#there are simply not enough hours in a day!!

[readwritealldayallnight]

reader who is flexible / does yoga x simon who gets really flustered watching it? 👀

During those first few months of living together as flatmates, having gone from strangers who happened to have a friend in common to sharing a bedroom wall within 24 hours, you both learned a lot about each other

On your end, you learned that his presence in the flat was a rarity, gone for days if not weeks at a time before coming home. Even then, he usually was only back for short periods of time, most of it spent sleeping

You do discover that he’s an early riser however, much to your chagrin when the sound of his routine post workout shower wakes you up before the sun has ever risen

You learn that he’s a decent enough cook, but will always insist on helping in some way if he finds you in the kitchen working on something, no matter how simple or complicated the dish is

Over time you even find out how he prefers his tea in the morning and when you get the chance, try and surprise him with a warm drink waiting for him after his shower

When you know that he prefers to keep the flat a little cooler than you usually have it, you’ll turn the thermometer down a degree just before he comes home, just as he’s gotten into the habit of turning it back up for you on his way out, the gesture going unspoken between the two of you

Simon also learns a lot about you in the time since you’ve moved in

He learns all about your taste in music, a melody never not playing in the background of whichever room you’re occupying, often telling him the name of a song or artist you can tell he likes from the way his foot will tap or fingers will drum against his thigh

He discovers you’re a bit of a night owl, often hearing you in the kitchen baking some dessert or another at midnight, or talking on the phone with a friend. He never minds though. In one case he wakes up to sweet treats in the morning, and the other he gets to overhear your even sweeter voice chirping and giggling. And if one time a smile of his own graces his lips when he hears you telling your friend how you’re loving the new flat, and your flatmate “isn’t so bad on the eyes either”, then who’s complaining?

He finds out what your favourite take out food is, often surprising you with something on his return home, definitely not blushing under the mask if it earns him a hug or peck on the cheek as thanks

But one thing Simon learns about you early on, something that he thinks about not just at home but on base, in briefings, on missions, on helis and jets and trucks, is how part of your daily routine, is doing fucking yoga in the living room.

He’s been in countless situations most civilians could never even dream up, let alone withstand, and Simon under the mask that is Ghost always stays as cool and collected as any seasoned vet would

But seeing you in sweatpants, or leggings, or even worse when you’re wearing those shorts of yours, strolling into the living room with your yoga mat tucked under your arm, his pants instantly tighten every single time, knowing what’s to come (or rather who’s to c-)

Following along to your instructional video playing on the telly, paying him no mind as he sits in the adjoining kitchen as you bend into position after position, simply doing your nightly routine as you have for years now, unknowingly putting your flatmate through a torture he’s never endured before

Every time he’s lucky enough to witness you stretching your limbs, contorting your body into poses he couldn’t fathom doing himself, he finds his dreams that night filled with the very same images of you, though wearing far less clothing, and in his bed instead of a yoga mat, though he would take you anywhere let’s be honest

He always waits for you to finish your routine, be it a quick 15 minute stretch or a nearly hour long session, he remains and watches you until you leave, before he dares to stand with his arousal on full display through his pants, rushing to his room or bathroom to take care of business

He learns that he’s never felt more intense pleasure at his own hand than when he thinks of you, when he has has your face and body freshly imprinted on his mind as he finishes, imagining the heaven that it must be to have the real thing rather than his calloused fist

It’s interesting you see

You really like Simon, and you like when he’s home, like getting to know him and spend more time with him

And if you happen to learn that when you do your yoga routine out where he can see you, that he suddenly spends a lot more time in the flat than on base, coming home more and more often, no matter how short his stay is… well, who’s complaining?

[syggwolf]

Not to hijack this post or anything, and I'm gonna share some seriously depressing stuff here, along with talk of injuries and blood, just as a warning, but I can easily pinpoint the (And I cannot stress this enough.) SINGLE most traumatic thing that ever happened to me in a long, long, long line of catastrophically traumatic things: It was a very specific incident of being told not to cry. And it wasn't like I wasn't already told not to cry already or anything because, you know, you have a dick, you're not allowed to cry past the age of six and all that. And I was about thirteen so, way beyond that point. But this time, I mean, it was sort of a big deal. You see, unfortunately for me, a very heavy falling object had split my forehead open, and the amount of blood pouring down my face had convinced me that I was pretty for sure probably maybe going to die. Also it really hurt. But because I went into shock, I started laughing instead. I want to stress: the laughing was a panic reaction, not conscious, nor on purpose. Then I proceeded to leave an unbroken trail of blood all the way up to the front door of my house, about a half a block away. All the other kids fled as soon as it happened, except for one; another boy who was a friend of mine, only slightly older than me, who walked with me up to my house and came inside. Well, my mom shrieked and put an icepack on it, which, if you've never had burning cold shoved against exposed skull, it kinda really hurts even more than getting your skull exposed in the first place. And so I'm sitting there on the couch next to my friend, who's still staring in horror at my head and the blood all over my face. By this point I have definitely stopped laughing or doing much of anything, and the sheer amount of "I am so fucked." is starting to sink in because they are calling a fucking ambulance. My dad is sitting there, yelling at my friend to explain what the fuck happened and my friend gets to the part where I started laughing and my dad looks at me, and no bullshit, at this exact moment, there's a spike of pain from my head, and I'm miserable and it's sinking in that I'm going to the fucking HOSPITAL in an AMBULANCE and I am definitely in trouble. (Which is another fun thing that happens in an abusive household. Imagine thinking you're in trouble for getting hurt. Spoilers, I did in fact get yelled at, excessively. My intelligence, character, moral fiber, strength, and foresight were all called into question.) So right there, with all of that hitting at once and my father staring straight at me, my chest hitches and I fuck up and I let out a voice cracking little whimper. My father looked at me with an absolutely haunting combination of anger, disappointment, and some kind of disgust, and he said in this very rough, clipped tone that was more threat than anything else, "Don't you dare. You will NOT cry." And that broke something inside of me that to this day I've never been able to fix. If the role of a "man" was not to cry even under circumstances as extreme as that, than I clearly was broken in some way and I would endeavor to never cry again. And even Now? I simply cannot cry until I fully and completely lose control of every aspect of myself and snap, and even then it never lasts longer than a few moments. I can't make noise while I'm doing it either. It's a silent affair that can only happen in the most extreme circumstances when I am alone. His reasoning for saying that to me? For looking at his wounded child, blood covered face and pain and misery and all, and saying those words? He wanted the story to get around the neighborhood that I laughed at having my head split open because he thought it would make me look cool and really badass. He literally told me that to my face a few hours later, and said it was for my own good because none of the kids would fuck with me if I looked manly. He also chewed me out for possibly ruining it for having the gall to break while my friend was still next to me. The patriarchy is fucking evil and must be destroyed.

Everyone is so weird about people who cry easily. Fellas, is it evil and manipulative to *checks notes* have an involuntary stress response?

[thedensworld]

Born Superhero | J.Ww

Genre: fluff, parent au!

Summary: Started as clueless father to superhero, watch how Wonwoo grow as a father... And a husband.

The pregnancy wasn’t an accident; it was simply... A little unexpected. Okay, very unexpected. You and Wonwoo had been married for only six months—still in the honeymoon phase, barely used to sharing closet space—when life threw you both a curveball.

Wonwoo was overseas on a business trip when he got the alarming call that you had passed out at work. The reassurances from friends didn’t help; his mind raced with every possibility, from exhaustion to something far worse. Before he knew it, he was on the earliest flight back, heart thudding as if it were trying to make its way home ahead of him.

When he finally walked through the door, ready to scold you for pushing yourself too hard, he was met with news that rendered him speechless: you were pregnant. He’d always imagined having kids... someday. But not when he was still trying to remember which side of the bed was "his."

His lips curled into a smile, the kind meant to comfort you as you nervously searched his face for a reaction. But inside? Oh, inside he was trembling so hard he half-expected an earthquake warning to pop up on the TV. Fatherhood. He was going to be a dad. The idea was thrilling, terrifying, and somehow as surreal as finding socks in the fridge.

"Well," he said, pulling you into his arms and trying not to sound like a man whose life just did a triple somersault, "I guess this explains why you kept craving pickles and ice cream together."

Wonwoo made it his mission to be your unwavering support system, even when a storm brewed behind his calm eyes. He bottled up the anxiety gnawing at him—the nagging questions about whether he’d be a good father, if he could handle the responsibility, or if he would ever stop feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of parenthood. He couldn’t bear the thought of adding his fears to your plate when you were already dealing with morning sickness that had you running to the bathroom at all hours, leg cramps that turned simple walks into wobbly adventures, and sleepless nights that left you both bleary-eyed.

So, he channeled every ounce of that anxious energy into action. He worked harder than ever, managing late nights and early mornings, making sure everything you could possibly need was taken care of—from prenatal vitamins to setting up the nursery with the precision of a man assembling a palace. Wonwoo learned to cook your favorite comfort meals, and when you suddenly decided the smell of his go-to cologne made you queasy, he switched brands without a word of complaint. He’d hold your hand through doctor appointments, his smile steady even as the “dad” word hovered in his mind like a flashing neon sign.

And when the big day came, Wonwoo felt time stop as he watched you, the love of his life, bring a new one into the world. All the fear, the endless late-night overthinking—it all melted away the moment he laid eyes on Jeon Rayi. The boy had his eyes, the same quiet intensity, and as he let out his first tiny wail, Wonwoo realized something: he was already a father, whether he felt ready or not.

As you cradled Rayi, exhausted but beaming, Wonwoo gently took his son into his arms. The weight was different than he expected, lighter but powerful, grounding him in a way he didn’t know he needed.

“Look at him,” you whispered, teary-eyed and smiling. “He’s your little twin.”

Wonwoo’s chest swelled with emotion as he looked down at Rayi, whose eyes were now blinking up at him as if to say, Gotcha, Dad.

One thing Wonwoo couldn’t quite shake from his mind was the moment before he first laid eyes on Rayi—the moment when you, exhausted and trembling, brought him into the world. He'd watched enough viral videos of husbands fainting in the delivery room to think he was prepared for anything. I’ll be fine, he’d told himself. But when it actually happened, when he saw you gripping the sides of the bed, your face etched with pain so raw it made his chest tighten, his whole body turned to stone. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, only stare wide-eyed as you endured each wave of agony.

Seeing you in pain, your body shaking as the delivery was finally declared successful, felt like a blow that rattled every nerve he had. All he wanted was to wrap you in his arms, to kiss away every tear and tell you a thousand times over how much he loved you. But he stood there, stunned and aching, until the first tiny cry of Rayi snapped him back to reality.

When the nurse placed Rayi in your arms, a hush fell over the room, broken only by your relieved sobs and the baby's soft whimpers. Wonwoo’s eyes misted as he took in the sight of you holding their son—this tiny, perfect reflection of him. The joy that filled him was almost overwhelming, a light so bright it nearly erased the memory of everything that had come before.

But later, when the room had quieted and it was just the three of you, Wonwoo sat by your side, gently brushing the hair from your damp forehead. His gaze flicked between you and Rayi, and a pained shadow passed over his eyes.

“Seeing you trembling after giving birth,” he whispered, voice hoarse and unsteady, “I don’t think we need more children. I can’t... I don’t want to see you in pain like that again.”

You looked up at him, exhaustion softening your features as you managed a small, tired smile. “Wonwoo, we’ll be okay. This little one is worth it,” you said, touching Rayi’s tiny fist as it clung to your finger.

He nodded, though the worry didn’t fully leave his expression. Deep inside, he knew you were right. Rayi was worth it. But the memory of your pain would be seared into his heart, a reminder of just how fiercely he loved you, and how deeply it shook him to see you hurt.

Wonwoo's journey as a first-time dad was filled with more surprises than he could have anticipated. In the first few weeks, he was as nervous as he had been the day Rayi was born, startled awake by every whimper and uncertain about every diaper change. He was meticulous to the point of being comical, triple-checking the swaddle and peeking into the crib every half hour to make sure Rayi was still breathing.

But as the months rolled on, something remarkable happened: Wonwoo began to relax into fatherhood. The once-trembling hands that struggled to button up tiny onesies became adept at cradling Rayi while half-asleep. He learned the art of the midnight bottle, perfecting a one-handed technique so he could hold Rayi close while warming up formula with the other. The exhaustion was bone-deep, but the sight of Rayi’s gummy smile each morning made every sleepless night worth it.

The two of you grew together as parents, finding comfort in the shared laughter and the quiet chaos of raising a newborn. Wonwoo discovered a new side of himself—one that sang silly songs at 3 a.m. just to keep Rayi from crying, that narrated mundane chores with animated voices as though he were performing on stage. His once measured, serious tone became playful and warm, especially when Rayi would respond with delighted giggles that made his heart swell.

There were moments of doubt, of course. Nights when Rayi was teething and inconsolable, when nothing seemed to work, and Wonwoo would feel the weight of his inadequacies creeping in. During those times, he’d find you both leaning on each other, whispering words of encouragement, your hands clasped in a silent promise that you were in this together. You’d remind him that parenting was messy, imperfect, and filled with trial and error, but that Rayi didn’t need perfection—he just needed love.

As Rayi grew from a newborn into a babbling infant, Wonwoo learned to celebrate the small milestones: the first time Rayi rolled over, the first tooth that peeked through his gums, and the first unsteady steps that had Wonwoo following close behind with arms outstretched, ready to catch him. Each new achievement was a moment of triumph not just for Rayi, but for Wonwoo too. Every smile, every laugh, every moment they shared felt like a victory, a reassurance that he was doing okay, that they were doing okay.

One evening, as the golden light of sunset streamed through the living room, Rayi toddled over with a wobbling gait, his chubby hands reaching out for his father. Wonwoo scooped him up, lifting him into the air and watching as Rayi squealed with joy. For a moment, all his early worries about fatherhood seemed like a distant memory. He met your eyes across the room, sharing a smile that spoke volumes about how far you’d both come.

“We did pretty well, didn’t we?” he said, more to himself, as Rayi wrapped his tiny arms around his neck in a triumphant hug.

“Yes, we did,” you replied, coming over to place a gentle hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, leaning in to kiss Rayi’s soft cheek.

In that moment, as Rayi laughed between the two of you, Wonwoo knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, he was ready to face them—not alone, but with you and your little family, growing stronger and more full of love each day.

*

Wonwoo was out of the city for a schedule when his manager hurried toward him, phone in hand, urgency written all over his face. Wonwoo’s chest tightened. It had to be you calling. That was the compromise you both had made—only call when it was urgent. The same rule applied when he was home alone with Rayi, and you were out. If it could be handled without a call, texting was the way. But this was different. His manager wouldn’t rush over for a casual update.

“Y/N…” his manager muttered, handing him the phone. Wonwoo grabbed it immediately, putting it to his ear, his heart pounding.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry evident in his voice. He strained to hear past the slight static on the line, but then it hit him—Rayi’s cries, loud and unrelenting in the background.

“Rayi has a fever,” you said, your voice edged with panic. “He’s been crying nonstop for the past hour. I’m on my way to the hospital.”

Wonwoo’s breath hitched. Rayi was rarely sick. The thought of his son, usually so bright and energetic, being unwell made his stomach twist. “Where are you taking him?” he asked, biting his lip to steady his voice.

“Seoul University Hospital,” you replied, and he could hear the tremble in your voice, paired with Rayi’s cries from the backseat. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else...”

“You’re doing a great job,” Wonwoo interrupted gently, his tone firm and reassuring. “I’ll figure out how to leave early. Please, update me when you get there?”

You hummed in acknowledgment, your breaths uneven. “I will.”

“And drive safely,” he added, his voice softening despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.

The moment the call ended, Wonwoo sprang into action, explaining the situation to the managers and the members. The moment he mentioned Rayi’s fever, everyone rallied around him with understanding and support, urging him to leave immediately.

His manager didn’t waste a second, getting him into the car for the drive back to Seoul. On the way, Wonwoo stared out the window, fists clenched on his lap, running over every scenario in his head. You had mentioned in a text last night that Rayi was feeling warm, but neither of you had expected it to escalate this quickly.

Wonwoo stepped into the hospital, his pace bordering on a run. He hadn’t had time to change out of his work clothes, though he silently thanked his manager for packing a change of clothes in the car. Right now, none of that mattered. His only focus was reaching you and Rayi.

When he got to the room, his breath hitched. The sight of Rayi, lying pale and fragile in your arms with his tiny arm connected to an IV, shattered him. It was a stark contrast to the lively boy who usually filled the house with laughter. His heart broke into pieces.

