#u talk about rose with such scorn

[thebadtimewolf]

you keep talking about rose with scorn, about future regenerations having outdone her completely & acting like they are somehow disgusted by the romance with her. but what are you basing your opinion on? in those books or comics that no one really cares about? which weren’t even written by showrunners?! moffat NEVER made twelve disrespect rose’s memory. that comic of him picking on ten was written by a bloke who doesn't even like rose, which indicates that the stories reflect more on the writers' opinions than the character. and while in the comics thirteen is somehow unbothered by rose’s presence, in the podcast narrated by jodie, she mentions rose in a fond, wistful voice. bc, guess what, the author is doctor/rose stan and said that she believes that the doctor loves rose in ALL incarnations and that jodie understood at the same moment what a mention of rose meant. ¯\_(ツ)_/ ¯ matt and jodie also talked about working with billie piper, about bringing rose back. and do you really believe rtd will write his doctors making light of the romance with rose??? he clearly still has a lot of affection for the character and it's no wonder he decided to name donna's daughter after her (when it would have been easier to name her 'martha' seeing as donna properly met her). so… yeah keep talking shit about rose and even tenrose all you want, it won't change that rose was immensely loved by the doctor, by TEN. ten loved rose so intensely he gave himself to her. david said that rose defined his doctor, and i say she defined the entire rtd1 era. and you can accept that or stay mad idrc

"And you can accept that or stay mad, i dont really care"

no lemme be serious hold on.

"by TEN"

yo yall see this? just completely ignore mr. fuck the monarchy, queen killer, the lovely, the irreplaceable the impeccable ninth doctor himself christopher eccleston?? oh no i know why. its because nine flirted with black girl princess of the forest of cheem herself miss jabe? but you dont really care.

im sorryyy im trying real hard but you are fumbling your own argument.

what makes you think rtd2 era is gonna be rose centric? if it was rose centric - we wouldnt need ruby sunday. but because shes yt and has blonde hair - of course YOU would think that. i mean with 14 its gonna be rose templenoble centric but you dont care. it would be easy to name ANOTHER BLACK CHARACTER WITH THE ONLY OTHER BLACK COMPANION NAME THAT DONNA KNEW?? other than what?? LANCELOT?? MINNIE?? YOU KNOW IN REFERENCE FOR LANCE HER NOW DEAD EX OR MICKEY??? but you dont really care.

anon. i can't stop laughing. you wrote all of that just to out yourself as a racist doctor who fan. you had very key things to strengthen your argument and prove your case and you fumbled. but you dont really care.

"jodie understood what a rose mention meant" and she understood what a river mention meant as well and YET jack mentions rose but 13 mentions river. she dont mention any of her previous companions vocally. she actively avoids it. tegan even noticed that. now rtd has a lot of affection for the rose character because it revived the show he used to watch as a child. but you dont really care.

"loved her so intensely he gave herself to her" - yeah he gave his human alias to her now 12 has to go by doctor funkenstein and doctor disco and doctor caretaker and 13 got to go by jane smith in honor of sarah jane smith big oof - like damn that sucks. but you dont really care.

But also, the 12 whole entire era was built off of donna. like that was clear. cut. dry. print. but you dont really care.

"jodie believes that the doctor loves rose in ALL incarnations in a podcast she narrates" and yet, we see from big finish productions that the doctor loves river in all his incarnations too. but you dont really care.

yo that "comic picking on ten was written by someone that dont even like rose" anon now you know thats the ONLY ONES WE GOT CORRECT BILLIE PIPER EYE COLOR ON INSTEAD OF BLUE AND GREEN INSTEAD OF HER LOVELY BROWN EYES AND ROSE WASNT EVEN IN IT. IT WAS WITH TWO COMPANIONS OF COLOR. THE ONLY BILLIE WE GOT WAS THE MOMENT. AND THATS IT! AND THEN WE GOT THE NOVELLIZATION BY STEPHEN MOFFAT THAT EXPANDS THE MOMENT AS HER OWN CHARACTER AND NOT ANOTHER ROSE. LIKE HUH??? but you dont really care.

"which weren't even written by showrunners" girl neither was human nature/family of blood the doctor's wife, vincent and the doctor, and the lodger THE LODGER IS A MICKEY X TEN COMIC BEFORE IT BECAME AN EPISODE WHA--PFFT. but you dont really care.

anyway seems to me you dont really care about ten or rose or tenrose, you just using that as an excuse to be antiblack and silence anyone that dare point that out. just like series 3 does to martha. hm. interesting.

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 6: A Snake in the Garden

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 3.3k (two fic posts in one day? booked and busy) ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ not all of the elves are so welcoming, but sometimes anger can bring clarity.

It was early morning and the light from the fireflies and strung-up lanterns illuminated the garden you were in. It was located just outside your room and full of countless herbs and other plants that you needed to keep stocked in the laboratory. You had begun your routine of tending to patients, meeting with Lyra a little longer than most, and entered the laboratory when Daeron sent you on a mission to stock up some of the dwindling plant stores. You did not think how much you would miss gathering plants until you were set about that task again for the first time in many days. 

You were winding through the garden. All of these ingredients grew in little light but bloomed like nothing else. You relished in the ability to be away from work, while still completing a useful task. Your body went through the motions of cutting off leaves or stems when needed and placing them in their respective jars that sat in the wicker basket next to you. You hummed quietly to yourself, lost in your task. 

Like a cloud blocking the sun, a figure stood just behind your kneeled figure and blocked the light from the lanterns strung above. You ceased yourself from cutting a leaf from a plant and turned around. An elf stood, his eyes piercing you with simmering hatred. You recognized him from just a few short days prior. It was the same elf that had been walking beside Aemond when you passed him in the hall. His skin looked sunkissed, despite there being little sun that actually penetrated through the canopy of trees. His dark hair matched the darkness of the deep forest beyond the settled lands. 

He was altogether the embodiment of the elvish characteristic of beauty, but there was something wrong about the energy he gave off; it was almost predatorial. 

“Make any progress yet?” He spoke. 

Your face scrunched up in confusion as you rose to your feet, “What?”

