and assisting him. whenever your pants do come off, he throws them to the ground and spreads your legs.

“zeke, they’re not opening too far, we’re on a couch,” you note, but soon stand corrected as zeke grabs your ankle and puts it on the back of the couch.

“nevermind,” you snicker at his cocky smirk, as if he’d done something amazing.

your other leg hangs off the couch, leaving you spread open for zeke. zeke spreads open your glistening folds with thumbs and gives a mindful lick up to your clit. after realizing that his beard is not rubbing against you uncomfortably, he dives in like it’s a pool, which he thinks it is because of how wet you are.

his mouth his sucking on your clit vigorously, as if he were a man starved. you’re moaning wantonly as he suddenly ups the speed. how did he even go that fast, you have no clue, but either way you enjoy it. your back in arching off of the couch and your toes are curling as zeke starts bringing you closer to an orgasm.

“zeke!! i’m... i’m gonna come,” you tug at his hair as your legs start to convulse and close around his head.

he only goes faster, and you wonder to yourself if zeke is powered by batteries or something. but the thought is quickly shut off whenever you finally orgasm, moaning out in ecstasy and throwing your head back against the couch cushions.

zeke slows down his pace, helping you ride through your orgasm. he pulls away whenever you’ve calmed down, fingers immediately pressing at your tight entrance.

“zeke... i-i’m too sensitive,” your complaint goes ignored as two of zeke’s fingers are suddenly inside of you.

“don’t care, deal with it,” he huffs as his fingers stretch you out.

with his other hand, his thumb is rubbing at your puffy clit at the same time of his fingers curling inside of you. your hips buck up with a mewl and zeke chuckles at the sight. unlike last time, he’s moving his tantalizingly slow.

his fingers curl once more, rubbing against the spongy part inside of you sweetly. you buck your hips up again at the contact and curl your toes whenever zeke starts abusing that spot with overwhelming speed. curling his fingers against the spot each time he pistons his fingers in and out of you.

“zeke!!” you come again while moaning his name and he can feel his cock twitch in his pants.

zeke chuckles when he pulls his fingers out, spreading them apart to watch your juices stick together in strings. he plops the fingers in his own mouth, rubbing his other hand up and down your quivering thigh as he pulls away from your sloppy cunt.

he pulls his fingers out of his mouth with an obnoxious ‘pop’ and pulls off his pants and boxers at the same time. he groans at his cock hitting against his lower stomach.

you stare at zeke’s cock. the tip is flushed with a bashful pink and his hair is trimmed nicely against his groin. he’s more girth than he is length, a whopping 6.5 inches, which is something he absolutely gets arrogant about.

“hurry,” you huff while watching zeke fist his cock.

“nah, you gotta beg for it, baby,” the corner of his mouth tugs upwards as he watches you wipe away your tears from the previous orgasm.

“zeke,” you whine and wiggle your hips, “please please please give me your cock. need it so bad.”

he hums thoughtfully, and it already gives you his answer.

“please... i want it so bad, need to be fucked by you,” you pout but perk up at his dismissive shrugging.

“since you want it so bad,” he’s laughing while he puts his right hand on your pelvis and his other on his shaft to enter you.

you gasp at the feeling of him pushing inside of you, grabbing for his, now, free hand. when you catch his hand, you guide it to your bruised neck for him to grasp on. he’s chuckling once again, fingers lightly squeezing against your throat as he continues to push himself in.

he groans whenever he bottoms out, letting go of your neck to grab at your plush thighs. he pushes the towards your chest and thrusts into you shallowly after he spits on his cock buried in your pussy. he hits you deeper than he would’ve before, that much is obvious by your moans raising octaves when he starts to thrust roughly.

your hands reach up to grab the back of his thighs to pull him closer to you than before. he’s groaning at the feeling of your pussy squeezing onto him each time he pulls out and thrusts back into you.

“fuck... zeke!!” you cry and throat your head back.

“fuck,” he grunts, “you’re so fuckin’ tight. even after how much i fuck this pretty little cunt each week.”

his words make you whimper and squeeze your grip on his thighs, making crescent moons into the skin.

“i’m gonna come... i’m gonna come again,” you pant out, back already starting to arch, “come with me please..!”

he speeds up his thrusts, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass getting increasingly louder as he does so.

“you wanna come with me so badly,” he asks tauntingly while you nod.

“god, zeke, please,” you try to ignore the saliva and tears on your face as you continue to scream out for zeke.

“i’ll give my sweet girl my cum since she asked so nicely,” he’s biting his lip whenever he feels his orgasm getting closer.

“yes! yes! please,” you sound so desperate as your orgasm gets closer, “zeke, please, fuck a baby into me, please..!”

zeke almost comes right then at your pleas, but ends up stilling and adjusting his stance to thrust into you more efficiently. the sudden stop makes you whine but it’s soon interrupted with a gasp as he jackhammers into you harder and faster than before.

“fuckin’ whore, wanting me to fuck a baby into you. to make you a mom. since you asked so nicely, i’ll oblige,” he berates.