“He just fell asleep,” you mouthed softly, careful not to disturb Rayi’s slumber.

Wonwoo nodded and immediately moved to sit beside you. His eyes stayed glued to his son as you gently laid Rayi down on the hospital bed, brushing a stray curl from his forehead before stepping away.

Without a word, Wonwoo stood and pulled you into his arms. His embrace was tight, as though holding you close could somehow erase the weight of the day. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt.

“Thank you for coming,” you murmured back, leaning into him.

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as his eyes searched yours. He noticed the weariness etched into your features—the sleepless night, the worry, the stress of handling it all alone until he arrived. “How is he now?” he asked gently.

You let out a deep sigh. “The doctor said it’s likely a virus. They’re monitoring him, but his fever has come down.”

Relief flashed across Wonwoo’s face, though the worry in his eyes remained. He nodded, then pulled you into another hug, this one softer, his lips brushing against your hair. “You’re doing such an amazing job, love. Thank you for taking care of him.”

You smiled faintly against his chest, grateful for his words, even though the exhaustion still weighed heavily on you.

“You should rest now,” Wonwoo said, pulling back to look at you again. “I’ll stay with him and take care of everything tonight. You need sleep.”

But you shook your head, stubborn as always. “No, I can’t. I need to be here.”

Wonwoo sighed, but he didn’t push further. He knew better than to argue when you were this determined. Instead, he brought over a chair and sat beside you. That night, the two of you stayed awake together, taking turns checking Rayi’s temperature and watching his small chest rise and fall with each steady breath.

Every so often, Wonwoo would glance at you, catching the way your gaze softened as you looked at Rayi. In those moments, despite the exhaustion and worry, he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude—for you, for Rayi, for the family you’d built together.

By the time the early morning light began creeping through the hospital curtains, you leaned your head against his shoulder, both of you too tired to talk but sharing an unspoken bond of love and determination. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

*

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft hum of medical equipment. After two long days of watching over Rayi, exhaustion had overtaken you and Wonwoo. Neither of you had gone home since that night, surviving on restless naps on the small couch by Rayi's bedside. Wonwoo tried to stay alert, but his body betrayed him, slipping into moments of sleep. Every time he woke, guilt would gnaw at him as he saw you still wide awake, your eyes fixed on Rayi, your motherly instinct unwilling to rest.

That morning, as sunlight filtered through the window, Wonwoo stirred and glanced at you. You were slowly getting up from the couch, your movements unsteady. He sat up quickly, alarmed as you swayed slightly, your hand gripping the armrest for support.

“Babe, are you okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. He moved to your side just as you nearly stumbled. Placing a hand on your forehead, his expression darkened. “You’re burning up. I think you have a fever.”

“Oh no,” you muttered under your breath, more annoyed with yourself than anything.

Wonwoo's hands gently cupped your face, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Please rest, babe. You’ve been running on fumes, and Rayi wouldn’t want to see his mom pushing herself too hard.” His voice was soft but firm, and the concern in his eyes made your chest tighten.

You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. His words hit too close to home, but you didn’t want to break down. Not now.

Unfortunately, your body didn’t give you much choice. By midday, your fever had worsened, leaving Wonwoo no option but to call his brother to watch over Rayi while he took you to the emergency room.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled weakly as you laid on the hospital bed, waiting for the test result.

“No,” Wonwoo said, shaking his head, his tone gentle but resolute. “I’m sorry. You’re sick because you’ve been taking care of Rayi and pushing yourself beyond your limit. I should’ve been better at taking care of you too.” He reached out, softly patting your head in an attempt to comfort you.

Your head throbbed, and the dizziness didn’t help. You couldn’t help but think about Rayi and how frustrating it must have been for him to endure the same symptoms. “This headache... I think I know why Rayi was so upset,” you murmured faintly, earning a sad chuckle from Wonwoo.

“Still hurts?” he asked, his hand tightening around yours. You nodded weakly, and his expression crumbled. He hated feeling helpless, but right now, all he could do was stay by your side, offering silent support.

When the test results finally came back, the doctor informed you that you were dehydrated and your body was too run-down to fight off the fever. “We’ll need to keep you for observation,” the doctor said.

Wonwoo nodded, his grip on your hand steady. “Do whatever it takes to make her better,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

As the nurses prepared for your moving, he turned to you, brushing hair away from your face. “You’re going to rest now, okay? No arguments,” he whispered with a small, tired smile.

After hours of shuffling between emergency room and paperwork, Wonwoo finally managed to arrange for you and Rayi to share a private room. It was ironic, he thought, as he pushed the wheelchair carrying you to the room—both his loves were now patients, and he was playing the role of a full-time caregiver.

Rayi lay in his hospital bed, still hooked up to the IV, his tiny frame looking so much better than days ago under the blue blanket. You were wheeled to the second bed beside him, visibly exhausted but trying to stay strong.

Wonwoo helped you settle in, adjusting your pillow and tucking the blanket around you like you always did for Rayi. “There. Now I have both of you in my sight,” he said softly, sitting down between your beds with a sigh of relief.

You gave him a weak smile. “Not how I imagined our first family staycation.”

Wonwoo chuckled, though there was a hint of tiredness in his voice. “Yeah, I don’t think this is making it to our family scrapbook.” He reached out, holding your hand in one of his while keeping the other near Rayi’s bedside.

The days that followed were a blur of tending to both of you. Wonwoo quickly fell into a rhythm—feeding Rayi when he woke up crying, gently wiping your face with a cool cloth to keep your fever down, and running back and forth to fetch food or talk to doctors.

At one point, as you watched him juggling everything, you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re really something, Jeon Wonwoo. I didn’t think you had it in you to manage two patients.”

He looked at you, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he smiled back. “Turns out I’m pretty good at this dad-and-husband thing. But don’t get any ideas about a repeat performance.”

“Noted,” you said, laughing softly.

Rayi started to recover quickly, his fever subsiding by the second day. You could see him regaining his usual cheerfulness, even managing to giggle when Wonwoo made silly faces. But that didn’t stop Wonwoo from being extra cautious, checking on both of you every few minutes.

One evening, when Rayi was sound asleep, you watched Wonwoo nodding off in the chair between the two of you, his head tilted awkwardly. “Wonwoo,” you whispered, shaking his hand gently.

“Hm?” He jolted awake, rubbing his eyes and looking around.

“Go to the couch and sleep,” you said softly.

He shook his head. “I’m fine here. What if one of you needs me?”

You smiled, your heart swelling with gratitude. “We’re okay, Wonwoo. You’ve done so much already. Please rest.”

Reluctantly, he agreed, dragging himself to the small couch in the corner. As he lay there, his head resting on a folded jacket, he thought about how much this experience had changed him. He wasn’t just a husband or a dad anymore—he was part of a team, a family that needed him, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.

As you drifted off to sleep, with Rayi’s soft breathing filling the room, you glanced at Wonwoo one last time. Despite his exhaustion, there was a peaceful smile on his face, and you knew that in his quiet, unwavering way, he would always take care of both of you.

*

After six long days at the hospital, the "family staycation" was finally over. Wonwoo drove the three of you home, the car filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by Rayi's babbles from the backseat. The little boy had been released two days earlier, and during that time, Wonwoo had asked his parents to take care of him so you could recover without any distractions. Now, as the car pulled into the driveway, Rayi was buzzing with excitement to be home again—and to be with you.

The moment you stepped inside, Rayi nearly leaped into Wonwoo's arms, squealing with delight. “He really missed us,” Wonwoo said, his voice soft with affection.

“I think he missed the house more,” you teased as Rayi wiggled to be put down. The instant his feet touched the floor, he zoomed off on his walker, embarking on a grand tour of the house.

Wonwoo chuckled as he picked up the bags, watching Rayi disappear into the kitchen. “Guess he’s making sure everything’s still here.”

Meanwhile, you sank into the couch with a relieved sigh. Days of lying in a hospital bed had made you sluggish, and even standing for more than a few minutes felt like an Olympic feat. As much as you wanted to jump back into your routine, your body begged for more rest.

Wonwoo joined you on the couch, plopping down beside you with a contented groan. Together, you watched Rayi race around, his walker creating an amusing squeak with every step as he stopped to admire his favorite show playing on the TV.

“You know what…” Wonwoo said suddenly, his voice thoughtful.

“Hm?” you hummed, turning to him.

“The most cliché thing that would happen now is me falling sick,” he joked, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as though imagining the scenario.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You? No way. You’re strong. You won’t get sick.”

He nodded, pretending to agree, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed his skepticism. “Let’s hope you’re right,” he said with a grin.

But hope wasn’t enough.

A few days later, the doorbell rang, and you were greeted by a pile of fruit baskets and home-cooked meals from Wonwoo’s bandmates. Word had gotten out that Wonwoo had come down with a fever and couldn’t make it to the schedule.

You peeked into the living room where Wonwoo lay sprawled out on the couch, bundled in a blanket with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. He groaned dramatically when he saw you holding the care packages.

“I told you it was going to happen,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the blanket.

You stifled a laugh as you set the baskets down. “Guess you’re not as strong as I thought.”

“Hey, I fought off a virus and took care of two patients for a week,” he said, sitting up slightly to defend himself. “I deserve some slack.”

“You do,” you agreed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Now let me take care of you for a change.”

From the corner, Rayi giggled, pointing at his dad bundled up like a burrito. “Appa funny!” he chirped, and you couldn’t help but laugh along.

Despite his fever, Wonwoo smiled. Even in his weakened state, he knew moments like these were what made being a parent and a husband so worth it.

[elysiuminfra]

i want to talk about walmart for a second. if you haven’t worked or known someone who worked for walmart, you probably don’t know how bad it is. most people don’t, so i want to talk about it.

there’s a points system for absences. if you miss work, and can’t cover it with accrued time off (because you don’t just Get time off - it builds up over time. it takes about a month of straight work to get a day off.) you get a point. five points and you’re at risk of termination. all managers - team leads, and above them, coaches - have the power to excuse points so that you don’t get fired. some do, so you don’t lose your job. most don’t. five days, that’s it.

if you miss more than three shifts of work due to a medical issue, you have to go through a third party company (which isn’t really third party.) to get a medical exception so you don’t lose your job. it is hard to get this. they need a lot of documentation to prove that you somehow deserved to miss work. they don’t accept regular doctors notes. this is somehow nebulously legal. you are also forced to work while sick and infectious. flu, strep, covid, doesnt matter for all departments except produce and deli. even then, they only send you home if you throw up *at work* or have food-related illnesses. every other department you’re not allowed to go home. more than likely you are being exposed to someone who’s sick at walmart, because its either come in sick or get fired.

i work hard. everyone *has* to work hard. you are on your feet 8 hours a day. you can’t sit. there are no surfaces to sit on. some departments are harder than others. i worked in OPD, the online grocery fulfillment department. i would walk, bare minimum, 7 to 8 miles a day, hauling sometimes over 200 pounds of groceries. every day. now i work in the deli. you are constantly moving. this is very typical for the deli - you are given too many tasks to perform in one day. most days i can barely get enough done. i know people don’t take their legally entitled second breaks. I know people who have to work off the clock just to get everything done. my department - as is *most other departments* - is understaffed. i cook, clean, work the slicer, and dispense food at the same time. and trust me when i tell you the standards of cleanliness in my department is high, but in practice it is very, very poor. simply because there is usually only one of us working back there, and we just can’t do everything right all at once.

none of the “fresh” food in the bakery / produce area is fresh. the bread is baked in store, but the dough is made and frozen elsewhere. sometimes it’s been frozen for weeks. everything is shockingly artificial. same with produce. you’re better off buying your produce elsewhere, or even locally. walmart has been fraught with recall after recall.

people are cheated out of retirements. so many people I know that are at retirement age simply can’t. there are people working here in their 70s. they are being overworked. there are a lot of teenagers that work up front. they are being overworked. I know two kids who are disabled that work the register. they aren’t allowed to sit. one had to fight to be able to get a medical accommodation and only got one when he threatened to sue, because not taking a doctor’s note for an accommodation is illegal. they do it anyways. there are so many people i know personally that are disabled, have chronic pain, have mobility issues, and can’t sit. or walk miles and miles a day. one of my coworkers recently quit because she tore both rotator cuffs in her shoulders from this job. this job disables you. it kills you. (just look up how many people have died on the job due to negligence. it is not a small amount.)

even the prices are fake. sales are fake. rollback is fake. i notice how things are priced and they rarely change, even when they say they’re on sale. it’s a scam. you are being scammed.

we are overworked and underpaid for our labor. (speaking of, wages used to be higher by several dollars a couple years ago. they lowered them. my department paid 20 an hour. it only pays 16 now. almost all other departments are at a flat 14. it used to be 16.)

wage theft, lack of breaks, overtime violations, lack of sick leave, chronic understaffing and chronic abuse from management, not terminating employees that sexually harass coworkers, and piles and piles and piles of responsibilities. all of this is to say, walmart only operates because of how much they exploit their workers, and it’s in the top of the Fortune 500 list. it is impossibly dire. and it is in EVERY SINGLE store, because that is just how the work culture operates.

all salaried management is also given guides on union busting. unionization is impossible. there was one store that they completely shut down because of successful unionization efforts, laying off hundreds of people, and blamed it on “faulty plumbing.”

one last thing - if you are assaulted by a customer, you cannot defend yourself. nobody can help you, because none of us are allowed to put our hands in any capacity on a customer. if you are assaulted, you have no choice but to run and hide. I’ve heard of a worker at my store that was assaulted repeatedly over several days from people who would come in and beat her. they weren’t banned, and she was fired for fighting back. if you fight back, you’re fired immediately, no exceptions.

all of this is to say shop elsewhere. buy locally. buy at other stores. you will get better quality items and produce literally ANYWHERE else. if you can’t, be kind to Walmart workers. theres abuse at every step of the chain. even on the supply side. walmart is a corporate dystopian monster that only makes its money off of intense labor violations.

tl;dr don’t shop at walmart. it’s not worth it

[leahsgf]

DISTANCE II - mcfoord

mcfoord x child!reader | sometimes things work out

read part one here

-

“i’ll figure something out, promise”

the irish woman smiled softly in response to her girlfriend’s words, but she knew deep down that it would be unlikely, as much as she’d love to believe it. flights from australia weren’t typically what you’d think of when you heard of last minute, impromptu plans - and caitlin still had her own international duties to carry out, being without a doubt a pivotal player for the matildas.

despite the call helping your mood massively, the hours and that days that followed it were even worse than before, you demanding to ‘see mumma’ constantly, and simply not understanding the concept of sleeping, or time difference.

-

after about four days of little to no sleep, it’s safe to say you were both pretty close to losing it.

katie had spent most of the evening busying herself with packing for the next days’ training, making the absolute most of you finally being somewhat content for a brief moment - finding much joy in scribbling in your colouring pad, and also trying to distract her mind from spiralling ever so slightly.

she was incredibly worried about you, but alongside that was just simply exhausted. you hadn’t slept properly the entire time you’d been stuck in this hotel, and if you had it was flat on top of her (almost directly on her face, making it impossible for her to rest even for a second)

and when you were awake you were miserable, crying or throwing a fit over things you never usually did - like her putting socks on you, or even just looking at you ‘in the wrong way.’

above all else, she missed caitlin, more than anything. arguably even more than you - it just wasn’t socially acceptable for a twenty nine year old woman to kick and scream over not wanting to put a shirt on because of how much she did.

she struggled with long distance usually anyway, being a major home body - and you were typically her distraction, though right now you were quite the opposite.

and as much as the facetime calls helped you both, hanging up just brought her back to reality, and made her feel even sadder than before.

a sharp knock at the door broke her from her train of sorrows thoughts, standing to answer it with a sigh, assuming it would be a teammate wanting to talk over tactics, or even better, some kind of god coming to save the day.

turns out, she wasn’t too far from right.

“here sweetheart, i’ll be right back, kay?” she murmured softly, ruffling your hair and wrapping you in a blanket, figuring that you should probably be covered than more than just a nappy in front of whatever unsuspecting visitor was on the other side of the door.

when she opened it however, she realised that she was in fact the unsuspecting one, freezing in shock.

“what the fu- cait?” she gasped, her eyes widening.

“surprise?” the australian grinned in response, suitcase stood next to her. “spoke to the staff and managed to sort things out so i could catch the next flight to you. they can do without me for some friendlies” she shrugged, chuckling softly as she’s pulled into her girlfriend’s arms.

“you, caitlin foord, are unbelievable” katie breathed in pure relief, her body physically relaxing, almost slumping into her hold.