“Is your kind so stupid as to not understand words?” The elf had his arms held behind him and he puffed out his chest in indignation. 

“I am merely confused by such a sudden question from someone I do not know.” You met his scorn with a tone of veiled aggression. He seemed to catch on to your attitude and it only angered him further. 

He looked you up and down with judgement, “Remember your place. You are nothing but an unwelcome guest, I am on the King’s council, Ser Criston Cole.” 

You held back a retort. He was obviously looking to anger you, for why would he even bother to stop and talk? You breathed in and out and remained calm. He would not get a rise out of you. There was no way you would further instil whatever ridiculous negative notions he had about your kind. 

“Oh, my humble apologies,” You presented a veneer of respect, though deeply despised it, “I spoke out of turn. Forgive me, my nature as a human must have gotten the better of me.” 

Criston seemed satisfied at your words, “A human and a woman. It’s a wonder you’ve risen to such a station.” He adjusted his posture to lean on one leg. You reached down and picked up the wicker basket of herbs and brushed at your skirt. 

“Princess Helaena honoured me with her advocacy so I may take up such a position.” You know you hit a nerve, for he could not rebuke what you said without inadvertently insulting the princess. A quiet huff escaped his mouth as the two of you stood there. You stared one another down, each silently challenging the other to strike first. 

“As if your knowledge can come close to that of the elves?” He challenged. It seemed as though he was not willing to give up the fight easily. 

“My father was an exemplary scholar whose research has led us closer than ever to finding a cure, Ser Criston.” Your voice slowed upon reaching his name, undercut with disgust. 

“Was?” He rebuked, “Maybe humans should stop trifling in matters that do not bother them, lest something unsavoury happens.” 

Criston’s words made you choke down any possible means to defend yourself. The mere mention of the possibility of your father meeting an unjust end had your stomach rolling. It was something that had been long toiling in your mind. He had been gone for so long, a part of you was relentless in coming to terms with the fact that he may not dwell on this earth anymore. The reminder of it - of the very real reality of it all - paralyzed your body. 

You compose yourself, “The taint affects the world. We all must work to stop it.” 

Criston then gestured behind him, his arm outstretched, in some kind of mockery, “Well, by all means, you must get on with it.” His mouth curled into a grin. You did not want to walk away with him having dismissed you. It felt like a surrender on your end, but truly you had no care to continue. He could think and act however he wished, but he would not have you lash out and further jeopardize your stay in the kingdom. 

You bowed slightly and walked around him. You knew he was staring you down as you left - there was no way he was not by the terrible dread you felt. It was with only a look that he could raise the hairs on the back of your neck. His gaze was predatory, in every sense of the word. He seeked to exploit you - for reasons unknown. You merely were nothing but a possible plaything to beat around and annoy. 

Once you knew you were out of his vision, you released your anger and stormed down the halls of the castle toward your study. Your hastened and heavy footsteps pounded against the stone like heavy rain. Who was he to question your merits? You were here, that counted for something. You knew that elves were naturally imbued with more wisdom - they lived so long it was no question. Perhaps, that wisdom did not translate to being smart. 

You already showed your prowess in knowledge. You had even beat Daeron at the progression towards a cure. One of your experiments worked - if only for a moment. That was something he and other elf healers had failed to do. You knew, despite your lack of experience, there was something in your mind that made you equal to them. At least, you hoped there was something there. 

You had arrived at your study and set the ingredients down before making haste to the library. If there was one place you could expect peace and quiet, it would be there. You had shut the door abruptly and marched in. Your feet took you from the ground level to the first level in the many balconies that encircled the inside of the tower. You were so lost in your march to cool down that you bumped into one of the shelves, making a couple of books tumble to the floor. 

A sigh escaped your lips. Everything had been building up inside after Criston’s desperate attempt at angering you - which unfortunately worked. Watching those books fall was like stones falling from a damn and you had no way of releasing that pent-up frustration. You knelt down to pick them up. One of the books, bound in dark black leather and detailed with iron bindings piqued your curiosity. You placed the other books back in their respective spots but carried the other one away. 

You made your way down to the ground floor where all of the tables were. Picking a spot in from of the centre fireplace, you sat down and opened the cover; forgetting all about your disturbed morning in the garden.

You were on a mission. The past few hours were spent scanning through the book you found. It was a tome on more unconventional plants linked to the use of dark magic. While a topic such as that would normally throw you off, you had decided there would be no harm in reading it. However, you did not expect to become so enraptured with the study and use of these bizarre plants. 

It was when you stumbled upon one plant that felt so familiar. The sketches on the side were well done with in-depth observations written down. It looked like the belladonna plant, but the flower was much darker. Mortua terra. That was the name inscribed to such a plant. It sparked an idea in your mind and that was how you now found yourself marching through the laboratory and into the sick hall in search of Daeron. At the end of the hall, by some of the grand windows, was a balcony where Daeron would settle to get some written work done in the encompassing environment of the elder trees and fireflies. 

The door was already open and you spotted your friend in a chair by a wooden desk, hastily scribbling down on a piece of parchment. A lone candle burned on the desk with a wax melter on top. You took a moment to take in the sight of the lit-up darkness around you and noticed the white stone settlements throughout the trees with elves going about their day. 

“Daeron?” You questioned. He halted his movements and looked up. When he spotted you, a friendly smile made its way on his face. 

“Do you need anything?”  

You placed the book down on his desk, and opened to the page on the flower you found. “I was wondering if I could receive an escort to get this plant. I think it may be of use.” 

Daeron inspected the page, reading the words. He flipped the book to the cover and read the title while his other hand keept his place in the pages. His face was a mix of curious and anxious. 

“No.” His tone was unnerved. Daeron closed the book and shoved it towards you. You picked it up and wrapped the book in your arms. 

“No?” You were both confused and disappointed, “Why?” You wanted a reason for his hasty dismissal of your suggestion. The whole time you had worked with him, he was always open to trying new ideas. Daeron was an elf who loved to expand his knowledge, so why was he so resistant to this?

“This is nearing dark magic,” Daeron reasoned, “That is not something one would wish to dabble in.” He picked up his quill and began to write again. 