“you me to fuck a baby into you? make you a mom?” it has you nodding frantically.

zeke continues to degrade you as you’re orgasm comes rushing towards you, fingers now clawing at his thighs as a signal.

zeke thrusts into you two more times before the two of you manage to orgasm simultaneously. his jackhammering slows into a grind, helping the two of you ride out the euphoria you’ve both just went through.

you whimper whenever he pulls out, uncomfortable at the sudden emptiness in you. he watches his cum start to dribble out of you, telling you to keep your legs up. he scurries off to find a paper towel or something to wipe it up with before it falls onto the couch. you shiver whenever you feel a wet cloth wipe away the dribbling cum.

he’s wiping down your chest and neck as well with a clean side of it after you put your legs down. he carries you off into his bathroom, sitting you on the counter while he readies the shower.

“i can’t believe you said that,” he raises a questioning eyebrow at you while he checks the water’s temperature.

“i wouldn’t mind having your kid,” you shrug and watch him put two towels on the counter next to you.

“i might just give you one, don’t say that,” he jokes as he starts to hug you.

“‘m okay with that,” you sigh and lean into his touch, enjoying his warmth.

“you’re stupid,” he snorts and kisses at your shoulder.

“only for you,” you snuggle your head into his neck with a giggle.

“i love you,” he sighs.

“i love you. enough to have your kids.”

maybe in a few hours when you weren’t bathing in the afterglow, zeke would bring it up to you.

[jwnchstr]

Painter From the North | d.r3

summary: daniel ricciardo a painter who came to your palace for your family portrait painting

characters: explorer!painter!daniel ricciardo x princes!reader/you

warning: cliff hanger

other fics masterlist | other f1 fics masterlist | f1 imagines

*   *   *

     a few years  ago, while being rebellious, you had escaped the palace by yourself. you wanted to venture the village outside of your kingdom without a single guard by your side unlike the princess regulations. you were young. you were so keen to discover what was beyond the wall. you were getting punished because of your behaviour once you got home several days after, but without this, you won’t meet daniel.

     being a slightly care less person, you don’t remember the man you stumbled upon while running away from your chasers. but you do remember him as the cause of your lost coins. daniel was in your way when you were running for your life, you crashed into him, and lost your gold coins. you were cursing badly under your breath, but having a limited time, you ignored him and your gold coins and continued your escapade.

     daniel knew you. he had this little obsession over palaces and the royals from all over the kingdom. so he knew you. he recognised you. he froze on his bum as he watched you running away from your chasers and found it amusing to see a royalist who is just as stubborn as normal people.

     the day he met you, the scene rent free in his head. in between dealing with your punishment and the kingdom’s rules, you have forgotten him. his face has totally wiped out from your mind until a few years later when your family was doing th family portrait painting.

     it’s an annual event though without your mother beside your father. it’s been like that for 6 six years, but by now, you hardly question the purpose of the family portrait anymore. being in the palace, being a princess is not as nice as it seems. your life is always being controlled.

     ruby, you, lilly, willa and bea, including your father are all ready for the family portrait painting. ruby, being the oldest in the siblings, it’s not a surprise when you always find her in the middle of the crowd, organising and arrange the seating for tha family portrait. lilly, full of herself, keep re-touching her make-up. meanwhile willa is trying hard to show bea that she enjoys playing with bea’s kitten.

     while you were sitting by yourself at the corner of the room, chin on your palm, looking bored, the guard announces the arrival of the painter from the north. both dad and ruby sounded relieved because you can get the event end soon. bea sounded excited to get herself a painting. though willa looks shy, but she holds the same amount of excitement as lilly as soon as they see the painter.

     you didn’t recognise him, at first. although you think you saw the robe and the tunic before. but that was like 2 years ago, i must’ve belong to someone else now. and then he took off his hood.

     you had this urge to scream at his face now that you remember him and those memories that came back into your mind. like it just happened yesterday. this man, this so-called painter from the north was the reason why you lose your gold coins! but unlike you, daniel merely smiled at the sight of you.

     “okay, come on, now! let’s get into position! as we rehearse!” ruby ordered. her voice holds the authority that even dad didn’t dare to argue. “y/n! i know he’s a sight, but get here quick!”

     you glared at your older sister. she is a deary, but loves to get onto your nerve some times. you had never saw daniel as “a sight”. merely a man who stole your chance to bring home several satchel of coins for your sisters.

     “can someone tell me where did he come from?” lilly asked beside you, giggling to herself as her eyes goggling daniel. “oh, he’s so handsome.”

     you heard willa, who was sitting in front of you chuckled softly, ageeing with lilly. you saw her shying away, pulling the curtain of her bang close fo her face when she notices daniel looking at her. you rolled your eyes at them.

     “come on, guys. let’s get this thing done.”

     “oh, relax, y/n. don’t want to miss a chance getting to know him as he paints us, do we?” lilly was a bit blunt to be compared to you and the rest of your siblings. and though willa is the oposite, but she always agrees with lilly.

     “indeed, i do have more important things to do than--”

     “hopefully not stealing any more gold coins,” daniel cut you off as he was  preparing his painting equipment. there was a smirk on his face as he looked for a reaction from you. you can feel your face hot -- from anger because of his remark and embarrassement when you notice all of your sister are looking at you.

     “no, i’m not,” you said through your clencehed jaws. “i have tr--”

     “you’re not going to the training square this evening, y/n,” ruby warned you. “we will be having a dinner with him after this, to thank him for his service though at the last minute.”

     as ruby gave a look, this certain look that tells you she is not open for a discussion, you bite your tongue from throwing unnecessary words at him. your youngest sister looks slightly frightened seeing the annoynace on your face. you quickly smiled for her. though little did you notice, daniel was smiling to himself when he sees you smile.