“now, where’s my little monster then?” caitlin broke the moment of silence, peeking over the brunette’s shoulder.

katie stepped aside in response, chuckling in disbelief, gesturing inside and in the direction of the bed. “go see for yourself.”

you were so invested in your colouring, and being grumpy - your back facing the door, that you didn’t notice her entering.

“hey pudding” she spoke, so softly it was almost a whisper, but your head snapped up as if she had shouted.

“mumma”

caitlin opened her arms just in enough time for you to launch yourself off the bed and into them, with an alarming amount of strength for a toddler. you clung to her like a koala, burying your face in her neck and letting out a string of happy squeals and babbles - being by far the happiest katie had seen you in days.

“you came back!” you said, voice muffled against her shoulder - your speech still being at the stage where it was just about understandable, but your two mothers understanding you perfectly every time.

“of course i did silly girl” she tickled you, kissing the top of your head softly. “i missed you, my baby”

katie leaned against the wall, still by the door, watching the two of you, her girls, with a loving smile, the weight she’d been carrying for days finally beginning to lift.

the night drew in with the three of you curled up in the duvet of the hotel bed that had been the centre of all the weeks chaos - you nestled snugly in between your parents, having crashed out almost immediately after the initial excitement wore off.

katie and caitlin exchanged a look over your head, a silent agreement that nothing - no crazy schedules, no distance, would ever keep their little family apart like that for too long, ever again.

-

i have indeed not proof read this as i just got back from work and promised you all an update….enjoy

[vvellichorr]

Finding home came unexpected, a world I never knew I was missing, a yearning for something I'd never felt.

Then one day, he came into my life, I knew he was coming but I couldn't have anticipated how much he would mean to me, from the instant we met on that soft warm september day.

"Hes cute," I thought to myself, a blush creeping just below my collar. I watched from where I was sprawled on my bike, head resting against the bars and feet kicked up on the passenger seat, as he unloaded his bags and after a moment or two I moved, dutifully following him and his dad into their hotel, waiting in the lobby as they got their rooms and put their luggage away.

I smiled as he emerged from the elevator, dad in tow. He grinned at me, an easy grin that shot sparks through a heart I didn't realize was open.

"Alright, lets go." He said, his voice a soft, deep timbre, echoing through my head as I held the door.

His dad got into the backseat without a word, and left the front for me. I did need to give directions, since it was a tour, and so I opened the door and plopped into the seat that would soon enough become a familiar spot.

I watched as he skillfully drove away from the parking lot and my bike, then looked behind me, offering my helmet, which his dad gently took and placed it in a safe spot in the backseat. I thanked him and turned back to the front, gesturing what direction to go just before my eyes drifted to the line of his jaw as he drove, focused on the road and chatting about his trip. My eyes followed his jaw to where it met his tanned neck and down to the chain peeking out from his shirt. I wondered what was on it, and unbeknownst to me, I'd soon spend plenty of time studying the cross that hung around his neck, protective and special, something he never removed. My eyes continued to study him, landing on a stone bracelet on his right wrist. Curiosity sparked within me, but I didn't ask.

I continued giving directions, finding my chest bubbling with laughter at his antics. It felt so easy to laugh with this stranger, and I realized the anxiety I usually struggled with was all but gone.