“The taint is dark, right?” You steeled yourself to remain calm. You were steadfast in your position and would not waver. As with your last experiment that was almost successful, you felt the same deep need to pursue this one. 

“Where are you going with this?” Daeron shifted a pile of parchment on his desk. In the short time you had known one another, he could tell when you were gearing up to present an argument. 

“My last experiment involved the principle of poison against poison. It obviously did not work. But what if the taint is dark magic and not poison? Why can’t we use dark magic to fight itself?” The idea had come to you in the library as you flipped through the book. It came from nowhere but had taken root in your mind. 

Daeron stopped fiddling with objects on his desk. He rested his elbows against the surface and brought his hands together, “Do you know a single thing about dark magic?” 

“Admittedly, no, but-”

“If you did, you would know this is a dead end.” He cut you off. His shoulders were squared and his head was tilted slightly. 

You rested your hands on the desk as you leaned down to speak to him more clearly, “Daeron-”

“No, this is for your safety as well. That magic requires types of sacrifices I would not wish on anyone.” He spoke with such sincerity that you almost wavered. He was only doing it to protect you, but if you were truly honest, you cared little for your safety when it came to the possibility of finding a cure. What was a single life when compared to countless others? 

“Please,” Your voice whispered as the fireflies above seemed to fly more erratically, “I truly think we could have something here.” You did not wish to beg, but if that is what you must do, you will do it. 

Daeron looked into your eyes and folded. He hung his head down and nervously picked at his fingers, a habit you had seen Helaena do several times. His chest rose and he exhaled a long sigh, “I will think about it. If we get more desperate, then possibly, but you must understand what you are asking to do.” 

“Then help me understand,” You responded. Daeron looked around the balcony - as if searching for a way to get out of answering. 

He spoke your name with a sudden ounce of severity, “One day, but not today.” 

You stopped holding on to the desk and stepped back, taking the book with you. There was nothing but silence from the forest around and you could hear your own breath. Daeron went back to his work, dismissing you in a way that reminded you of Aemond when he dismissed you in the library. With the amount of similarities you started to find between the Targaryen siblings, you began to wonder about their childhood. Surely, if they shared such subtle characteristics, they had grown up quite close. 

With your dismissal, you left the balcony and walked back into the sick hall. You scanned the space and watched other healers aiding patients in their beds. You made your way down the aisle. You stopped at Lyra’s bed, wishing to possibly talk to her again, but saw she was in a deep sleep. Patients had difficulty sleeping after a few days of taint infection and it led to insomnia. If she was getting sleep, you would not dare disturb it. 

You decided it would be best to spend the rest of the - admittedly late - day in your room as opposed to the laboratory. With Daeron’s dismissal of your idea, it is not like you could pursue any experiment - for the mortua terra plant was the only idea you had come up with in the past few days. 

You were walking down the halls of the castle towards your room when the elf you wished to see the least seemingly appeared out of nowhere, “Make any progress yet?” Aemond’s sultry voice hit your ears, eliciting another wave of annoyance through your body. Out of all the damned halls in this castle, he had to be here?

His words were the exact same that Criston had uttered to you that morning. You began to wonder if this was some sort of coordinated attack. It felt like some sort of ruse to torment you, throw you off of your work so you would fail. You knew they likely wanted to see you fail. Regardless of your studies to cure the taint, they wanted a human to fail. If Criston’s words were to be taken seriously, why should they be bothering to throw you off? You were a human and in their eyes inferior. By that logic, there would be no need to exact such a mockery. 

The events of the day - Criston’s lecture, Daeron’s dismissal, and now Aemond’s taunt - folded over you. You turned to Aemond, dressed in similar attire that you usually see him in with his sword strapped to his side with his hand resting on the hilt like he was constantly prepared for a spontaneous fight. 

You plastered on a pleasant smile to show his tricks would not falter you, “Perhaps I would be making faster progress if some members of your council were not so intent on disturbing my activities, your grace.” 

Aemond moved his hands to connect in front of him as he looked you up and down - a habit he made in the rare times you two conversed. “Disturbing you?” You were further bothered by his response. He dared to pretend he did not know anything. An elf king, older and wiser beyond your years, believed that was a smart play? That you would not understand? 

“Whatever you and Ser Cole are trying to pull will not waver me or drive me off, your grace. I am here to find a cure, something that would greatly benefit both kingdoms.” You retorted. You wanted to find the fastest excuse to leave. Something about Aemond sent you mixed signals. His presence felt dark and foreboding, eliciting fear; however, a part of you could not help but feel lured in. It had to have been an elf characteristic - to be so pleasing. 

“No doubt it would benefit all,” Aemond responded, “I simply wished to receive an update.” You wanted to understand the hidden motive behind his words, for surely there was one. 

The book in your hand felt heavy, but you decided not to inform the elf king you had begun to pursue dark magic paths to a cure, “There is not much to talk about, other than the menial progress one of my experiments made.” 

“One of your experiments?” Aemond questioned. 

You wanted to leave - desperately - so you could continue your research and draft up a few plans for concoctions with the newly discovered plant. If you had solid plans, Daeron would be more likely to pursue that path. 

“I am in the middle of some important research, your grace. Prince Daeron can fill you in. He should be in the laboratory at this time of day,” You bowed to the king, “Good day, your grace.” You dismissed yourself and went back onto your path to your room. The familiar feeling of his eye on your back almost made you drop your book. You held it firm to your chest as you turned right to the hall with your room. 

When you entered your room, you placed the book on your table. Dinner had already been delivered to your room and you saw in the wood-carved chair. Next to your plate, you opened the book and began to reread many of the entries. You flipped to the page of the flower that absorbed so much of your attention. 

It grew in the dark depths of the elf forest, outside the boundaries of the settled kingdom. You leaned back in your chair in thought. Glancing out the window to the garden in front of you, you were overcome with an idea. It was stupid - beyond stupid. Risky, no doubt. 

If you were able to obtain a sample of the flower and brew a potion, that could perhaps persuade Daeron to consider following this course of action. You had permission to conduct your own experiments, technically the gathering of such a plant would fall in line with that. The only issue was the security. You had only just been able to get rid of the constant guards escorting you around the castle. Daeron insisted on it - as he felt it was nothing more than a hindrance when you needed to set about tasks. 

The rules set forth for you had been lax in the past few days, but security around the castle was still tight. It would be difficult for you to sneak out, but the risk seemed worth it. If your experiment was successful, there would be no need to fret over how it was done. 

It was a simple plan. Before the hours of the morning, you would move through the garden and out of the palace grounds. The garden by your window was the medicinal one, and only the healers ever went there. They would all be asleep, as would most of the castle. You closed the book and took a final bite of your dinner. The plan was settled. 

Tomorrow, you will venture into the deep dark woods.

Chapter 7: The Dark Woods Deep Preview

A low growl hummed through the stagnant air. A silhouette, large and imposing, moved towards you slowly. You could smell it before you could properly see it. The odour, foul like rotting meat, permeated the surrounding area. Your free hand reached up to block your nose, but by then it was too late. Bent down and hunkered, a beast of large proportions - larger than any you had ever seen - dragged its heavy claw-ridden paws across the exposed dirt of the forest floor. The upsticking roots of trees were met and marked with deep cuts. 

The beast's eyes were glowing yellow, flickering like the freed fireflies around you.

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[thewoollyviking]

Not any of the anons that have sent an ask b4 (think u have more than one btw lol)- but you said b4 it is different that Greg had Rose's picture in the garage? How so? Greg had it out of sight because he was hurting and so Steven had the portrait out of sight because he was hurting. You r also very aggressive when talking about Steven and I think thats why anons are defensive- you talk about Steven in a mean spirited way and act like his actions are black n white.

A previous anon mentioned this before and I’ll only mention it again here. Greg was mourning Rose. Steven was being a spiteful prick.

There is a difference between “it hurts to look at the things that remind me of the woman I love”

Vs…

“I cannot stand to even look at this face anymore because I have grown to hate them”

This is not comparable. I will not explain this again because this should be pretty straightforward.

And I’m not being harsh on Steven. I’m just being honest and straightforward. He’s turned into an asshole. He betrayed all the beliefs and principles he claimed to champion just so he can blame Rose for all his problems and basically got away with burying her memory someplace where no one can see her.

It’s disgusting. And the fandumb taking that as an endorsement to paint Rose as a villain who deserves nothing but scorn and to be purged from her family’s memory is even more disgusting.

And unless this is addressed, this is where Rose is left by the end of the series.

Rose was the character I related to the most. Seeing Steven act so mean spirited towards her is going to leave me with a lot of anger.

I am right to be angry about that.

[jamethinks]

Yor walked down the streets of Berlint, humming an old melody to herself. She had just completed a job and now was on her way back home. It was rare for her to have a job during the day but this one was a discrete one. It was uncommon for a job to end without any bloodshed but she appreciated the convenience.

She decided to take a bit of a detour. She had lived in Berlint for years but never really looked around the city. Her focus was always to get from point A to B, never really stopping to smell the roses. Perhaps this was one of the benefits of marriage. The ability to relax and not have to worry about some things. Bills, rent, what to eat for dinner; all things that normally dragged her back home immediately after work but now were an afterthought.

There was something so liberating about being able to say, "Loid will handle it." And he always does.

Suddenly, Yor felt a shift in the air. She wasn't alone. There were obviously other people running around and talking. There was a park nearby as well filled with locals. but there was a distinct presence. It wasn't the SSS but something akin to it. She discreetly glances around the area, trying to pinpoint these odd entities. The energy was familiar. The casual appearance with a looming sense of surveillance. Some was watching but they weren't looking at her.

Bodyguards. Lots of them. Hidden in plain sight. They weren't hiding persay, but they were still a bit undercover. As Yor continued on her stroll, she arrived at a barrier. There was a weird energy in this area acting as repellant. Yor could see it. The clear distinction between where you could walk and where you couldn't. Whatever they were protecting was within these walls.

Naturally, Yor planned on following the crowd and rerouting to avoid that area. One misstep and her life could be over, literally. Curiosity got the best of her. She looked up at the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of the precious cargo. Suddenly, the familiarity made sense.

It was Melinda.

Whenever they were together, the surveillance team was around lurking in the shadows. Even when she had obvious guards and butlers physically surrounding her, Yor could could still tell there were more watching on from a distance. Yor never questioned it. Melinda was wealthy, and as she would learn shortly after their first meeting, important.

Normally, Melinda would be out shopping or attending some event, publicly or in secret. The only time she could remember seeing Melinda physically alone was after the bus incident, but even then, there was just so much security everywhere that no one was going to try anything.

It was unnatural. She was out in public all alone. Sitting on a bench, dressed to the nines, with a vacant gaze. She mindlessly fiddled with her wedding ring (Yor could tell since it was her right hand, and that was the only ring she wore). She looked lost and out of place. It didn't help that no one dared to cross the path before her.

They may have been friends, but Yor admittedly knew nothing about Melinda. There was something eerie about her. The way people spoke about her. She was treated like a goddess among man. Distant and desired. Loved, respected, resented, and scorned. Yet when Yor spoke with her, she was just a kind, soft-spoken woman, always seeming a bit tired and worn out.

But one thing that stood out to her was that Melinda was a lonely woman. Her husband worked for days. Her child lived at school. When she didn't have some duty to fulfill, it was unclear what she did. Seeing her here today made Yor's heart break. Like a showpony waiting for the next competition.

For that reason, Yor decided to forsake the rules and approach the mysterious woman. She expected someone to appear out of thin air and tackle her, but surprisingly, no one reacted. They knew her, and they trusted her... maybe. The other civilians glanced in her direction, also curious to see what would happen if someone were to ignore the barricade.

"Melinda?" Casual, aloof, unsure.

It's like the sound of her own name broke her from the curse. Melinda blinked and took a deep breath. It was as if she had just regained control of her body. She looked over at Yor, still fiddling with her ring. Seeing her face to face, Yor got a better idea of why she was here. She was in pain. Agonizing pain. A brief moment of eye contact and Yor could feel it all. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"What a surprise." She ignored it, instead flashing her a kind grin. "May I sit?"