Soon enough, the tour was over, sooner than I'd like though I'd stretched it as long as I could, showing him every single building he needed to know about for his time here, but after a short two hours he dropped me off at my bike, and in what would soon become a soft, gentle habit, waited for me to put on my gear and drive away before he got out of the car. I wondered then if he was watching me, too, or if this sudden connection was simply my own mind playing tricks on me.

~~~

As the night went by, I found nothing but restless sleep for a racing mind, and in the morning I struggled to get into my uniform and make it on time. As soon as I arrived, flushed from power walking, there he was, lounging in his chair and laughing in that same easy way he had been the day before, a man who didn't seem worried about being liked, although I'd soon come to learn that he was as worried as I was, but he just hid it more easily.

I sat down next to him as he asked me questions, and my heart warmed as that grin was directed at me. He asked for help with some documents, and I diligently watched the monitor as I helped him fill them out, trying to ignore the masculine, woodsy scent coming off of his collar that was inches from my face as I leaned down to look at the screen, and the warmth that radiated from his shoulders into my chest, barely inches apart. I smiled and laughed at his jokes, an easy friendship forming before my eyes.

I sat back into my seat as he finished up the document, and he laughed at a joke someone had made. His laugh reverberated through the room, loud and bold, and I couldn't keep the grin off my face as it rang in my ears.

The pull I felt was immediate, and only reinforced by this easy, friendly interaction. I turned towards a voice asking me questions, the other man who had recently arrived parrotting the same questions the first one had asked, and I answered them just as thoroughly, but without that ease that I felt before, it was simply work this time, and just like before, I assisted filling out the documents required.

Soon enough, the day was done, a day full of laughter and jokes, grins and friendly smacks on the shoulder. I rode home in silence, taking it in. Who would he be in my life? I wondered. It was obvious he would be something, I could tell that much.

But what?

I've walked a long way, yet I'm still searching for a place to call home.

[shywithapurpose]

Nanami x Reader

Soft words, gentle touches

You hear the front door creak open, followed by the familiar shuffle of Nanami’s tired footsteps as he steps into the hallway. The sound alone tells you it’s been a long day for him—slow, heavy, the kind of exhaustion that runs deep into the bones. Even before he speaks, you can hear the weariness in his sighs. A frown tugs at your lips, because you know exactly how he’s feeling. You've seen this before: the way the workday drains him, leaving him hollow but somehow still standing. But it’s different when he’s home. That’s when the weight of the day begins to lift, even if just a little.

You’re waiting for him, in the quiet warmth of the living room, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the lamp. Shadows dance across the walls like old friends, familiar and comforting. You rise when you hear him step into the room, a small, instinctive movement. Your heart gives a little swell, always glad to see him home, even when he’s worn thin by the world outside.

"Hey, love," you say softly.

Nanami looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours with a silent gratitude that makes the fatigue in his face soften just a bit. His lips form a faint, weary smile as he drops his suitcase by the door, shoulders sagging. He steps toward you, every movement heavy, slow, as though his body is asking for permission to rest.

"I’m so tired," he mutters, his voice rough from hours of constant effort.

You don’t need him to explain. You’ve seen him push through the exhaustion, how he carries the weight of everything on his shoulders—his job, his responsibilities, the world’s expectations—like it’s all his burden to bear. You reach up without thinking, brushing your fingers gently across his cheek, a soft, quiet promise that no matter how tough his day has been, he’s not alone.

“Come here,” you murmur, guiding him toward the couch.

He follows you willingly, the weariness in his posture making it almost impossible for him to resist the pull of the comfort you're offering. He sinks into the cushions with a soft grunt, and you kneel beside him, your hands already moving to his shoulders. Your fingers press into the knots, working them loose with careful, practiced motions. The tension in his body starts to melt under your touch, and he exhales a long, relieved breath. He tilts his head back slightly, eyes closed, letting himself fall into the rhythm of your hands. There’s a heaviness to him that goes beyond physical exhaustion—emotional, too, you know. And yet, here, in this moment, he allows himself to let it go.

“Thank you,” he whispers, a simple acknowledgment, but it's enough.

You smile softly, leaning in to kiss the crown of his head before returning to your task, fingers moving to his neck, pressing with just the right amount of pressure. He hums in contentment, and you can feel his body slowly unwinding, the sharp edges of his stress dulling with every movement.

"You’re always so tense," you murmur, half-teasing, but there’s affection in the words.

Nanami sighs again, this time less from weariness and more from the comfort of your presence. His hands find yours, fingers curling around them, and he gives them a soft, grateful kiss. “I don’t know how you do it," he says, voice tinged with wonder, as if he still can’t quite understand how you manage to calm him after a day like today. You smile, brushing your lips against the corner of his mouth. "I do it because I love you," you reply simply. His lips curl upward again, this time with a little more warmth, a little more affection. He leans into you, resting his head on your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice a little rougher now, but with a softness that only you get to hear. He pulls you gently into his arms, and you let yourself fall into the embrace, your body fitting against his like it was always meant to. For a moment, the world outside doesn’t exist. There’s only the two of you, your breaths matching, the slow, steady rhythm of each other’s hearts. In his arms, you feel his warmth seep into your bones. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he kisses you. Slow and sweet, like he’s savoring the peace he’s found in your presence. You kiss him back, and the world outside, the noise, the pressure, the stress—none of it matters. All that matters is this—this soft, tender moment where everything is right. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his voice is a whisper. “I love you.”

Your thumb traces the line of his jaw, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Is that right?” you tease lightly, but the affection is evident in your eyes. “I love you too,” you say, and for the briefest second, time seems to stand still.

[thatlittlered]

daffodil | celebrimbor

warning(s): gn!reader in this one, but afab!reader in previous parts

GIF by @quietparanoiac

author's note: if you look hard enough at this gif, you will see me under his apron

all parts of "the craft" can be read here

-.-.-

He seeks you out in the deep of the night, when most others should be abed. Lord Annatar himself seems to possess no such earthly need, but the smiths’ minds and bodies desperately do and he, in turn, needs their hands. He has little choice but to withdraw. Celebrimbor is happy to forego rest, if it will grant him time with you.

 ‘Come with me,’ is all he says. To the ends of the Earth, gladly. He offers his arm to guide you but does not rush or drag you; simply leads the way. It is a path you have walked many times over.

 While in the hours of the morn, Celebrimbor always seems anxious, eager and youthful in his inability to do without your presence, the night has cast a veil of calm over him. A comforting realization that you do not disappear as if a dream when his eye is not on you, and he might be with you whenever he wishes. Wherever he wishes.

 The forge seems larger, somehow, in the shadows. Colder, too, until he notices your discomfort and pulls you further to his side. No elf is known for the warmth of their body, and yet, when he holds you against the rich velvet of his robes, you’d think he was the Sun himself.

 ‘Bear with me,’ he whispers in your hair, ‘it will be more comfortable once I light the fire.’

 You sigh when he leaves your side, even if it is only for a moment. He smiles from where he stands, across from you. The fire casts a warm glow and illuminates his figure as he stands before it. He looks beautiful.

 ‘What are we doing here, my love?’

 You watch him move to light as many candles as can be found around the room. It must necessary, to make up for all the lost daylight. The stars are bright, but not bright enough.

 ‘You asked me to show you the ways of my craft. I would never deny you.’

 You laugh and he approaches you again, cradling your face in his palms.

 ‘At the hour of the wolf?’

 He frowns, ‘Are you tired?’

 Your head turns to kiss the inside of his palm, ‘No, it is you I do not wish to tire. I was simply posing a suggestion, for when the opportunity and time arose.’

 ‘It has arisen. No one shall disturb us now.’

 ‘And what of your rest?’

 ‘I have had many years to rest. Centuries even. My days might be consumed with plenty, but my nights are to be reserved only for you.’

 You cannot help but smile.

 ‘What are we to make then?’

 ‘Whatever you wish. You are the craftsman, and I, your assistant. Have you poured any thought into it?’

 His tender hand moves a rogue strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. Believe what he may about the sharp skill of your tongue, it is incredibly difficult to think when he touches you like this. You, too, have been mercilessly affected by the long-standing illness of love.

 ‘I have, but I am not sure it is achievable.’

 ‘I shall make it so, whatever it is.’

 You smile bashfully, ‘I thought I might make you a daffodil.’

 ‘A daffodil?’

 ‘Yes,’ your fingers dance with his own, interlocking, ‘it was my favourite flower in the meadow I called home so long ago.’

 He smiles so sweetly. ‘And you wish to make it for me?’

 ‘As you have given me the leaf of holly to wear for your lovely city. Daffodils are some of the few flowers that happily grow under such a shrub. I thought it might be fitting, seeing as my heart, too, has grown so much upon my coming here.’

 His eyes shine with unshed tears, overwhelmed with joy.

 ‘We will make it happen then.’

 A chair is pulled for you by his side as he begins to work on the sketch. You peek, just over his shoulder. It is a quick, sloppy drawing by his standards, but you cannot help but marvel at how skilled he is, even at that.

 ‘That is perfect.’

 You see his frown, ‘Are you certain?’

 ‘Absolutely. It is perfect just like this.’

 Your hand comes to rest beside his in a caress, until the piece of charcoal falls from his hold.

 ‘What now?’

 ‘A smith would carve their mould next.’

 ‘Ah,’ you whisper, ‘and what would one who is neither a smith, nor a talented carver do?’ The gentle rest of your head against his shoulder is enough to make his head run empty of thoughts. ‘Would they, perhaps, seek assistance from their beloved?’

 ‘If they possessed your charm, anything they sought from their beloved, they would have.’

 You watch in silence as he works. Skilled fingers carve out the shape of a daffodil, just as his mind had put to paper. It is impossible to look anywhere but at his hands. Hands moving with the precision that only years of love and commitment to his craft may bring. How can one look at the work of the thin blade when the candlelight illuminates the back of them, filled as they are, with prominent veins?

 You wish to touch him but dare not disturb. To what end would a single touch serve any way? You must study him under proper sunlight, in a land forgotten by time, where only he and you might wander, or simply lie naked on fresh grass. A proper, thorough exploration. Every line, every mark and every scar for you to find and admire. To kiss, eternally.

 Celebrimbor, bless his dear heart, seems oblivious to your distraction. Always the worshipper and never the worshipped, no more. You will make certain of it, just as he is making certain now, that the daffodil your heart desires will surpass the beauty of even those born of Ilúvatar’s thoughts. You see it in the gleam inside his eye, in the devoted concentration on his face.

 His smile lights up the world when it is finished. It is hard to discern if his enthusiasm comes from a place of love for you, or for his craft. It might be both, it does not matter. You would not have him choose.

 The mould is perfect when he shows you.

 ‘What now?’

 The Elven-smith is overjoyed to be asked. Overjoyed to share this part of him with you.

 ‘This technique is the most trusted. It is older than you, or I, perhaps even combined.’ His gentle hold on your hand brings you closer to him, his breath warm in your ear as he places an apron on you, ‘Let us find you some gloves, I would not have you injured.’

 Being Celebrimbor’s student is proving to be a much greater challenge than it initially appeared. Not for lack of skill, or guidance, but for the effect his confidence has on you. There is something in the manner he moves and speaks, something about the mess he has made of his hair by running those lovely hands through it. He must have sensed your distraction, but he makes no mention of it and his hands anchor themselves on your own, leading you toward the large canister.

‘Wax melts easily when heated, but the clay I poured around it, is resilient to fire. Once we place it in the furnace, it will melt away and leave behind an empty space in the shape we desire. Afterward, we will pour our metal in this small opening.’

 ‘It is a fascinating process,’ you hum, once the door of the furnace is closed.

 ‘Not as fascinating as watching you do it.’

 You laugh, ‘I am merely following your excellent direction.’

 ‘Is it, excellent?’

 ‘Beyond excellent, I would say, but keep in mind, I might not be the most objective critic.’

 ‘And yet, yours is the only opinion that matters,’ he whispers close to your ear, his hands drifting lower down your arms, where your sleeves end, and skin is peeking out. The touch leaves goosebumps in its wake. ‘You are an excellent student.’

 ‘Truly?’

 He hums positively, ‘A kiss is well-deserved, I think.’

 ‘I hope not for all your trainees.’

 His laugh is lovesick.

 ‘Only for you, my love.’

 He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, letting you happily lean in. You have earned this, after all. His body always slackens when you kiss, as if falling into bed after a tiresome day. You feel it in the way he surrenders control, your soft mouth moving languidly upon his. Your tongue caresses his for a mere moment, and in that second, he lives an entire life. It is only natural he protests when you part from him.

 ‘Should we not keep an eye on the furnace?’

 It is the intensity of his gaze that despite the lack of words assures you that, even if the entire room -the entire world- caught on fire right now, he would look nowhere else but right at you. He would simply stay here, within arm’s reach, for you to do with as you please.

 ‘The forge is mine to burn,’ he almost answers, yet with a playful kiss, he relents.

 When the wax seems to have melted, he, alone, pulls the canister from the fire, unwilling to risk having you hurt. You watch, patiently waiting, while he removes any debris; another unbefitting job for the one he worships. Finally, it is handed to you for a more suitable task.

 ‘Now we must pack the clay in hot sand. Could you see to that while I alloy the metal?’ He asks it so gently, so lovingly, you almost feel bad for teasing him so.

 ‘I will certainly see to the task, Master Smith.’

 A sound of annoyance escapes his lips before he kisses your cheek, ‘Do not call me that. Every apprentice does.’

‘Forgive me, Malthenhir,’ you turn your head, returning the kiss. His eyes soften.

 The chuckle he lets out is almost a whisper.

 ‘I would forgive any crime if that was how you asked.’

 ‘I vow to never take advantage then.’

 The pouring of the metal is a mesmerizing sight. Your ears catch Celebrimbor speaking, but your mind does not register the words. The elven ear is keen, but the heart is prone to distractions, especially those involving gazing at the one you love.

 ‘Now, the back pressure will fill out the details of the mould, and as it cools, it will draw from the gates and sprue.’

 He notices, at last.

 ‘I thought you insisted that distraction does not a good smith make, my love.’ His expression is soft, eyes gleaming with amusement to have caught you. You, however, think he should know exactly what the subject of your fascination was.

 ‘I cannot help but be fixed on your hands.’

  His gaze falls on the back of his palm. ‘What about them?’

  You step toward him, taking hold of it within your own as your eyes meet and stay locked. You touch his fingers to your mouth, an unconventional kiss, but an expression of reverence, nonetheless. He watches as if witnessing a holy revelation.

 ‘They are precious hands,’ you kiss again, ‘skilled in every thing.’

 The flush of his cheeks deepens, but his daring thumb remains on the cusp of your bottom lip, tracing its shape.

 ‘Might I kiss you again?’

 ‘And our work?’

 His arm wraps around you, almost lifting you off your feet. His voice comes out a throaty whisper.

 ‘I believe our work is done for the day.’

 Your forehead finds its place, pressed against his own.

 ‘We must retire quickly then, before dawn breaks and we’re disturbed again.’

 He all but carries you to your chambers; the first night you sleep in the same bed. Celebrimbor glows under your touch, sated with kisses and whispers of love. In complete darkness, as the touch of your hand is lulling him to sleep, he murmurs that he cannot possibly wait a proper year to marry you.

 Come morning, he has daffodils planted under every holly tree in the palace gardens. Evergreen holly for eternal life. Golden-yellow daffodils for hope, and new beginnings.

-.-.-

Malthenhir = (poetically translated) master of golden hands

[demonicintegrity]

I remember when my middle school counselor was encouraging me to get more sleep at night, as that would help some of my irritable moods. And I, a spiteful nerd, pulled out the facts that

Teens are more likely to get hardwired to stay up later and sleep in later

Teens needed a full 10 hours of sleep (if not more)

I had to catch the bus that came at 7am

I didn't get home until 4pm

Often parents wake up their teens on weekends so they don't sleep the day away, my mother was sometimes like this.

Would better sleep had made a difference? Should I have followed her advice by trying to sleep just ten minutes earlier each night until it stuck? Who knows. In high school I was going to bed at 9pm again and was still depressed.

But absolutely absolutely seconding what mossiest said. My schedule was essentially being between a rock and a hard place in terms of making time for any sort of mindfulness (and trying not to get ridiculed for it in the process.)

Throughout high school and college I was getting the same advice again. And part of me was resistant at times (wdym I have to drink more water. Coffee and juice is just fine) but the absolutely trial and error of realizing what dehydration does to you once it catches up to you puts things in perspective.

I also wonder how much of the disconnect was simply a miscommunication. Especially with things like changing your attitude/mindset. It can come off as backhanded (which teens get often) or confusing (doubly if youre neurodivergent, shocker) or just plain impossible (there was no clear instructions. Best I got was the same counselor giving me homework to write five nice things about myself. I think I was able only to do two on my own? Kudos to her I was a hardheaded case fnsdkjnfsdj)

In high school when I had a proper therapist she was quickly on the same page as me. Realized how little I could do about some of my circumstances and lifestyle, and really honed in on the things I could do. And then was willing to advocate on my behalf for things that I couldn't on my own in joint sessions.

Anyways, all this to say: Kids you absolutely do need to eat enough protein and an occasional vegetable and drink water it does help your mood. Maybe you're not in the position to go buy the foods that would make this easy and simple for you to do. Maybe you have responsibilities and stressors that keep you up at night. OP is right though, it does help. Not solve everything, but help. If you can, honestly pick a struggle; choosing just one to improve might give you the boost enough to get some other things in order. Even if its just journaling or doodling on the regular.

15 year old me would be so annoyed with 21 year old me for being like I have a lifelong mental illness but I’m essentially symptom free right now and that’s partially because of my medication, but things like regular exercise, keeping a routine, trying to get enough sleep, and changing my attitude really do help keep me stable. but that’s not “do yoga” advice, that’s getting a different perspective as you grow up and I really wish I didn’t dismiss stuff like that as wellness blogger self help book bullshit back then

[s4bbatical]

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want | Part 4. (Rivals Declan O'Hara x Reader 18+)

see masterlist (PINNED) for all parts

warnings: mentions of sex, cigarette and alcohol use. age gap (reader!22)

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

Cont’d.

You were still sat in the parking lot. You wipe your eyes with your hands, smearing your mascara before wiping your nose on the sleeve of your coat as you turn on the engine. The radio begins to play Don’t You Want Me by The Human League. You groan as you change the station. Heart Of Glass by Blondie begins to play instead.

“No, nevermind. I hate my life.” You say bitterly, turning off the radio entirely. You begin to drive away with The Corinium in your rearview. “God this is so fucked!” You exclaim to no one, trying to keep yourself level enough to not crash the hunk of metal on wheels.

You manage to drive the rest of the way in complete silence back to your home. You put the car in park, resting your forehead against the steering wheel to cry, very loudly, once more.

A passerby and her child both stare at you like you were mentally unwell, causing you to forcibly smile through your tears and give them a thumbs up. As they clear out of view, you sigh and finally get out of the vehicle.

You kick off your shoes as you enter your apartment, throwing your coat over your armchair. You open your fridge in an instant, pulling out the bottle of wine Taggie had gifted you a week ago.