Melinda wordlessly nodded, allowing Yor to join her. She turned her head back to the crowd, the same expression on her face. How should Yor approach this?

[mistermaxwellboucherdieasilived]

Ik u just did an essay but do u want 2 break apart that poem line by line...im so confused by how ur supposed 2 tell whether or not hes complimenting the subject of the poem ^_^

YES YES YES I LOVE YOU

SO it is a sonnet, and sonnet's are conventionally love poems to the subject, so we can assume he is complimenting the subject right away. BUT convention can be broken (which happens in this poem and its soaweosme) sooo

1 There's nothing grieves me, but that Age should haste, 2 That in my days I may not see thee old,

Mainly the first two lines set up the fact that the speaker is complimenting the subject. In my textbook those lines have notes that make them say "There's nothing grieves me, but [the possibility] that age should haste,/[With the result] That in my days I may not see thee old." Or, "The only thing that scares me is the possibility that I or you will die, so I will not get to see you grow old." The idea that the speaker may not see his beloved in old age is upsetting, so we can see that he wants to see the physical changes that come with old age.

3 That where those two clear sparkling eyes are placed 4 Only two loop-holes then I might behold ;

Lines 3-4 are about the beloved's eyes, which would change from "clear sparkling eyes" to "loop-holes" which is an old term for a porthole on a ship type thing. This is a metaphor (they won't literally have holes for eyes lol), like the eyes that were "sparkling" in youth will become dark holes (swallowing that light) in old age. Even though it sounds negative, we know the speaker Wants to see that bc of the first two lines

5 That lovely, arched, ivory, polished brow 6 Defaced with wrinkles that I might but see ;

5-6 are about the beloved's forehead. In youth it is "ivory, polished" so white and shining, but it will be "Defaced with wrinkles" in old age. The verb Defaced makes it sound negative, but that's still seen as desirable for the speaker so that word is used ironically

7 Thy dainty hair, so curl'd and crisped now, 8 Like grizzled moss upon some aged tree ;

7-8 are about the hair. Same thing kind of--the old age makes the hair like "grizzled moss" and sounds insulting, but that's what the speaker wants to see. He wants to see his beloved grow old

9 Thy cheek, now flush with roses, sunk and lean ; 10 Thy lips with age as any wafer thin ; 11 Thy pearly teeth out of thy head so clean, 12 That, when thou feed'st, thy nose shall touch thy chin.

9-12 are about the beloved's cheeks, lips, and teeth. Same idea again, I think the only part that's not explicit is with the teeth he's talking about the beloved losing their teeth as they get old.

13 These lines that now thou scorn'st, which should delight thee, 14 Then would I make thee read but to despite thee.

OK and the couplet my favorite part :) "These lines" refers to the wrinkles on the beloved's forehead. The beloved scorns them bc wrinkles are considered ugly, but the speaker says they "should delight thee," meaning they should be happy about the wrinkles and appreciate their beauty. The last line turns the wrinkles into a metaphor when he uses the word "read," as in the beloved is going to "read" the lines that are the wrinkles as if they were lines of writing. The last line basically says "I'll make you read the lines [metaphor for wrinkles on the forehead] to spite you" (said lovingly). It's kind of teasingly said bc the speaker loves the subject and is teasing them for fussing about their appearance when the speaker thinks they are beautiful no matter what

I HOPE THIS IS OK ik it's a lot sorry. To summarize, we know the speaker is complimenting the subject because in the first two lines he says he is afraid that he won't get to see his beloved grow old, and then he describes the features of youth compared to old age to say they are all beautiful in their own way

<3

[fullmetalscullyy]

gotta get down on friday

we have fun in the royai support group discord server

the challenge was to write a fic based on/including lyrics from rebecca black's "friday" so here u go. i wrote the most important fic i will ever write in my life and did it for the meme 🤙

rated: t | words: 2058 | tags: alcohol, night out, team bonding, fluff, pre-canon, fluff, drunkeness

read on ao3

“Are you free on Friday night, Lieutenant?”

“I can be, sir.” Riza lifted her head from her paperwork and looked towards the Colonel’s desk. He was turned to face the window in his chair, gazing out of it thoughtfully as he tapped his pen on his lips. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head, turning to face her. “Just you.”

“Me?”

That threw her completely. What would he possibly need her for on her night off –? Unless it was for more unfinished paperwork. Her stomach dropped, but it was quickly halted. Thankfully.

“I’m thinking of getting the team together for a night out.”

A night out? This was unexpected.

“Is that what you’ve been contemplating, staring out of that window, instead of work?”

Her challenge was conveniently ignored.

“We can go to the pub, have a few drinks, shoot some pool. It’ll be great!” Roy already looked so excited by the prospect.

It would be a good team building exercise, she supposed. They knew each other in a professional capacity, but not in a personal one. And while Riza wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of bearing herself to the strangers on her team – aside from Havoc – she could see the benefits. It had the potential to form tighter bonds with her new teammates, who’d she’d only known for a few short weeks.

“So, can I count you in?” Roy’s expression told her that he sincerely hoped she’d say yes as he eagerly awaited her answer.

It would be nice to get out of her apartment on her night off and enjoy herself. They hadn’t had much of a chance since being assigned in East City because they were still trying to get settled into a new routine.

“Gotta get down on Friday,” he joked with a playful smirk, trying to entice her further.

Riza snorted and shook her head fondly at his antics. “Okay, sir. I can be available on Friday evening,” she confirmed.

“Excellent,” Roy grinned. “Okay, I’ll go and wrangle the rest of the team!” He eagerly rose from his chair, rounding his desk. “Although I don’t think they’ll need too much convincing.”

“Havoc will definitely be up for it,” she reassured. “He always was a fan of a night out with friends in the Academy.”

Roy paused, absorbing this new information. “Did you happen to partake in those nights out too, Lieutenant?” He turned to face her expectantly.

His question was innocent enough but still Riza pursed her lips. This man knew her better than anyone – and was already aware that she, Havoc, and Rebecca had all been through training together – but still, her drunken embarrassment was best kept to herself. Well, what she remembered of it anyway.

“I did,” she replied carefully and offered him no more than that.