"Incase of any personal celebrations, y/n." She had told you. To be fair, she never said you couldn't just simply drink it to wallow in pity.

Two hours later and one wine bottle down, you're loudly doing karaoke to your favorite radio station. You've barely had anything to eat due to stress that day, and the alcohol was getting a real grip on you. You're laying on the couch, slurring your lyrics as the phone begins to ring incessantly.

"Go away...!" You moan, covering your ears with a throw pillow. It goes off once again, causing you to finally get up and answer.

"Hello who is this? What do you want?” You say, barely coherent enough for the person on the other end.

"Y/n? Where are you?" You hear Declan say, lots of commotion in the background. He was definitely at Bar Sinister, celebrating with everyone else.

"Home, obviously. You called my landline." You say in annoyance, leaning against the wall.

"I mean, why aren't you here? I wanted to see you and... and talk about things." He says quietly. You could imagine him at the pay phone in the corner of the bar, hiding his conversation from everyone else.

"I'm not coming there." You mumble into the phone, toying with the cord. "Your wife doesn't want me anywhere near you, didn't you know that?" You ask in confusion.

There's a moment of silence before Declan speaks again. "No, I didn't." He says. "That's... I had no idea, y/n. I'm so sorry for bringing you into this." He mutters with an incantation of disappointment behind his words. "I am my own person, I hope you know that. My wife isn't allowed to choose what I do if she lets herself do whatever."

"I know, but I don't want to be the reason you lose your job Declan, or your marriage." You whisper, trying to not cry once again. "I'm sorry, I'm really fucking drunk. I don't know if I can talk right now." You stammer, trying to hold down the bile coming up your throat.

"I understand y/n. But please, let's talk about this." Declan pleas.

"I have to go, I don't feel so good." You hastily hang up the phone, nearly falling over yourself as you make it to your bathroom. You lean over the toilet on your knees, throwing up into the porcelain bowl. You can hear the phone ringing again, but you have no power to answer it again. You lean your head against the seat, groaning. At least you felt a bit better after throwing up.

You eventually get up, retrieving some ibuprofen from your cabinet and popping two in your mouth, running the sink and dipping your mouth underneath it in order to swallow the pills. You knew your liver was spiteful of you right now, but you didn't care as long as you were going to feel better later.

You bring yourself to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it up with water. You take small, consistent sips in order to avoid puking again. You walk over to your couch and put the glass down on the side table, slumping into it as your music continues to blare throughout the living room.

-

You wake up to loud, repetitive knocks on your door, wiping your mouth clear from drool.

"Fuck I fell asleep." You whisper, looking at the clock. It had only been an hour.

You begrudgingly get up, turning down your radio before walking over to your front door. You undo the latch, opening it to reveal Declan.

He turns and faces you, hand on his hips like an annoyed father. You both stare at each other, Declan taking in how disgruntled you looked. Hair knotted, eyes surely puffy. You must've looked insane.

“Declan? How did you know where I live?” You ask, bewildered by his presence.

His face softens when he sees you. "Don’t worry about that.“ He says. “I got worried when you disappeared over the phone, so I came to see if you were okay." He explains.

“Okay… Well, I’m clearly doing great.” You say weakly, gesturing to yourself.

“Y/n, can I please come in?” Declan asks, frowning slightly.

You nod, stepping out of the way to allow him entrance.

Declan had never been in your apartment before, taking in the layout and decor mindfully. "Your apartment, it's very... you." He comments, looking at the black cat clock ticking back and forth on the wall with curiosity.

"Is that good or bad?" You mumble, closing the front door and locking it.

"Good, very good." He says, turning back to face you. "Seb told me you just got up and left before the interview was over. Did that have anything to do with me?" He says, cautiously stepping closer.

"I'm not gonna lie, I'm still drunk." You admit, holding up a finger. “But, Maud called me at my desk right before the interview. She found out because I left my stupid fucking bra behind by accident and now I have done irreparable damage.” You breathe out, laughing at yourself so you don't cry.

Declan says nothing, slowly taking you into an embrace. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He whispers into your hair. “I made the choices, not you.”

“But it’s still my fault, too.” You barely say loud enough, a few stray tears leaving your eyes again. You do not reciprocate the hug, simply staying limp in his arms. You had worn yourself down.

“Please, don’t cry.” Declan sighs, pulling back to wipe your tears with his thumb. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Your stomach loudly grumbles, causing you to laugh again. “Sorry.” You say meekly, holding your stomach.

"Have you had anything to eat since this morning?" He asks, furrowing his brows as he grabs your arms.

"No, I haven't been able to keep anything down." You mumble, your stomach grumbling again on cue.

"Jesus, y/n. Please go lay down and watch the telly, I'm gonna cook you something." He says, directing you to your couch.

"I don't really have any groceries. I need to buy some more." You explain as you lay back down, Declan opening your fridge to reveal some skimmed leftovers, two eggs and a block of cheese.

"Mm, I see." He closes the fridge. "I'm gonna go to the store quickly, then. Stay put and keep drinking your water." He says, heading back towards the front door.

"Declan, you don't have to-" You try to say.

"Ah, don't argue please." He turns to you to say. “I’ll be back.” He opens the door and disappears back outside, closing it behind him.

You close your eyes and sigh. With the dull ache in your head and your lack of energy, you had no power to fight with Declan. You were afraid of the consequences of his arrival, but he was just as stubborn as the rest of them. Nothing you could say or do would stop him from giving a damn about you.

About fifteen minutes later, Declan returns. “I hope you like having fruits and vegetables. Taggie’s taught me to be more concerned about my diet, trying to spread the good word.” He says, taking off his shoes after placing two plastic bags worth of groceries on the counter.

“If you can manage to fit all of that in my shitty little fridge, I’ll applaud you.” You say, opening one eye to look over at him. “Thank you Declan. For this.” You say, sitting back up.

“It’s nothing, really. I’m the reason you’re feeling like shit, it’s up to me to change that.” He smiles, although seeming quite tired himself.

“Are you sure you should be here? I’m just worried if anyone–“

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, what I decide to do is on my own volition. I’m a grown man, y/n.” He says matter-of-fact, leaning over your kitchen counter.

“You should be celebrating with everyone. You shouldn’t be here.” You try to say sternly, crossing your arms.

Declan stands up straight, mimicking your body language. “I told everyone I needed to go home. Taggie and Maud already left before I did so I highly doubt they know, nor care.” He explains, opening a box of pasta. “I hope you don’t mind a simple spaghetti dish, I’m not as great of a cook as you or my daughter are.” He admits meekly.

“Do whatever, I’m not stopping you from anything clearly.” You sigh, laying down once more.

-

After you and Declan eat dinner together, he allows you to fall asleep with your head in his lap while watching the T.V.

When you wake up the next morning, you found yourself in your bed with your nightgown on somehow, realizing Declan must’ve, quite literally, tucked you into bed.

A piece of paper from your daily planner lies on your bedside table, picking it up as you slowly read it through heavy eyelids.

Y/n,

I hope you slept well, and had pleasant dreams of home. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay around, I would’ve if I could.

With that being said, I want to give you the choice of whether or not you wish to continue with us. I know that I told you no one can affect my choices, and I am firm with knowing what I want; but I do not wish to ignore your needs or wants. You are your own person as well. I care about you greatly, and have found myself more fond of you as time goes on. However, it is not worth being selfish at the cost of your suffrage.

I want what is best for you, and I hope you do too.

P.S., Leftover spaghetti for you in the fridge.

Sincerely,

Declan

You slowly put the paper back down, tucking your knees into your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. It was Sunday, technically you had until tomorrow to give him an answer if you were to be kind about time.

What were you going to do? You couldn't deny it; you were beginning to fall in love with Declan O'Hara. Quite frankly, you think he might be feeling the same way. Would he leave his wife for you? That would be ridiculous. Everyone cheats on their partners here, but no one divorces. God forbid, right?

You get up finally after staring at the wall for ten minutes, begrudgingly walking into the living/kitchen space. All your dishes were washed and left out to dry, thanks to Declan.

You smile to yourself, grabbing ahold of the phone off the receiver with an idea. You dial Seb's number, waiting a few moments before he picks up.

"Hello, Seb speaking." He says groggily, clearly had been woken up by your call.

"Seb, hi. Sorry for calling at eleven in the morning." You jest, poking fun at his tired voice considering it wasn't even that early.

"Y/n, nice to hear from you. Is everything alright? You don't sound too well." He asks, yawning.

"Erm, no. I don't feel well, I think I've gotten the flu or something." You say, your hangover making you sound like you weren't lying. "Would you mind taking on my tasks at work for the next few days? Tell Tony for me, he honestly scares me too much for me to call him myself." You admit sheepishly, rubbing your forehead. In full honesty, you wanted to avoid the office like the plague. You were at the tipping point of whether or not you go back to America and pretend none of this ever happened.

"Course, I'm sorry to hear about that. Can I do anything for you? Bring you meds or tea of the sort?" Seb offers.

"No, thanks though. I'm just gonna rot with what I've got kicking around here. My mom's a health nut, she sent me here with all kinds of crap." You say, leaning against the wall.

"Alright then. You got it, madam. Take care of yourself yeah?" He says.

"Will do. See you Seb."

"Bye y/n."

You mount the phone back on the receiver, keeping your gaze on it as you continue to lean against the wall. You debated calling Declan as well to thank him for everything last night, but you fought against it. You'd rather sit and hide until you sorted out your mind before speaking to him again. It was only fair, really.

You walk over to your fridge, retrieving the container of spaghetti. You grab a fork as well, making your way to the couch. You turn on the television and begin to eat the leftovers. You didn't care enough to warm it up, you felt like punishing yourself by eating it cold.

-

As the the week passes, you find yourself indulging in your old hobbies, such as reading and painting. You bought a cheap art set from an art supply store on the shopping strip a few blocks away from your home, and used books from the secondhand shop. Taggie had come to hang out with you twice, chalking up your absence from work due to being homesick. Although your free time was peaceful, you knew better than to waste away instead of going to work.

On the day of Miss Corinium, you had clocked back into work. Seb convinced you to do so, and caught you up with what you missed in the meantime.

"So the Thatcher interview went to James Vereker instead?" You ask in bemusement, walking down the hall alongside your colleague.

"Yep, and Declan did not take it kindly. He took the week off as well, actually. Neither of you have been in until now. People suspect he had more things going on and that was just the final nail in the coffin." Seb says, both of you returning to your desk space.

"Really?" You ask, trying to hide your worries behind gossiping with Seb. It was quite entertaining, really. You wouldn't have expected him to be the nosiest out of everyone else, but you kept getting surprises every other day.

"Yep, drinking like a fucking maniac too." He adds sympathetically. You frown at that statement, becoming increasingly worried for Declan as minutes pass.

"Come on everybody, down to the stage please." Tony exclaims, everyone getting up from their stations.

You make your way down alongside Seb, noticing Daysee hastily walking ahead the two of you.

“Daysee!" You exclaim, the blonde turning around with wide eyes. "I've missed you!" You go to hug her, in which she backs away like a scared cat.

"Sorry, not right now." She quickly whispers, continuing to walk away. She seemed as though she'd been crying.

"What the fuck is happening?" You ask Seb, who shrugs in equal confusion.

As you all make it to the sound stage, you see Declan nearly tripping over his own feet. His eyes land on you, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

“Y/n, long time no see.” He slurs, leaning up against the wall to smile at you.

“Get a fucking grip, O’Hara. What the fuck are you doing?” You seethe, disappointed by his actions.

“What’d mean? The fuck are you doing? Haven’t said a word to me all week.” He mutters, trying to reach for the glass behind you.

You grab his arm tightly, causing his eyes to go wide. “This is not the time nor fucking place for this. I have every right to keep to myself. I’m doing my job and you’re doing yours, right?” You whisper harshly, pushing his arm back to him. You step back and watch as Seb attempts to entice Declan with a mug of water, to which he takes begrudgingly as he keeps his eyes on you.

"Daysee, nice dress." He compliments the blonde as she walks by, who gives him a look of distraught as she begins to cry.

You and Seb instantly look at each other in understanding. He forcefully gives Declan back his blazer before following her.

Declan looks at you with confusion. “What’d I do?” He asks.

“I don’t know, but maybe you can do us all a favour and shut the fuck up.” You retort, following Seb.

-

You were fuming in that control room.

You sat directly beside Daysee, who gripped your hand the whole time. She barely looked at anyone as she called cues, causing you to trace your thumb over her hand as you tried not to frown yourself. She did not wish to speak on it further or make a bigger deal of it, to which you and Seb both respected as the show had to go on.

James Vereker and Sarah Stratton go on to introduce all the judges, your stomach growing a pit as James says Declan's name, the camera cutting to a very intoxciated O'Hara. "Back in the saddle after his indisposition earlier this week." He quips, the camera then moving onto the last and very, very least man on the panel.

"Ex-prebendary from the Church of England, Reverend Fergus Penney." Sarah says, everyone clapping along at the line up.

Daysee's grip on your hand tightens as Reverend Penny appears on screen, causing you to press your forehead to her shoulder briefly as the show continues on.

You watch as the television screens show Declan seeming rather displeased with who he was sat beside. You begin to realize he may know what has gone on, repositioning yourself in your seat as you continue to watch onwards.

Seb attempts to put a hand on Daysee's shoulder, to which she jumps slightly.

"Don't." You whisper, shaking your head at him as he steps back. You wince as you watch Declan barely manage to fill a glass of water.

"Reverend Penney, are you looking for perfection tonight?" James asks after they showcase a lineup of young, fit women.

"Oh... well, perfection is not my concern. The qualities that I'm looking for in the inaugural Miss Corinium, uh, consists of, uh, a healthy body and sound morals." The old man says, causing you to purse your lips. Hypocrite. You think to yourself.

As if Declan has read your mind, he begins to interject. "You filthy, hypocritical, old git." He spits out, standing up to sucker punch Reverend Penney.

The entire control room gasps at the sight, along with the audience.

"What the fuck is he doing? Cut the feed." Cameron Cook exclaims, everyone rushing to end the livestream.

You race over the the viewing glass, watching Wesley Emerson hold back Declan from fighting furthermore.

"You'll get what's coming to you!" Declan yells, pointing at Reverend Penny.

"He's ruined everything." Daysee says.

You turn around, watching everyone stare in dismay. After a minute of standing in silence by yourself, you quickly make your way through the room, pushing the doors open to find Declan.

As you run doing the hall, you hear commotion in the office.

You watch as Declan pins Tony against the wall, then eventually proceeds to take a golf club and throw it through the glass. You gasp, covering your mouth.

Declan sees you, his face dropping as you both stand there, staring at each other.

Without hesitation, you gather your belongings and begin to head back down the hallway, this time going towards the exit.

"Y/n, wait!” Declan yells, following you down the stairs. "Y/n, stop! I need to talk to you!"

You push through the rotating entrance door, taken aback by Freddie and Rupert waiting with a car right in front.

"Y/n, are you okay? Do you need a lift?" Rupert asks, noticing your bewilderment as Declan charges outside behind you.

"No, I have my own car. Thanks though." You say, attempting to walk away.

"I just quit my job." Declan says suddenly, directed towards everyone. You look back at him with wide eyes.

"Get in the car, lads. Let's get rat-arsed." Freddie suggests, Rupert opening the door for Declan.

"Y/n, please let me talk to you." Declan pleas once more, standing in front of you with his back towards the other two.

"Declan," You sigh, looking up at him. "About what?" You ask, throw your arms up then dropping them. You watch him fail to answer, as you two were not alone. "Give it up. Go get rat-arsed, or whatever." You say, squinting in confusion as you say the sentence yourself.

Declan grabs your arm, looking into your eyes. "Please, y/n."

"You’re drunk, Declan." You say firmly, pulling your arm away. “Grow up.” You mutter bitterly.

You watch as Rupert forces him into the car, the door slamming as Declan continues to stare at you through the window. You shake your head in disappointment.

"Y/n..." Rupert says, causing you to look at him instead. "I see how he looks at you." He whispers, smiling with sympathy. "If you really care about him, it's worth fighting for. Believe me." He says, causing your eyes to widen. Did he know too?

"And why should I listen to you?" You say quietly, raising a brow at him.

"Because, I can tell when something is worthwhile than most. Also, between you and me, he seems happier with you around." He adds. "Just trust me." He says, placing a hand on your shoulder before dropping it. "Think about it, yeah?" He finishes, getting into the car before Freddie drives it away.

You stand still for a few seconds, watching the car disappear as you process the day that had fallen upon you. It was rather ludicrous how your first day back after sick leave left you in shambles, but could you expect anything less? Your internship was making you question whether or not journalism was even the career choice for you. It was becoming redundant.

You sigh, making your way to your car.

-

You were sitting in your armchair, attempting to focus on your Murakami novel. Your mind was going a thousand miles an hour, trying to process every single thing that has happened within the past month. It had been two weeks since you last saw Declan, and you were sure you'd never see him again as he did not attempt to reach out to you in any way since his departure at The Corinium.

Tony Baddingham had made you all begin to sign contracts, having to hand them in by Friday as a form of devotion and to not hand yourself off to Declan O'Hara and his band of misfits. Apparently, he was attempting to start up a company to take down Corinium.

As your mind consumes you, you quickly head over to your phone, dialing Seb as per usual.

"Seb speaking." He says.

"Seb, this is fucked up. What is happening?" You ask, biting your nails in a nervous tick.

"I don't know." He sighs. "I can't lose my job, y/n. I have to stay at The Corinium."

"Well, me neither. I'm with you on that." You say. "Do you think Tony's going to start firing us? I can't go back home, this job is all I've got." You explain, your hand white knuckling the cord of your phone.

"No, I don't think so. He’s got us signing papers for god’s sake. What's the worse that can happen? We haven't done anything to make Lord Baddingham think we're with Declan, have we?"

You go quiet for a moment before clearing your throat. "Right, course not. That would be ridiculous." You say, grabbing the back of your neck.

"I'll see you on Monday. It's alright, y/n. We've got each other." He reassures.

"Right, course. Bye Seb." You say, hanging up the phone.

As soon as you hang up the phone, your receiver starts to ring. You pick it up once again in confusion.

"Hello, who is this?" You ask.

"Y/n, it's Taggie." She says quietly.

"Taggie, love, hi. Did you want to come over?"

"...Can I? I feel like my house is falling apart. I could use your company."

"Well of course. Is everything alright?" You querie.

"No, not even in the slightest. I'll tell you once I get there."

"Yeah, no problem. See you soon."

"See you."

You hang up the phone again, groaning loudly. "I swear to god if it is possible to have a heart attack at twenty two it will happen to me of all people." You say to yourself, putting your head in your hands as you rub your face.

About twenty minutes later, Taggie enters your apartment. You gave her a spare key the last time you came over, figuring it would be nice to allow her to come over and keep you company whenever.

"Y/n, I feel like I'm going fucking crazy." She exclaims, taking off her sneakers.

"Do you need a glass of wine or...?" You suggest, already pouring two.

"Well, if you insist." She tries to jest, leaning against the counter as she presses her hands to her temples.

"What's going on?" You ask, sipping your own glass.

Taggie sighs heavily before speaking. "My mum's gone to London, and I don't think she plans on coming back." She says quietly, staring at the counter. "I would be more upset, but I think my parents giving up on each other was a long time coming." She admits, taking a deep sip of her glass.

"What?" You say, nearly choking on your own wine. "Your mom's leaving Declan?" You ask in dismay.