Both of Roy’s eyebrows lifted with intrigue. He hadn’t expected her to say yes, but what was she supposed to do with Rebecca Catalina and Jean Havoc as her friends through her Academy years? Plus, she wasn’t afraid of letting her hair down. Far from it, especially when in good company. Glancing over at her commanding officer, ignoring all titles and positions at the moment, she knew Roy would be the best company. She’d feel safe with him by her side. Havoc too. And if this was something Roy wanted to do for his team then Riza would support him.

It would be fun.

Roy approached her desk with a smirk, dragging Riza out of her thoughts. “You’ve never told me of any drunken stories, Hawkeye,” he commented, coming to a stop before her, hands slotting into his pockets. She didn’t know why he suddenly had an interest in her possible drunken antics. Or why.

She shrugged. “You’ve never asked.”

“Am I allowed to ask about said drunken antics?” He was treading carefully with his question but there was a hint of amusement on his face.

“No,” was Riza’s firm reply.

His laugh brightened up his entire expression. “I didn’t think so. Still, can’t fault me for trying,” he added, lifting his hands in surrender.

Riza hummed noncommittally.

“One day I might worm it out of you,” he murmured lowly, expression turning thoughtful. The office was empty so there was no risk of being overheard. Still, she appreciated his effort to maintain the secrecy of their past, as she’d requested. “Oh!” Roy exclaimed suddenly, as if he’d though of an extremely brilliant idea. “Or I can go and ask Havoc about them?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she threatened as she snorted at his hilarious suggestion.

“Maybe I would,” he grinned, unafraid.

“Havoc knows better than to tell anyway.”

Roy pouted. Actually pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“Maybe,” she replied with light scorn, turning her attention back to her work.

After writing for a few moments she noticed he still hadn’t moved. Electing to ignore it, Riza ploughed on ahead with her work, but then he still didn’t move from his spot. Riza glanced at him and geared up to ask what he needed but his soft smile made her pause and her writing trailed off. He was looking at her like… Well. Like he shouldn’t be.

Like he was completely enamoured by her.

“What?” Riza prompted him out of his thoughts. Despite her heart fluttering within her chest and her stomach flipping pleasantly with the way Roy was looking at her, they couldn’t be risking moments like this anymore. Not while they were in the positions they were now. They couldn’t afford it if they wanted to succeed.

Roy snapped out of whatever thoughts he’d found himself trapped in and grinned. He shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I can’t wait for Friday.”

Without another word he hurried out of the office and turned in the direction of the cafeteria. Riza was left staring after him, wondering what had just happened.

*          *          *           *          *           *          *

There was a chorus of happy cheers as everyone on the team greeted one another in the pub Roy had arranged for them to meet at. Riza hung back and let them get it out of their system before she entered the fray. Roy noticed her distance from the group – of course he did – and diverted his attention from the conversation before him. He shot her a smile and there was a slightly puzzled look on his face. He was wondering if there was anything wrong. She shook her head to placate him but that wasn’t enough. He excused himself from an already tipsy Havoc and walked over.

“You made it,” he breathed excitedly.

“I did. I didn’t want to let the team down, sir.”

“You could never, Riza.” His smile matched his tone and expression. It was soft as he reassured her. The excitement was clear on his face and he looked truly overjoyed. Riza’s stomach fluttered.

“I didn’t want to miss it,” she revealed quietly, leaning in slightly so she could be heard over the team’s laughter.

She’d had a glass of wine while getting ready for the night. It had helped settle her nerves about meeting everyone outside of work for the first time. Although Havoc and Roy were going to be there, she still didn’t know Breda, Falman, or Fuery very well. She’d wanted to but there hadn’t been an appropriate opportunity yet. It was their first “team night out” and she’d been excited at the prospect of being a part of it. Riza wanted to be a part of something good, for a change. She’d have kicked herself in regret if she couldn’t make tonight.

Roy’s grin was infectious. “I told you it would be fun,” he winked.

“Gotta get down on Friday, right?”

As she quoted his own words back at her Roy’s jaw went slack as he stared at her in surprise before he broke out in laughter. “We do. And I can’t wait to spend it with you.”

“Now you’re talking dangerously,” she urged quietly.

Roy just shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s still the truth.”

Riza frowned at him. “Anyway,” she urged, trying to steer the conversation towards safer territory, “on top of that, I know how to handle Havoc when he’s drunk. I couldn’t subject you all to that on your own.”

Her expression turned confused as Roy wrapped his arm around her shoulder and guided her forwards towards the team. Both his hands came to rest upon her shoulders as they walked, and he gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Every day you become more of an enigma, Riza Hawkeye,” he spoke lowly into her ear. His breath caressed her skin gently and it made her stomach flutter again. His hands increased their pressure as he squeezed her shoulders while steering her over to the team. “I love that about you,” he whispered, “on top of everything else.”

Before she could reply or properly react he walked ahead and left her, asking who wanted a drink. The first round was on him. Havoc and Breda cheered loudly and quickly placed their order. Falman and Fuery were next, leaving Riza for last. They greeted her warmly once they noticed her presence, however her replies were slightly dazed as she was still reeling from what Roy had said.

“Hawkeye?” The culprit looked expectantly at her for her order, ignoring the fact he’d just announced that he loved her in a very public place. It hadn’t been loud but… But… But he still did it! He should know better –!

“Hawkeye.” Roy commanded her attention easily, his voice soft and welcoming. Her breath caught in her throat.

Glancing around she saw that no one was paying them any attention. The rest of the team had wandered over to their table to talk as they awaited their drinks. The bar was empty still, aside from them.

“What would you like to drink?”

Her eyes met his. His expression was open and unabashed, as if what he’d said had been no big deal.

Voicing it publicly was a problem. However there was no one around. Still, it couldn’t become a habit. Riza would make sure of that. It was dangerous. Their feelings had always been there though and had been for years. Riza’s had never changed. One night, underneath the desert sky, he’d confirmed it was the same for him. It was a comfort to know, Riza thought, and it was always nice to hear.

But still, she huffed in thought.

Riza placed her order after shooting him a warning look and he smirked, promising he wouldn’t be long.