Declan’s washed up attitude was now finally making sense, and you began to feel guilty for not trying to reach out to him. You figured you were doing what was best, but maybe you were too narrow-minded to really know the answer to that one. You couldn’t help but feel a bit excited over the news.

"Yeah... At least I think she is. She left to rejoin the theatre, which means she definitely will cheat on my dad again so I think he gave up on her.” She says quietly.

“I’m sorry Tags.” You whisper, frowning. You hated to see her upset, any person in their right mind could never wish that upon Taggie.

“Not only that,” She continues on. “Rupert and Freddie have created a television company with my father in hopes it'll take out Corinium. Rupert's idea, in order to help my father pay back his debts.” She says, wincing as she finishes off her glass in another large gulp.

"Yeah, I heard about that. Christ um, that's a lot Taggie.” You pause for a moment. “Rupert really cares about you, doesn’t he?”

Taggie shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think he’s doing all this for me, y/n. That’d be absurd.” She tries to argue.

“Right, because he must be so in love with your dad.” You muse, raising your brows.

"That’s not the point!” She groans. “I want you to join us, y/n." She says, offering you a smile. "Well, I want them to hire you so you can leave the Corinium and still keep your work visa. Does that feel sound to you?" She asks, standing up straight.

You put your glass down, engulfing Taggie in a hug. "God, I could kiss you right now." You say, sighing with relief. "Do you really think this'll work? I'm just worried, cause they've got us signing contracts at Corinium." You ask, sitting back down on your stool.

"Mmm, I’ve heard about that myself." She says. "I accidentally came across Charles Fairburn when I was trying to get signatures. He's already willing to be on our team as a mole." She grins. "I'm not forcing you to do the same, but how do you feel about working for Venturer, y/n?" She asks, placing her hand down on the counter.

"Venturer? That's what they've called it?" You hum, picking up your glass and taking another sip of your wine.

You couldn’t figure out whether or not this was a good choice to make. Realistically, this could potentially send you straight back to America. On the other hand, the reason why you took on journalism was to do something you truly loved, which was speaking for the people. You knew if Venturer made it out alive, you’d have a bigger voice on the team.

Plus, maybe it was worth seeing Declan again. Deep down, you still cared greatly for him. It was your own fault that you had confrontation issues and blew up the situation bigger than it had to be.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do it." You say, causing Taggie to grin from ear to ear.

"Yes! I knew you'd say yes." She cheers, jumping slightly on the spot. “We’re hosting dinner at our house tomorrow night for the team. Care to join us?” She asks, her blue eyes lighting up with joy.

“Yeah, absolutely. How can I say no to a Taggie special?” You grin, the both of you laughing together. You were so grateful for Taggie, it seemed like whenever the two of you spent time together, something always turned around for the better.

-

You find yourself standing front of The Priory the next day. It had been quite awhile since the last time you were there, you couldn’t help but take in the view.

Suddenly, Gertrude comes barrelling around the corner at you. You kneel down, greeting the dog eagerly. “Oh hi baby! I missed you!” You coo, hugging the dog and scratching behind her ears. You hear footsteps, looking up and meeting Taggie’s eyes.

“I’m glad you made it.” She says with a smile on her face. “Everyone’s in the back by the garden. Follow me.” She gestures for you to do so, causing you and Gertrude to both make way to the garden.

As you turn the corner, you’re instantly greeted with Declan’s eyes. Rupert was in the middle of speaking to him when he follows his gaze, smirking when he notices you as well. There were others also sat around the table, a few you recognize and some you don’t.

You give Declan a warm smile, watching him reciprocate it as you sit down across from him, following your nametag.

“Y/n, lovely seeing you.” Freddie says, giving you a classic grin as you chuckle lightly.

“Likewise. It’s been a long few weeks, hasn’t it?” You comment, thanking Rupert when he gets up and pours you a glass of wine. You feel your cheeks warm up as you notice Declan’s eyes never leave you, although you were trying your best to look elsewhere.

“Tell me about it. You’re still at Corinium?” Rupert asks, sitting back down.

“Unfortunately. But erm, if you guys will have me I’ll gladly leave. It just depends on how it’ll go with my work visa and all that. Might have to reapply.” You say, shrugging as you sip your wine.

“We’d be more than happy to do so, y/n. Right Declan?” Rupert quizzes, nudging his frozen friend.

Declan blinks rapidly, clearing his throat. “Right, course. We’d love to have you.” He says quietly, looking down at the table briefly before looking at you again.

“Dinner is served!” Taggie announces, carrying out plates with Caitlin and Patrick, both who have returned home from school.

“Hi y/n.” Caitlin says, giving your shoulders a squeeze after she serves your a plate. You smile at her widely.

“So, how has it been without Maud in the house?” Rupert asks, causing half the table to light up in commotion and the other half to stay quiet.

“Rupert.” Lizzie says firmly, smacking his arm.

“What? Sorry I just wanted to know is all, christ you people are no fun.” He remarks, taking a bite of his food.

“It’s been quiet.” Taggie says suddenly, causing you all to fall quiet. “It feels more peaceful, in a way.” She admits, placing down the last plate of food. “Everyone, please enjoy.” She says, finally sitting down beside you.

You look across the table at Declan, who’s looking down at his feet. You taste the first few bites in silence, keeping your gaze on your plate as you listen to other conversations around you. You decide that maybe it was now or never to have a chance to speak with Declan. You just needed to step out briefly.

“I forgot something in my car, I’ll be back.” You say, getting up from your seat. Declan watches you exit dinner, disappearing around the corner.

“I’ll go get us another bottle of wine.” He says, getting up and re-entering the house.

You figured he wasn’t going to bother speaking to you, your heart sinking as you still walk over to your car incase anyone was watching. You lean up against the beater, biting at your nails.

Nearly jumping to your feet, you hear the front door open, revealing Declan. You realize he must’ve gone through the house to avoid suspicion.

He slowly approaches you, hand in his pockets as he halts about five feet away from you.

You turn to face him properly, clearing a few strands of hair from your face as you cross your arms.

“Hi.” He says timidly.

You’ve never seen Declan so reserved before, it was almost humorous.

“Hi.” You say back. “Nice shirt.” You comment, pointing to the Venturer graphic across his firm chest.

“Thanks. Taggie ordered ‘em. You can have one too if you’d like, they’re inside.” He says, giving you a smile. “Um, how’ve you been?” He asks.

“Been better. Trying to keep myself level, it’s not very easy apparently.” You try to joke, pursing your lips. “I’m sorry about the whole Maud thing. I mean it.” You say, shifting your weight from off the car. “You’ve always deserved better.” You mumble.

He nods slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah well, I insisted she go and be happy. It wasn’t cutting it for her here, she was happier in London and I’m happier here. Nothing stays linear.” He admits, shrugging. “I’m beyond it. I mourned our relationship ages ago.” He adds.

“Do you… miss her, at all?” You ask quietly.

“I miss the person I fell in love with. I think that woman and the one she is now are two completely different people.” He says, smiling sadly.

You nod slowly in understanding. “Do you still love her, then?”

Declan bites the inside of his cheek, pausing in deep thought. “I care about her, but I don’t think she is who I really love anymore.”

You furrow your brows at his response. “I don’t think I understand what you’re saying.”

Declan takes a few steps closer to you. “Y/n, I missed you, a lot.” He admits. “The last time I saw you, I figured that you never wanted to see me again. I wanna know if that’s true or not.”

You drop your arms, staring at Declan as your heartbeat increases rapidly. “Of course I wanted to see you. I just– God, you didn’t call me for two weeks Declan. You didn’t even try to see if that was really how I felt.” You try to argue.

Declan scoffs. “I could say the same, y/n. I didn’t call you because I thought you were crossed with me! The way you spoke to me on my last day at Corinium? How can you expect me to reach out when you gave me the impression that whatever this was-“ He gestures between you two. “-was over with.” He exclaims.

“I don’t know! I figured with the note you left for me that I was worth a call, or even a visit! You drive me fucking crazy because I fell for you, Declan!” You exasperate, Declan’s eyes widen at your statement. “Even if you thought I wanted nothing else to do with you, you could’ve at least tried to–!”

“You have feelings for me?” He whispers.

You pause for a moment, scoffing. “Seriously? That’s all you got from that?”

He steps in close and grabs your face, kissing you desperately.

You don’t react at first, taking in the moment as you begin to kiss him back.

-

After about 20 minutes, the two of you are entangled in the backseat of your car. It took you by surprise that it was even possible to have sex in such a small car, but with the right person– anything is possible.

“I missed this.” You say, humming with your eyes closed. You were sitting on his lap with your head tucked into the side of his neck, your bare torsos pressed against each other.

“Me too.” Declan whispers. “So you like me, eh?” He says, tucking hair behind your ear with a grin. The windows were foggy and your skin was sticky, it felt like a scene from a movie.

You pull your head back and roll your eyes. “I wish I would’ve said it in a better way but… yeah, I think so.” You admit, looking down.

He grabs your chin and lifts it up, forcing you to make eye contact again. “When I said Maud isn’t who I really love anymore, I was referring to you.”

“Ohhh… That makes more sense now.” You say, laughing quietly as Declan shakes his head.

“I thought you were taught literacy in school, y/n.”

“Oh shut the fuck up, Declan.” You say with a smile. “I could stay like this forever.” You whisper.“But we need to get back to dinner before anyone sees us.” You say, earning another kiss from him. You laugh against his lips, his mustache tickling your nose as his embrace around you tightens. “I’m serious, you idiot.” You muse, smacking his arm.

“We’ll talk more about this later.” He says, winking as he places a firm smack on your arse.

“Hey!” You exclaim, rolling your eyes as the two of you begin to redress yourselves before getting out of the car.

Declan goes back through the house, showing up about two minutes after you.

“Where’s the wine?” Rupert asks Declan, raising a brow as his eyes scan over the both of you.

“Ah, couldn’t find the one I was looking for.” He simply says, making brief eye contact with you as you both sit back down.

You couldn’t help but continuously smile through the evening, even kicking your feet a little underneath the table whenever Declan spoke.

You knew it was going to be difficult to tell anyone, but at least you knew Rupert was on your side, even if that wasn’t the most ideal person. Besides, you had a feeling something was going on between him and Taggie; they basically had sex with their eyes whenever they were in a room together. There was little to hide, and it assured you that Taggie wouldn’t be that distraught with the idea of you and her father. Hopefully.

As the evening led on, guests start to leave The Priory, leaving you and the O’Hara’s to get ready for slumber.

You had just finished up saying goodnight to Taggie and Caitlin when you entered the guest bedroom, smiling when you see Declan laying upon the mattress. He was reading your book, glasses on that made him look like a history professor.

“What’re you doing here?” You quiz, walking over to the bed.

“Mm, my bed felt too lumpy.” He mumbles, placing the book on his chest.

“Is that so, princess and the pea?” You say sarcastically, climbing in beside him. You grab the book and place it on the bedside table, allowing yourself to cuddle up beside him with your head on his chest.

Declan wraps his arm around you, keeping his other hand behind his head as he traced his fingers along your bare arm. “Nice book you’ve got there. Maybe you’d be interested in proofreading my Yeates piece.” He suggests, in which you hum in response.

“I’d be honored.” You smile, looking up at him. “Are you gonna tell anyone about us?” You ask quietly. You were afraid of any answer he was going to give, in full honesty. Having to deal with a public relationship between the two of you may do more harm than good.

“I think I’d have to ask you to be my girlfriend first, y/n.” Declan jests, placing his glasses on top his head.

Your cheeks flush, causing you to hide your face in his chest. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” You mumble, causing Declan’s chest to vibrate with laughter.

“No, don’t be sorry love.” He squeezes your arm, causing you to look up again. “Y/n,” He clears his throat before continuing. “Will you be my girlfriend?” He asks.

Your stomach flutters as a big smile stretches across your face. “Controversially young girlfriend you say? Yeah… I think I could do that.” You say, sitting up and bringing your legs over to be on both sides of his hips.

“Is that what people call it now?” He muses, looking up at you. “Hm, has a ring to it.” He mumbles, pulling your face into his as he begins to kiss you for what felt like the thousandth time that night.

-

You both had eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms at some point, finding yourself groggily waking up to the sound of commotion downstairs in the kitchen.

Declan is nowhere to be seen, assuming that he had already gotten up for the day.

You sit up and stretch, smiling lazily to yourself. You put on your own Venturer shirt, staying in a pair of pyjama bottoms you had borrowed from Taggie as you make your way down the stairs.

You are greeted with the sight of the Venturer Team once again, everyone discussing something rather solemnly.

“Good morning!” You say, your smile faltering when everyone looks at you with differentiating facial expressions– all mainly of concern.

Taggie walks through the crowd with a frown as she hands over a newspaper, pointing to the cover.

There were photos of you and Declan printed out on the front page, along with Taggie and Rupert. The headlines were accusing of them preying on younger women, most definitely the doings of Tony Baddingham.

You read the article over and over, your eyes widening with every sentence. You shamefully lower it from your gaze, looking at everyone else.

Well, fuck.

-

SHIT…. Fawk… again i know im literally the one writing this but im like 😐🙁😭 why can no one catch a fucking break. brutal

thank you for the support, this series now has over 100 notes just the first part alone YAYY. thank you for your love and devotion. this new part is my gift to you.

i’m hoping to make the next part the last part but i’m quite sure i said the same thing two parts ago so whatever don’t hold me accountable. CHEERS!

as always,

isabel

[yuomizuu]

⋆.˚ ᰔ . to be with you, is to sit in autumn sunlight !

[ kazuha. ] — just a couple of random hcs that suddenly came to me! it has truly been a hot minute since my last post but regardless, hope you enjoy the zuha brain rot folks ^3^

w.c: 945

➴ kaedehara kazuha.

if there’s anything that kazuha enjoys doing—apart from writing poetry, resting upon a warm rock, or indulging himself in a bit of sake—it’s your presence.

whether it’s taking a leisure stroll through the streets of liyue together or simply listening you talk to your heart’s content, kazuha finds your company to be as pleasant as a gentle autumn breeze. when the alcor is buzzing with an endless revelry that continues on into the late hours of the night, kazuha will seek you out, quietly taking your hand and leading you elsewhere, away from the festivities to instead pursue a secret rendezvous of your own.

if he’s not particularly keen on leaving the ship, then he’ll steal a bottle of sake and two cups and instead bring you up to the ship’s nest, enjoying each other’s company as you both silently admire the rolling ocean waves across the horizon.

but it’s also important to remember that kazuha is someone who enjoys his own solitude from time to time as well. therefore, his most prominent forms of love languages would probably fall into words of affirmation. you recall the time beidou had referred to his manner of speaking as having flowers come out of his mouth instead of actual words and honestly, you would have to agree. countless times has this charming wanderer left you with nothing but a racing heart and a hue of rose tinted cheeks from just a few cherry-picked lines.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

“the sunlight is bright, the leaves are vibrant and yet, your eyes, your smile… when you look at me in this moment, the brilliance of flowers and daylight seem dull, as if i’m staring into the heart of a blooming star.”

“… kazuha!? where did that come from all of sudden??”

“hmm… just thinking of some lines to use in my next poem dove.”

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

kazuha will seldom chose to call/refer to you by your actual given name, not because he finds it awkward, but he simply prefers to use his own terms of endearments with you. the most frequent of which being ‘my love’ and ‘dove,’ however don’t be surprised if he suddenly throws in a new one into the mix. the times in which your name is spoken by his lips are the quietude moments beneath the viel of stars at night in which he recites poems to you in your honor or softly proclaims vows of forever being yours.

each time the young ronin prepares to set off on another journey, ready to follow wherever the winds take him, he leaves a token of himself with you. this token can end up being a variety of things: an item he procured on his previous travels, a simple flower or leaf ( though to him, they are anything but simple ), or even the red tassel on him with the ornamental maple leaf where his vision is tied to. whatever it is you end up receiving, it serves as a reminder that even though he may travel great distances, he will always return to you.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

“they do say that distance makes the heart grow fonder.. so you need not worry my love. a part of me will always be with you, but i can only be complete if i am by your side.”

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

as if the token itself weren’t enough, kazuha will undoubtedly continue to keep in touch with you via written letters. he does this special thing where depending on the nation he’s currently traveling in, he’ll pick a local plant speciality and seal it with wax to the envelope — a way of letting you know where he was in the world. sometimes he’ll simply muse to you about his travels, writing about all the wonderful sights he’s seen and is certain you would enjoy. on days when kazuha is missing you more so than usual, his letters will consist of haikus/poems centered around you or just going on a lover’s tangent about how much he adores you.

you also write to him, and of course, kazuha finds immense happiness each time he receives your letters. if he’s having a hard time falling asleep at night, he’ll read through your letters, hoping your words alone will manage to lull his restless mind to sleep ( and they do ). back home, he’ll fold them into origamis in order to preserve them and from that alone he’s able to recognize what letter of yours it was in and what you’d written in particular. ( beidou is constantly finding random origamis scattered around her ship sometimes www )

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

“hey [name], mind giving this to kazuha and reminding him not to misplace them around the ship unless he wants a drunken sailor stepping on them?”

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·♡·໒꒱ ────── · ·

when the time of your fateful reunion finally arrives, it feels akin to a homecoming for kazuha ( although he would argue that it is exactly that because well.. you are his home ). the moment he sets foot onto the familiar grounds of liyue, his eyes seek you out instantly, knowing that you would be waiting for him just like you always do. some days he’ll surprise you, silently walking up from behind and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck and planting a series of kisses — ones that are so gentle and feather-like, it felts as though a butterfly had landed there. slowly, they’ll trail up until he reaches your ears where he whispers to you his greeting and how happy he is to see you.

you can most definitely expect to be showered in all his love and attention for the next few days so hopefully you won’t find yourself tiring of him too quickly :)

[ivyvenus333]

satosugu band!au (kind of)

a/n: im so cooked this is what i've been thinking about whenever i listen to this song. go listen to "pool house" so you see my vision... also i finally learned how to do the ombre ◦°˚(*❛ ‿ ❛)/˚°◦ ok ily.

"pool house" by the backseat lovers except it was written by satoru and suguru when they were 17 and at some shitty house party. hoping to find solace from the weed-filled air and the bass reverberating off of every surface, the two snuck off to the backyard. the rowdy cheers of girls getting drunk in the pool didn’t offer much peace, but at least there were empty seats around the fireplace. taking painfully slow sips of beer they pretended to like, satoru and suguru sat in silence, just observing their peers and this unfamiliar world around them.

of course, they’d been dragged to the party by shoko who relentlessly insisted they needed to broaden their horizon. satoru and suguru never really understood what she meant by that. what more to life than spending almost every waking moment with your best friend — the one you started a band with? 

and who else but satoru to have the genius idea that they needed to write a song right now. something about creativity flowing more freely when you’re drunk. which they absolutely were. lawn chairs moved to be as close as possible, and satoru leaned over the armrest to be closer still. the string lights above illuminated the small leather notebook that suguru always carried in his pocket. always ready at a moment’s notice to be filled with lyrics, drum beat notations, or anything satoru commanded him to write. 

the words flowed through them and onto the page, all inspired by the party taking place around them. defenses lowered from the alcohol, they were so goddamn giggly and touchy. they sat there and wrote for a couple hours until shoko was ready to go. like most nights, the three ended up crashing at satoru’s, all squeezed and cuddling on his king-size bed. well, satoru and suguru cuddling. but their long limbs inevitably violated shoko’s personal space, so, close enough.

the next morning, they convinced shoko that the song needed to be recorded right now, despite her unforgiving hangover. and as much as she complained, the song set the tone for the album that would launch their career the next year — just right after their graduation.

as it goes, suguru left the band a few years and tours later. he told the media and the fans it was because of his mental health and to please respect his privacy. it wasn’t entirely a lie. truthfully, suguru was still reconciling with this lifestyle they’d become entrenched in immediately after high school. one that satoru was better at throwing himself at — the drugs, the partying. the sex. god, watching satoru pridefully fuck their groupies drove suguru insane. something about the way men and women lusted over satoru in the first place made suguru’s blood boil. and fuck, shoko was basically built for this life. but suguru simply wasn’t. and his feelings for his best friend — ones he’d been repressing since he first met satoru — were not helping. 

so satoru, unknowing, feels his heart physically break when suguru throws the same rehearsed lines in his face before leaving and going no contact for over a year.

anyways, suguru temporarily* comes back for the band's first world tour after an emergency with the drummer that replaced him and a desperately pleading shoko. satoru was so confused and so pissed when he walked in the studio one day and saw suguru sat behind the drums as if nothing had ever happened. so much so that he almost refused to play if he was going to be there. but the better part of satoru's heart knew that it was always supposed to be suguru who he traveled the world with to perform songs they wrote in high school at shitty house parties.

literally all of this to say that the instrumental section from [2:58-3:53] is them realizing what they truly mean to each other mid-way through the tour. satoru distances himself from the microphone, bouncing on his feet as he strums the electric guitar. he positions himself on the stage so that his back is towards the crowd and he can't see anything except suguru. suguru on the drums letting the passion he'd been restraining move freely through his hands, eyes never leaving satoru's. faces flushed from the heat of the stage lights, shirts soaked in sweat, hair disheveled from the constant motion. and yet, they both swear the other has never looked more beautiful.

no words are sung, but the music expresses all the "i missed yous," "i need yous," and "i love yous" they've always been too afraid to tell each other.

[pixeltwix]

{McGucket Family Tree}

I did promise to extend my lore and story for Fiddleford just as I did for Emma May in this post, buuuut for today I’ll be doing a more general Fiddleford family post without diving into his life in depth (I swear I will get to it eventually though. Today will just be small details and their designs :P )

The McGucket family definitely gives off ‘weirdo’ vibes. They’re a well known family in the town, but they always have a bizarre aura about them that sets them all apart from the rest

Bobbie Jean, his mother, and Arlo, his father, settled a bit later into a family than most others would in town, but their patient natures only brought about a very loving family

Blanche is the first born followed by Fiddleford some years after, but now you may ask, ‘why doesn’t anyone else have a goofy name?’

Per McGucket family tradition the first born son is always to have an unconventional or silly name, otherwise it’ll bring about bad luck. The McGuckets are very superstitious people after all!

To play off the weirdo vibe and unconventional energy of the family though I feel all of the McGucket kids have something about them that keeps them apart from most others

Blanche isn’t interested in romance or relationships despite the towns folk gossiping and calling her a spinster for her age

Fiddleford is exceptionally smart and capable of things beyond average comprehension

Lenore is artsy, independent, and favors women over men. Thankfully her parents would never force her into a marriage and protect her at home

Darla is the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet, but her anxiety is 10x worse than Fidds, speech not easy for her even with her own family

Huck is the second born son, but definitely not a farm kid. He detests everything about it and has tried on many occasions to set the pigs free

And then Sally has zero filter, enough said on that. She wastes no punches verbally and struggles to make friends on account of it

But then of course there’s the newest lady in the McGucket family, Emma May. I could talk for hours about her, but joining the family wasn’t exactly the smoothest transition for her

Growing up in a very unorthodox setting with cult influence she was unused to being welcomed into a home where kindness was given without strings attached

The McGuckets were more than happy to help her understand this though and even happier to learn about the woman who managed to steal their (usually socially inept) sons heart

While poor as the McGucket family is I imagine their family home has been with them for generations. Naturally as the family grows so too must the house. I’d imagine their place looks a bit of a mess with all the steady added additions to the house and barn, but it’s all so chaotically organized and right it difficult to not be endeared

While the main house is packed and lovely most of everyone spends the majority of their day out working the land and taking care of the animals

Thankfully they are not alone as the family is quite extended and equally generous and kind

There are plenty more men who have fallen victim to the silly name tradition that the McGuckets have, but the two closest in age to Fiddleford are the most relevant

Thistlebert and Diddsley were really his only friends aside from his siblings growing up, but really these two already felt like older brothers anyway

Thistlebert has an affinity for ‘saucer people’ always curious of alien life even if he doesn’t have the intellect of Fidds to understand it

Meanwhile Diddsley acts as more of the enthusiast for chaos. Always encouraging Fiddleford when they were kids to make the next big thing for them to wreak havoc with. Be that mini pig robots or tractors that can go over 80 mph, he was always the first to give suggestions

Like I said, this will not be the post where I hyper focus on Fiddleford himself, but to conclude I’ll simply say- The McGucket family is literally so silly

Like they’re all very capable and hardworking people, but they will find time to be fun and enjoy their lives without being serious all of the time

In a way it helps them cope with the conditions of their lives and the struggles that they realize most likely will never go away

But despite that every generation becomes more and more optimistic, Fiddleford’s literal dream to be that he an make enough money to provide for his own family one day

[ibijau]

Daemon AU / On A03 An AU never dies, it just goes on artificial comma until I'm reading to pick it up again. And so does this particular one return to life, three years after it last updated. Including this, I now have three chapters ready to post, so they'll put shared whenever I remember to do it A note on it: in this AU, cultivators are like witches and can be apart from their daemons (...in most cases anyway)(previous chapters dealt with Nie Huaisang and his botched separation from his daemon). Unlike witches, cultivator's daemons can take a number of forms. Jiang Cheng's daemon is a black dog called Fengyu. Wei Wuxian's daemon is a black swan called Pashou.

The pile of papers on Jiang Cheng's desk refused to get any lower no matter how many hours he wasted on it. Cries for help, bills, a staggering number of marriage offers, a less surprising quantity of veiled threats against his weakened sect, and a bunch of other bullshit that Jiang Cheng disliked having to deal with. It shouldn’t even have been his to deal with. If his sect were properly run, then his first disciple would be handling most of that correspondence, leaving him to deal only with important messages and with training the disciples, like his parents used to do.

Wei Wuxian used to be the first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang back then, just as he was now. But while he had respected Jiang Fengmian enough to actually do the tasks asked of him, he mostly ignored Jiang Cheng’s orders and fucked off to get drunk all day long. Apparently his contribution in the Sunshot Campaign meant he never had to help anyone ever again. At least, so Fengyu and Jiang Cheng thought, when they talked about it late at night, bitter and lonely.

Inspecting a letter, Jiang Cheng nonchalantly dropped his free hand to pet Fengyu, as he often did when he was upset. He wasn’t particularly paying attention to her, just needing the reminder that he was fully alone to deal with this, even if Wei Wuxian had all but abandoned him. Of course he had his sister, and he had his disciples who were all fiercely loyal in spite of being recent recruits, but it wasn’t the same. Jiang Yanli couldn’t help with anything relating to martial art, even if she helped run other aspects of the sect, and the new disciples didn’t know about Yunmeng Jiang’s traditions, unlike Wei Wuxian who should have been teaching them, or giving Jiang Cheng the time to teach them.

Feeling his anger rise higher, Jiang Cheng started scratching Fengyu’s back, only for it to feel off. The sensation was all wrong, nothing at all like the usual coarseness of her dog fur. It felt more like…

Jiang Cheng froze, terrified to move his hand or to let himself finish that thought. He did not dare look down at the daemon laying down on a little seat next to his.

He didn’t have to look, because right then Wei Wuxian returned, Fengyu trailing behind him. It was something she did sometimes. Someone had to look after him, she’d say, and Pashou simply wasn’t the same since the Sunshot Campaign, always falling asleep somewhere. It was a disgrace really, just as annoying as Wei Wuxian’s new habit of going around without a sword.

Jiang Cheng didn’t remember Fengyu saying she would be following him that day, but he wouldn’t have stopped her anyway. Someone really did need to take care of Wei Wuxian.

Only, if it hadn’t been Fengyu next to him all afternoon, then…

“Did you even move from that desk today?” Wei Wuxian teased as he came closer, swaying on his feet, a sure sign that he’d drank far too much again. “Jiang Cheng, don’t you have disciples to train?”

“Whose fault is it if I can’t train them?” Jiang Cheng snapped, loud enough that it startled the daemon next to him.

Pashou’s head rose, blinking sleepily and looking around. She seemed almost surprised to find herself in Jiang Cheng’s office, and looked up at him as if he might explain to her what she was doing there.

“Look at your daemon!” Jiang Cheng snarled, while he absolutely refused to meet Pashou’s eyes. “How much have you had to drink for her to be in that state?”

“Not much,” Wei Wuxian protested.

“A lot,” Fengyu muttered at the same time, trotting toward Jiang Cheng.

Fengyu headbutted Pashou to make her leave her seat, but poor Pashou was in such a daze that she started falling to the side. Jiang Cheng moved to grab her, only barely stopping himself from actually touching her. Pashou fell to the floor with a dull thud, while Fengyu shot Jiang Cheng a puzzled look.

Jiang Cheng straightened his back and ignored both daemons, bringing his attention back to Wei Wuxian who was so drunk it didn’t seem to shock him that Jiang Cheng had nearly touched his daemon, something even a baby wouldn’t have done.

He was so drunk he probably hadn’t even felt that all afternoon, Jiang Cheng had been mindlessly petting Pashou as if she were his.

It made no sense.

Wei Wuxian had the excuse of wine, but Jiang Cheng didn’t. He should have noticed at the first brush of his fingers against black feathers. It wasn’t just that petting a dog and a bird should have felt different, it was the fact that he should have been shocked at the contact with someone else’s soul.

Jiang Cheng wondered, not for the first time, how much Baoshan Sanren had changed him when she had given him a new golden core, how inhuman she had made him that day.

And he had to be less human than he used to be. Only a monster could touch someone else’s daemon and feel nothing.

“You’re a disgrace,” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, unsure if he meant Pashou, Wei Wuxian, or himself. “How long are you going to continue shaming our sect this way?”

Somewhere on the floor, Pashou muttered a weak ‘sorry’, while Wei Wuxian came closer and picked her up with a laugh, as if none of this mattered to him.

“She’s just a little tired,” Wei Wuxian claimed, struggling to hold her, as if her weight were almost too much for him. She was a large swan after all. “Jiang Cheng, don’t be so grumpy. Drop your work and let’s go have wine by the lake.”

“Some of us have responsibilities,” Jiang Cheng retorted, glaring at his first disciple, annoyed that for some reason, it felt wrong to see Wei Wuxian holding Pashou like this. Refusing to dwell on this, Jiang Cheng looked for something else to focus on. He easily found it. “Where’s your sword?”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the question, which only encouraged Jiang Cheng to insist until they fell into a full blown argument. He only stopped shouting at Wei Wuxian when Jiang Yanli, alerted by the noise, came to reconcile them as she always did, offering affection and soup for both of them.

It usually worked, because in spite of his temper Jiang Cheng desperately wanted to be happy with his sister and Wei Wuxian. That night though, the soup tasted of nothing. And every time his eyes fell again on Pashou, Jiang Cheng was reminded that for all that he criticised Wei Wuxian’s behaviour since the end of the war, he too had returned changed.

[middleearthpixie]

I'll See You in My Dreams ~ Chapter One

Summary: Noelle James knows soul mates exist, the trouble is, she just can’t seem to find hers. Especially since hers seemed to have existed only in the world of cinema and The Hobbit movies. No one believes she actually spent time in Tolkien’s Middle Earth and even fewer believe Thorin Oakenshield existed in her world, either. 

So when she finds herself unexpectedly alone on yet another Christmas, she has no way of knowing exactly what the universe has in store for her this time.The trouble is, this man claiming to be Thorin can’t possibly be him, for he died at the hands of Azog the Defiler at Ravenhill. She saw him die with her own eyes.

So, it can’t be him.

Or can it?

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Noelle James

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.2k

Read on AO3

New Jersey, present day

The pond was frozen. 

Of course, everything was frozen. All the weathermen kept going on about was how cold December had been. Far colder than it had been for years. A white Christmas was not only hinted at, but practically guaranteed by those talking heads. Sure enough. By December twenty-third, there was at least six inches of fresh powder blanketing all but the furthest points south in New Jersey and it had been snowing on and off since Christmas Eve.

Normally, Noelle loved Christmas. Especially white Christmases, which happened about as often as total solar eclipses. Which was to say, they happened next to never. The last one she recalled was three years ago, and it reminded her very much like this one.

She would spend it alone, licking her wounds from yet another breakup.

Of course, to be fair, unlike three years ago, Rich didn't cheat on her. There were no suddenly cancelled plans that resulted in a late night phone call and a confession about screwing a coworker. 

No, this was, for all intents and purposes, a civil, grown up, mature breakup. She couldn’t even fault him, really. His fatal flaw?

He wished to get married and she didn’t.

That was it. 

They’d broken up in person, in a café in Paris, of all places. She’d flown out to visit him, excited to see him after a long time apart (his work took him all over the globe and he kept some terrible hours as well) but something happened when she’d arrived. Actually, it was more like after a few days in France. It’d begun wonderfully, every bit as romantic as in any movie—they didn't even get any sleep her first night there, as they were far too busy christening every flat surface in his hotel suite. 

But, then something went wrong. Something Noelle couldn’t put her finger on, but it definitely sent their relationship on a collision course with disaster. It seemed that with each passing minute, things soured a bit more. They didn't fight. There were no accusations or jealousy or anything. It just felt… wrong.

It all came to a head on her last night in France, when over coffee at that sidewalk cafe, she returned the absolutely stunning two-carat, princess cut engagement ring to an equally stunned Rich, telling him she didn't know why, but she’d changed her mind about getting married. She couldn’t explain it. She just knew she wasn't ready. 

But he must have felt the same, for there were no pleas to work on their relationship, no suggestion that perhaps if he cut back on work (which she would never ask him to do anyway, not at this point in his career) or maybe if they just postponed their wedding date, it would all work out.

No, there was none of that. A hint of confusion swirled in his brilliant blue eyes, but he’d nodded and ran his hand though his spiky hair, which had been mostly black when they’d met, was now highlight with streaks of silver. It suited him, though. She often told him so.

But not that night. That night, her eyes stung and her throat squeezed shut as he’d murmured, “You’re probably right, Noe. I think I’ve felt it as well and was just too scared to say anything, that if I didn’t, it would simply go away. But, still, thank you for being honest with me.”

“Of course.” She’d reached across the table to cover his long-fingered hand with hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

He’d met her gaze once more, a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips. “I will miss you, you know. Who else will tell me when my American accent needs work?”

“Hire a better dialect coach than the one you’d had,” she’d managed, “and you’ll be fine.”

He’d nodded, drew in a deep breath, and then let it out as he said, “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.” She reached for her purse and stood, then came around to his side of the table to bend and pressed a light kiss into his soft hair. “Take care of you, too, Rich.”

And that was that. It ended not with a crash. Not with a bang. But with only a soft whisper.

She lived in New York, in a high-rise luxury apartment building on Duane Street. Her public relations firm had grown by leaps and bounds in the last three years—with her opening offices in Los Angeles and Miami—and she could now afford the penthouse in her building if she so desired, but she loved her cozy space and had no desire to move. Not even to the penthouse above her. That cozy space was hers.

But, once she’d returned to New York, she found being in the apartment left her restless, with interrupted sleep. When she did manage to fall into a sound sleep, it was only to be plagued by strange dreams that made no sense. She began to consider buying that penthouse, and finally told her realtor that she’d changed her mind and negotiations were underway. 

However, the holiday season slowed everything to a crawl and when her mother invited her to spend her birthday (December twenty-third) and Christmas in her childhood home, the pull of nostalgia proved too powerful to ignore.

So there she was, out by the pond upon which she’d ice skated as a child, watching the snow fall and trying not to think about how damn cold it was. 

“Noe, are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom!” Noelle tried to force a cheer she didn't feel into her voice as her mother, Diane crunched through the powder toward her.

“You don't look fine.” 

“Well, I am.”

Pulling her colorful knit shawl more tightly about her, Diane made a clicking noise with her tongue, then after a brief hesitation, said, “Why didn't you call him back?”

“He was just calling to wish me a Merry Christmas, Mom. We’re not getting back together.”

“But he called you. On your birthday. Maybe he—”

“Mom,” Noelle shook her head, still staring out at the pond’s mirror-like surface, “he doesn’t want to get back together, either. We agreed it was best for both of us. So, even if I talked to him, it wouldn’t change anything. Now, I know you loved the idea of a movie star son-in-law, but I’m not marrying him. He’s okay with it. I’m okay with it. You have to get okay with it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” A hint of hurt wove through her voice. “I just feel that you left it unfinished. How do you get closure that way?”

“It wasn't unfinished. I gave him his ring back. It does’t really get any more finished than that. Trust me, closure is not needed in this instance.”

“He sent us a Christmas card, you know. It came in the mail last week.”

Noelle tried to ignore the hopeful notes that crept into her mother’s voice, tried to fight down her rising annoyance. Her mother meant well, but Noelle was starting to wish she’d remained in New York. “He’s not a jerk, Mom. But, he’s also not going to be my husband. Now, can we please not talk about him any more.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to pry.”

“I know and I—I don’t mean to be so bitchy about it.” Noelle looked over at her mother, feeling a pang of guilt at her mother’s expression. Diane meant well. She always did. And she wasn't the sort of mother who kept asking when Noelle would get married or give her grandchildren or anything like that. In fact, she rarely even asked if Noelle was dating, and if she was dating, her mother never once asked if they had ever discussed marriage. 

Which was why Noelle thought she’d disappointed her even more. 

“Can I ask what happened?”

Noelle sighed, shaking her head. “We just wanted different things is all. And really, his work is as important to him as mine is to me and neither of us would want to give it up.”

There was no reason to tell Diane about the dreams. Or about the emptiness she felt when she awoke from them and found Rich asleep beside her instead of the man in those dreams. A man who’d existed, but only to her when all was said and done.

“Well, don’t stay out here too long.”

“I won’t.” 

Diane crunched her way back toward the large white house where Noelle had spent a wonderful childhood, and with a soft sigh, Noelle turned back to the pond. It reminded her of one of her favorite places in Central Park. 