After taking a seat at the table Havoc threw his arm heartily around her shoulders and left it there until their drinks arrived. Although almost being thrown off balance by his enthusiasm Riza didn’t mind it too much, because it was Havoc. Aside from Roy, he was one of her oldest friends. The heavy weight of his arm was a comfort and helped remind her that she was in the company of friends and teammates. Plus, it had been a while since she’d sat and had a drink with Havoc and that had always been a good time back in the Academy. She was excited.

For all the emphasis Roy had put on the importance of “Friday night” and how excited he’d been to go out with them all, Riza had to admit; it had made her look forward to the weekend ahead. She decided that “partyin’”, as Roy – and then everyone else – kept drunkenly calling it throughout the night, with this group was a good time. They’d chant “partyin’, partyin’, yeah!” as more drinks were brought to the table and it made her laugh. Riza knew once tonight was over she’d be looking forward to the next one.

It was early days, and their friendships were brand new for Riza, but they’d all accepted one another so easily and had eagerly welcomed Riza into their circle. She’d been almost afraid that after being so hard on them all at work initially they’d be put off by spending time with her outside of it. However, her fears were completely alleviated after tonight.

They were a good bunch of guys. They would be an amazing team all together, Riza was sure of it.

As Roy, Havoc, and Breda had drunkenly sung off key towards the end of the night, the evening had definitely been “fun, fun, fun, fun.”

[secret-engima]

Seer LC verse Drabble: Answer

(Me: I need to go back to watching Realm Reborn so I can learn the Lore.

Also Me: Spams a song-drabble that probably ignores a TON of lore but fits with my own budding HCs about my Seer LC Cyra. Anyway yes I did a Thing, here is the song that goes with the Thing if you want to listen while you read:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWdeMqELN-U

Also pssst @wolfsrainrules @sparklecryptid @hamelin-born @ertrunkenerwassergeist @ean-sovukau

...

     She eyed their destination doubtfully and aired one more time, “You really believe this will help?”

     Regis nodded, more confident in explaining magic than he was in talking to her about anything else, “Our magic is not meant to be restrained all the time. At least, not so thoroughly as you have. The potential side-effects of doing so are many, but chronic pain is one of the most common ones. If you allow it to flow, to use up the excess energy, I do believe it would help. It likely will not cure your pain, but it should make it easier to bear.”

     So he’d said about three times now. Cyra still wasn’t entirely convinced. The thought of letting her magic out, letting it run wild after so many years keeping it tightly controlled was … intimidating. She wasn’t even sure if she could at this point, if she could physically let go of something she had clutched tight for so long. She also wasn’t sure the room to which Regis had led her would withstand the potential chaos if she did let go, even though he had assured her several times that the towering chamber was built specifically with angry Lucis Caelums in need of letting loose in mind.

     She eyed the chamber, felt her husband press a reassuring hand against her back, then sighed.

     Just once. She could at least try it once.

     But how to let go? She couldn’t just- throw out a few spells here and there, she did that on a near weekly basis and it had never helped the pain. She had to let go, had to relax, and standing here being stared at expectantly by her husband, her husband’s two best friends, her biological father and his two best friends was not helping.

     With a huff, she stalked forward, her cane tapping an echoing rhythm across the floor that reverberated all the way to the top of the arched ceiling despite her light touch. She stopped in the center of the big, oval room and breathed. Well. Now what? She tapped her cane in annoyance, listened to the echo. Honestly, the chamber was practically a concert hall with those acoustics.

     “So sing,” nudged Susurrus, waking up for the first time since Regis offered the idea, “Sing your magic.”

     That’s a stupid idea, she retorted, what would I even sing? One of those bawdy drinking songs Nyx things are appropriate in my shop?

     Another nudge, a sensation of shadows touching the corners of her mind, of sand and starscapes, ocean breezes and towering trees she had never seen —not in this lifetime at least—. When Susurrus nudged again, it was with the voices of her shadows, “You have such a lovely voice, my dear. Sing it again?”

     Cyra closed her eyes and bowed her head, trying to swallow the lump that formed whenever her magic dragged up the voices-faces-lifetimes of her shadows. Her hand clutched her cane in white knuckles, and for a moment she didn’t think she could even breathe, let alone sing, and yet…

“I close … my eyes … tell us why must we suffer?”

“Release your hands, for your will drags us under.”

“My legs grow tired…”

“Tell us where must we wander?”

“How can we …. carry on,”

“If redemption’s beyond us?”

     She exhaled, inhaled. And words came flowing back, through time and memory, loss and love. She tilted her head back to the ceiling, closed her eyes to block out the world, raised her free hand and let magic flicker softly in her palm as she reached, for what she wasn’t certain, just … reached in the hope that if she did, perhaps something would reach back.

“To all of my children,” 

“In whom Life flows abundant.”

“To all of my children,”

“To whom Death hath passed his judgement…”

“The soul yearns for honor,”

“And the flesh the Hereafter.”

“Look to those, who walked before,”

“To lead those who walk after…”

     Magic sparked, dripped from her palm like raindrops and hourglass sand. Something rose in her veins and for the first time in years, she did not push it back down. It rose into the air, like embers and snowflakes on her senses, pushed her voice out to meet the echoes of past and future and present undecided.

“Shining is the Land’s light of justice,”

“Ever flows the Land’s well of purpose.”

“Walk free, walk free, walk free, believe…”

“The Land is alive … so believe…”

     There was a chant in her blood, a hundred voices in the shadows, and without even thinking her cane slammed down with each word, emphasizing another she had no breath to say. She shouted to the chamber, to the past, to the world, pushed her magic free with every declaration —every promise, long fulfilled and lost—.

     Behind her, safely by the door, Regis watched with wide eyes and trembling hands as his daughter’s magic unspooled. As soft flickers became a steady trickle, as the trickle became a stream, as the stream was tossed into the air in a spinning storm of starlight and embers that flared and grew with each angry-desperate-calling strike of her cane. He watched as the wind began to stir like a living thing, as magic built and built and built in preparation for something Regis could not name, in gleeful freedom so long denied.