Well, it had been one of them. Now? Now she winced at the memory. She rarely went to Central Park any longer. 

“Don't think about it,” she whispered even as her eyes stung. “Don’t think about him.”

The wind stirred then, the tree branches above her rustling although they bore no leaves at this point. It seemed the woods were speaking to her, almost taunting her as she tried to forget the one man who’d been forever imprinted upon her mind and her body. The one man she’d loved completely and wholly and unlike any other man she’d ever been with.

The one man who no one in her world could remember.

The one man who’d finally remembered her when she’d found her way into his world.

The one man who’d died in her arms.

My soul will find yours. 

She had allowed herself to believe Rich was just that soul in a different body. For a while, she had believed it wholeheartedly. But then, over these past few months, doubt crept in as the dreams began. She was a fool to think souls could find one another. Dead was dead, whether in her world or another. No matter how badly she wished to believe it, Rich was not Thorin. Thorin was gone and was not coming back.

The sky was almost purple, and the first stars twinkled against the growing darkness. The wind blew harder now, almost whistling through those naked branches stretching overhead like skeleton arms reaching into the growing twilight. Perhaps her ears and mind collaborated to play tricks on her, but she’d swear she heard the trees whispering something to her. 

Something that sounded very much like, “Thorin is here.”

But trees didn't talk, except for the creepy ones in The Wizard of OZ, and so Noelle ignored it as she turned to make her way back toward the house. 

Thorin’s eyes snapped open as if someone had shouted his name in his ear. He lay flat on his back, staring up at a late afternoon sky gone hazy dark grey, and snowflakes swirled about him in all direction to muffle all sound.

Except for the soft rush of water than came from somewhere in the distance to his left. The river, no doubt. Thank Mahal. The song that had plagued him had gone silent now, left him in peace up on Ravenhill. He need only get to his feet and get back into the warmth of Erebor. 

But something wasn’t right.

As he lay there, snow settling in his hair, his beard, on his clothes, he realized that he heard more than that simply rush of water. The sounds reaching his ears weren’t familiar, but he had the feeling he’d heard them before. In a dream, perhaps? Was that even possible?

He sat up slowly, shaking the snow from his beard as he twisted to look first to his left, than his right. The river was gone. The black and grey stone fortress of Ravenhill was gone. In their place, he saw a frozen-over pond and what looked like a low castle of grayish white stone.

“Sounds like Belvedere Castle. You probably came through in Central Park.”

The voice speaking those words was no longer low and raspy, but instead feminine—silky and throaty and while it was as unfamiliar as his surroundings, he knew he’d heard it before.

“Mahal,” he muttered, drawing the backs of his fingers along the left side of his jaw, “is this even possible?” 

As he sat there, he became very much aware of the dampness seeping into his heavy woolen trousers, so he slowly got to his feet. Once upright, he slowly looked about. Central Park. He knew this place, even if his memory of it was rather fuzzy. 

There was a pond. Turtle Pond. A magical place with a strange name. And beyond that, Belvedere Castle.

His heart sped up as the memories slowly returned. He’d been here before. More than once. And it was in this realm that he’d found her.

He smiled, his heart giving a strange leap, one he hadn’t felt in a lifetime. 

Noelle.

Her name simply rose in his memory. 

Noelle.

Beautiful Noelle, with her fall of wildly tousled red curls and eyes that were a perfect blend of sea and sky, becoming more of one than the other, depending on her mood. 

How could he have possibly forgotten her?

Mahal must have hidden her until the time was right, until the time came where he was meant to find her again. That’s why he’d fallen back into Central Park. To find his Noelle. 

He smiled. 

She was here. He wasn't exactly certain where she was, but he knew he’d find her, just as he’d found her the first time. 

With that, he started down the pathway, just as he’d done before. As he walked, the sounds of water faded and the sounds of machines he didn't quite understand grew louder. The lights grew brighter.

The memories, so slow at first, rushed forward to flood his mind with images that had him moving even faster now. His boots thudded dully on first tarmac, then sidewalk, as he left Central Park (he knew it was Central Park now) behind him.

But, the machines on the far side of the concrete gave him pause. He remembered the yellow ones were called cabs, but he didn't know if that meant all yellow carriages, so he paused near the corner of a building that towered so high above him, he bent over almost backward in an attempt to see the top. Not even Erebor or Ravenhill came close to soaring as high as the buildings in this strange city did. That he knew for certain.

He peered at the yellow carriages whizzing by, their wheels sending up slushy spray at those unlucky enough to be too close to the roadside. Although there was no chance of any hitting him, Thorin stepped closer to the building just the same. He tried not to draw too much attention to himself from the throngs of people hurrying past him. After all, none of them had a sword that he could see. 

From his spot near the building, he watched how other people manage to get a carriage to stop for them. It took little more than putting a hand up, and one of the yellow conveyances drew to a stop alongside the sidewalk. Simple enough. 

The last time he was in this city, he remembered being in one of the carriages. With Noelle. She gave her residence as being on Duane Street. Like the building in whose shadow he stood, that building also rose toward the heavens, higher than any other buildings he’d ever seen. 

The trouble was, he had no idea where Duane Street was in relation to where he stood. That meant he’d have to try his luck in convincing one of those cabs to stop for him.

With that, he pushed away from the building, moving toward the road as if it was something he’d done all the time. Snow swirled in all directions beneath the streetlights, and when he held up a hand, it took all of about thirty seconds for a coach to stop for him.

He tugged open the back door, as he’d seen Noelle do, and winced at the blast of heat that nearly knocked him back a step. Still, he carefully sank into the cracked vinyl seat and said, “Duane Street.”

“Do you have a number?”

“No.”

“You wanna take Eleventh Ave or Seventh to get there?”

“Whichever is quickest.”

“This time of day? Six of one, half dozen of the other, pal. Which one you wanna go?”

Thorin scowled. “Seventh, then.”

“You got it.”

And with that, they were off. The driver seemed to pay no heed to all of the horns around him, but wove in and out of traffic as if he was the only one on the road. Thorin held his breath with each honk, closing his eyes as he silently asked Mahal to watch over him, for it seemed to him the driver had a bit of a death wish. It was difficult to remember was his last cab ride had been like here. He had been concentrating far more on how Noelle’s thigh pressed up against his every time they took a turn, and that was far more pleasant than this ride. 

But finally, the cab abruptly pulled to the side. “That’ll be twenty one-fifty, mister.”

Thorin hesitated. He had no money from this world on his person. But, he had something he hoped would be considered just as valuable.

“I’ve none of your bills,” he began, holding out a small, golden coin, “but I think this might suffice.”

The driver stared at the coin. “Are you serious?”

“Take it. I think you’ll be pleased.”

“What kind of game you playin’, man?”

“I play no games. Trust me, that is pure gold. Feel it.” Thorin waited for him to hold out his hand, then dumped the coin into the driver’s palm, sighing back his smile at the way the man’s eyes went wide. 

He didn't wait for the driver to say anything, but pushed the door open and emerged from the cab into the night air that seemed even chillier after nearly forty minutes in the overheated vehicle. Apparently the driver didn't mind being paid in gold, for as soon as Thorin shoved the door closed, the vehicle’s tires squealed as he pulled away from the curb to disappear into the thickening grayness until only the red dots of the lights on the cab's rear were visible.

Unfortunately, as he looked around, Thorin realized he recognized nothing. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time he had to hunt to find a residence. He’d gotten lost twice in the Shire looking for Bilbo Baggins’ house, and that was nothing compared to the time he and his company had gotten lost in Mirkwood. 

So, with that, he began walking. With neither sun nor stars to guide him, he had no idea what direction he moved. Still, he kept moving until finally, he saw something familiar. 

Actually, no. The building wasn’t at all familiar to his eyes. 

But to his heart? That was another story. He didn't have to recognize to know he’d found the right place.

The building doorman smiled as Thorin tugged open one of the heavy smoked glass doors and stepped into the lobby. “Good evening, sir. How may I help you?”

Thorin drew in a deep breath as he attempted to quell the hundreds of butterflies that had suddenly let loose in his belly. “I’m here to see Miss James.”

“Is she expecting you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” 

The doorman’s smile faded. “I see. Very well. Who should I tell her is calling?”

“Tell her it’s Thorin.”

A thin grey eyebrow arched. “Thorin?”

“She will know me.”

“Very well.  I’ll let Miss James know you’re here, Mr. … Thorin.”

“I thank you.” 

He stepped back as the doorman lifted something to his ear. “Miss James, you have a visitor.”

The doorman’s eyes narrowed as they fell on Thorin once more. “He says his name is Thorin.” Those pale grey eyes, almost the same shade as his eyebrows, narrowed. “Yes, of course.”

He set down the device. “Miss James will be down in a moment. You may have a seat over there, if you wish.”

Thorin turned toward the dark brown leather chairs on the opposite side of the lobby. “Thank you.”

He didn't trouble to tell the doorman that he’d find it impossible to sit. Instead, he crossed to those chairs and just paced, painfully aware of the way the doorman’s eyes seemed to follow him constantly. 

A chime echoed along the building’s marble and chrome interior and at the far end of the corridor, two silver doors slid open and for a moment, Thorin was convinced he’d stepped into one of his dreams. 

Three years had passed since he last laid eyes upon Noelle and he chided himself on how he could have possibly forgotten how beautiful she truly was. His eyes stung with unexpected tears as she strode toward him, and he wondered if this was how she felt when she’d come to him in his world, when she’d nearly knocked him off his feet by leaping unexpectedly into his arms.

Then a hint of a knot twisted in his gut. Something was wrong. Noelle didn't smile as she approached him. In fact, she looked almost angry, her lips in a thin, narrow line, her brows pulled low with a furrow between them.

“Who are you?” Anger smoked her words about their edges as she stormed up to him.

This was definitely not the greeting he’d expected and without thinking, he took a step back. “What do you mean, who am I?”

“I mean just that. Who are you, because if this supposed to be some sort of prank or something, it’s not funny at all.”

Her voice, heated as it was, was also exactly as he remembered. Husky. Rich. Almost velvety in its smoothness. “A prank? I don’t understand. It’s me, Noelle.”

“How do you know my name?”

He frowned. Had she forgotten him? Had Mahal hidden him from her as she’d been hidden from him for all this time? Holding out one hand, he tried to catch hers. “It’s me, Noelle,” he repeated, his throat tightening as she jerked back from him. “Thorin.”

“No.” She shook her head, her mane of dark red curls bouncing violently. “No, you are not him. Now, what kind of game are you playing with me, because,” she gestured with small device she held in her left hand, “I’ve already pulled up 911 and if you think I won’t hit send, you’re nuts. Now, tell me who the fuck you are!” 

“Noelle, I assure you, I play no games. It’s me, Tho—” 

He didn't get the chance to finish, as she drew back and hit him, her fist slamming into his jaw with enough force that he stumbled back. “Fuck you,” she snarled, her voice breaking. “I don't know who you are or what you’re about, but Thorin is dead. I saw him die. I held him as it happened and if this is Ian’s idea of a joke, I’ll punch him when I see him next. So, fuck off and leave me alone!”

Before he could say a word, she spun away from him. “Mr. Jeffries, if this man is not gone in two minutes, call the police and do not let him convince you I know him.”

Mr. Jeffries looked as shocked as Thorin felt, but nodded just the same. “Yes, Miss James.”

She stormed off without a backwards look and as Thorin turned toward the doorman, it was to see him reaching for the same device he’d used to alert Noelle to his presence.

“Mr. Jeffries,” Thorin moved closer to the man’s desk, still rubbing his jaw, “when Miss James calms down some, please tell her that I am alive and well and will find some way to prove it to her.”

A thin grey brow rose again. “I think it best if took your leave now. I should hate to have to have you arrested.”

Thorin agreed, he’d hate to find himself arrested, and that was the only reason he didn't demand to be let up to her flat. 

But that didn't mean he was giving up, for he wasn’t. It wasn't in his nature to surrender so easily and so he forced himself to smile at Mr. Jeffries.

“I’m taking my leave now. But, please tell her that.” Thorin cast a last glance over his shoulder at the silver doors, now closing on Noelle’s furious figure and sighed. He hadn’t thought he might not be able to convince her that he didn’t actually die on the ice floe at Ravenhill. He’d been fairly certain that she’d be relieved to see that not only hadn’t he died there, but that he’d managed to find his way back to her, that she’d be as overjoyed at seeing him as he was at seeing her. 

A serious miscalculation, it seemed. 

A very serious miscalculation.

Still, he’d find a way to convince Noelle he was alive and well and had come back for her. He just needed a little help, is all.

Since Mr. Jeffries was still holding his device and still giving him the side eye, Thorin left the apartment lobby to venture back out into the cold and snow. 

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[lambilegs]

reader who is a complete simp for lee and feels the need to constantly tell her how hot she is 😌

pretty girl (lee harker x reader)

THIS IS SO CUTE SQUEEEEEEE thank you sm for the request, I loved it!!

it first starts as something you do when you guys are just friends. you two are sitting at the park, and you can't help but say something when she's sitting there, light brown hair fanning her face just right and dark eyes wide and searching as she people watches and stares up at the branches.

"you look pretty." you keep it short, simple, lest she finds out just how much weight the words hold for you.

her blinks become hard and focused, frozen to her shoes. "I... thanks." the words are hushed and slightly hard. you can't tell if you've embarrassed her, upset her or if she's simply shy.

"what is it?"

her head tilts in your direction. "what do you mean?"

"you seem off."

her jaw clenches, eyes still pointed away. "I'm just not used to that, is all."

"being called pretty?"

she nods. you can't imagine how she's not used to it. lee is one of the prettiest people you've met. tough, tense jaw accompanied with soft, wide, deer-like eyes. a gentle slope of a nose, lips that are smooth and pink, eyebrows that are dark and striking against her face. what makes it all the better is that she's immensely caring and lovely. it makes her all prettier to you. if there's any reason she isn't called pretty, the only one you can think of is it being because of how intimidating and off-putting some people find her to be. you can't help but feel grateful that you stayed determined in your pursuit of her long enough to break down those walls she holds up so fervently.

"is it okay if I do it?"

she sighs, her shoulders lifting and relaxing with the depth of it. "um, sure."

you know that if she didn't like it, she'd tell you as much. and so, you take her permission and utilize it -- well, utilize it a lot, if you're being honest.

you can't help it. it's almost like an addiction. complimenting her and seeing lee, who is always so stoic and composed, flustered and rendered to a pause of shyness rather than one of intentional silence.

one day, you're lucky enough to even see her blush. you had left your wallet at her place during your guys' game night the evening before, and she calls you in the morning, saying she'll drop it off on her way to work. a proposition that has you sitting upright in bed, a thrill flashing through you at the idea of getting to see her dressed up for work. sure, you've seen her in uniform before, but it's usually after long hours of working on cases, when her ponytail is mused and her clothes are disarrayed and crumpled.

which is very different than how she looks when you spot her outside of your window, climbing out of her car. you can nearly squeal, she looks so dashing. clad in her baggy fbi jacket, smooth button-up underneath, hair stretched into that tight ponytail -- god, you might swoon.

when you open the door to her the moment she steps up to it, she starts, flinching at the sudden movement.

"hi," you greet, unable to tone down the wide smile breaking over your face.

"hey." her right hand slips into her pocket, fumbling for a second before lifting the wallet to you. "here."

"thanks." you grab it, butterflies whirling in your stomach when her long fingers brush your hand. "do you wanna come in for coffee?"

she wryly glances between you and her car. "I should really be getting to the bureau soon."

you grab her hand, relishing in how her fingers immediately wrap around your palm, clutching on. with your hands locked tightly, you tug her inside. "come on, just for a coffee."

her lips curl up. "you always say that, and then, we end up talking for hours."

upon entering the kitchen, you let go of her hand (regrettably so), walking to the kettle. "hey, now you can't blame me entirely. it takes two to tango."

she clears her throat. "yeah, I don't think that saying refers to conversation, but sure."

you giggle, grabbing a mug and pouring in the hot water, then tossing the coffee powder inside. you turn to her, setting it on the table. "two sugars, right?"

"yeah." her eyes linger on your hands as you carefully drop two cubes in before adding only a bit of milk -- just the way she likes it. "thank you," she quietly says when you slide the mug to her.

as you two share your morning coffee, you observe her from across the table, eyes languid in their admiration of her as though you're soaking her up like the heat of the rising sun.

she seems to feel your watchfulness, for only a few moments later, her eyes slip up to meet yours, long lashes fanning them. "what?"

what other reason do you have to explain your actions? besides, you want her to know. you want her to feel your unabashed praise and attention, even if it has to be supplied in specified doses for the sake of your friendship. "you just -- you look really good, lee."

she grunts loudly on the sip she was taking before the noise shatters into a loud cough. her fist presses against her lips, shoulders shaking. you're equal parts concerned and amused watching her, reaching out to give her a tissue.

when the cough dies out her body relaxes, easing back into its still position. she clears her throat, head lolling as she seems to gather her bearings. "thank you."

you laugh. she's so adorable.

a sentiment that rings and loud and true even after you guys finally begin dating. the first night you sleep at her cottage, you watch her face, dusted with the pale, blue shadow of the moonlight, eyelids smooth as they droop down, drifting in and out of sleep.

your knuckle brushes along her nose, which twitches in response. you smile, then whisper, "you're so cute."

she mumbles an incoherent, half-groan, half-response, winding her strong arm around your waist, pulling you in close. she nuzzles into your neck, her gentle peck a silent thank you.

when she does up the buttons of her maroon shirt in the morning, you dreamily gaze at her from the bed, face propped onto your palm. "you know, you look so hot."

her nimble fingers slow in their deft movements, and you can see in the mirror's reflection that her lips purse. "um, okay."

you pout. "awe, come on, that's it? 'okay'?"

she scoffs quietly. "am I supposed to get on my knees in gratitude?"

you smirk. "I think you'd be late for work if you did that."

her smile widens at your joke, slightly shaking her head. "you're insatiable."

"you love it."

lee finishes the last of the buttons, the collar still open enough to reveal her smooth chest and collarbones. she turns back to you with a small grin, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. "I don't think I should stroke your ego by confirming that."

"hey, I stroked your ego!" you laugh, tugging her down by the collar to keep her face hovering above yours. "the least you could do is return the favour."

"I didn't say I wouldn't," she whispers, the laugh lines that at her mouth sinking in.

you shuffle under the blankets, a sudden shyness surging through you. "what do you mean?"

her thumb strokes over your cheek, eyes hooked onto your face, scanning over the length of it. the corner of her mouth twitches, and then she lowers herself, landing a quiet kiss to your cheek. she stays there, murmuring into your skin, "you're pretty too."

it's silly -- you know she's attracted to you, but to hear her be so openly vocal about is still something very new to you both. it makes you squirm underneath her, feeling like you're in high school all over again and your crush just unexpectedly flirted with you in the halls. "you think so?"

"mm," she hums near your ear. "I know so."

"how are you so sure?" you drawl, fingers tracing her back over the red fabric, itching for something more to be drawn out of her.

she laughs softly, and the deep raspiness of it makes you nearly shiver. "why do you think it throws me off guard when you stare at me?"

the answer is a no brainer. "because it embarrasses you that I'm looking at you?"

"partially." she plants another kiss to your cheek. "the other reason is because it makes me unnerved to look at you." her voice lowers, face pushing deeper into your neck. "and see how pretty you are."

[divider by: @faeberrywine]