     His daughter threw back her head and he glimpsed her eyes as they snapped open, a shining, twisting collage of white starlight and orange fire that mirrored and refracted in the crystalline shards flaring into existence all around.

“Now open your eyes, while our plight is repeated.”

“Still deaf to our cries,”

“Lost in hope we lie defeated!”

“Our souls have been torn,”

“And our bodies forsaken.”

“Bearing sins of the past,”

“For our future is taken.”

     Something flickered, spun through the fractals of crystalline power, formed and coalesced.

“War, born of strife, these trials persuade us not,”

     A Carbuncle, a creature of legend and myth and Messengers. It sprang into being in a burst of soft topaz fur, swirled and leaped after the twisting crystal shards with something that might have been joy and might have been fury.

“Words, without sound, these lies betray our thoughts!”

“Mired by a plague of doubt,”

“The Land, she mourns.”

     Another Carbuncle, this one a bright sapphire. It formed and sprang fearlessly onto Cyra’s outstretched arm, scurried up to drape around her shoulders in solidarity while Regis and all those with him gaped at the presence of Messengers, called down by his daughter’s magic as still it rose and unfurled —and how had she lived this long? How had she survived keeping this much power locked beneath her skin? Astrals it was little wonder she was disabled by her pain—.

“Judgement binds … all we hold,”

“To a memory of scorn.”

“Tell us why, given Life, we are meant to die,”

“Helpless in our cries?”

     Another sharp crack of the cane striking the floor, a declaration and command as she railed at the unseen sky to witness. To suffer. To borrow. To reason. Each word punctuated by a crack of her cane striking stone with enough force to shake the room, her magic towering and spiraling out to fill every corner and echo and atom of air. It reached, up and out beyond the room, and surely the Citadel itself was shaking at this point as fire trailed down her hair and shoulders like living things, as ice spiraled out in arcane patterns on the floor and clawed its way up the pillars in quest and demand. Ozone thrummed in the air, the promise of a storm too long denied and Regis was torn between terror and pride as he felt her magic reach, up and out and beyond as Cyra stretched out her free arm and demanded of the world to answer. Answer.

     Answer together.

     The world went still as something ancient stirred.

     And answered her.

     Beside him, Cyra’s husband wheezed a soft curse of disbelief and wonder as power coalesced six times over. Cyra lowered her hand, her Carbuncles wrapped protectively around her, one at her feet and one on her shoulders, her breath shaking from exhaustion as magic stilled and silence fell.

     Arrayed around her, some so large they barely fit in the chamber, the Astrals stared down at the tiny, frail mortal who had called them down.

     For an eternity, nothing moved. Nothing dared to breathe or move or think. As they could do nothing but stare at the Six, all of the Six who stood before his daughter, and watched her with expressions that on mortal faces might have been astonishment.

     Might have even been nostalgic joy.

     The Infernian moved first, a great hand touching his arm as he looked down at himself as if in surprise, and the part of Regis that was not panicking noted the spiraling scars curling across at least half of his body, dark and raw, not unlike a wound that had only just been burned free of some great infection. Then he looked down at Cyra again…

     And knelt, a fist over his heart, a soldier before a queen rather than an immortal being before a frail, bookshop owning illegitimate daughter of human kings. The Infernian’s voice was like fire and crumbling ash as he opened his mouth…

     And continued the song.

“Thy Life is a riddle…” 

     A breath and a whisper of winter cold as the Glacian folded her hands, bowed her head, and took up the song,

“To bear rapture and sorrow.”

The Archaean’s voice was ancient and steady as stone, yet soft as the hush of wind through old ruins as he too pressed a fist over his heart, and bent his massive frame —still not as large as the form seen in the Disc of Cauthess, somehow this was small enough to fit the chamber, if only barely—.

“To listen, to suffer,”

The Fulgarian echoed like far off thunder and the taste of rain as his hands folded over his staff and his lips turned upward in what could only be a smile.

“To entrust until tomorrow.”

The Hydraean’s fins stirred, her voice the rumble of tides and soft hiss of water across the sand.

“In one fleeting moment, from the Land doth Life flow…”

     All eyes swung, inevitably, disbelievingly, to the Draconian, who floated above the stones of the floor, his wings of many blades stretching out so they almost brushed the shoulders of the Archaean and the fins of the Hydraean.

     All eyes watched, as he drifted to the floor, his great sword coming to rest in front of him as his head bowed in a knight’s salute to a queen.

“Yet in one fleeting moment, for anew it doth grow….”

     A fragile silence, a greeting and a history Regis could not hope to comprehend.

     A single mortal voice, rising in answer to an unspoken greeting from the Six beings who had answered her call.

“In the same fleeting moment…”

“Thou must live … die …”

“And know…”

     And while the world looked on in uncomprehending awe, Cyra … Cyra took in a breath that for once did not twinge, took a step forward that for once held only the barest ache rather than a constant throb of pain. She was exhausted, wrung dry from truly releasing her magic for the first time in so many, many years, and yet…

     She was happy. So very, very happy.

     Cyra looked up at the Six Who Had Answered, at the wild, immortal beings she had known once a long time ago —had slain and chained and Summoned, then had turned around and taught, as best as she could, what it meant to care for the little beings that called upon them for aid and not enslave their minds and souls—. At the beings who, a lifetime ago, had been enemies and allies all at the same time.

     And she smiled. “Hello, my ducklings,” she teased with the mischief of the Warrior of Light, the nickname light on her tongue, picked centuries ago specifically to annoy the immortal creatures who both aided her battle and caused her such problems, “did you miss me?”

[croissans]

Idk if you were reading 3rd book of CAOS but there is a hint that Theo’s dad has crush on Zelda. Can you write a ff where Faustus is jealous of him? :D Love your writing btw!! Ps. Sorry, English is not my first language.

Omg HAHAHAHHA thats a great prompt!!! I didnt read the book but i heard some people i follow talk about it and its so cute how mr. putnam has a crush on zelda but like half of greendale does so its not a surprise LMAO 

The whole Spellman ancestral home was filled with the sound of Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers playing on a vinyl record player and Ambrose was lounging around the house in his silk robe having the time of his life, eating peanut butter out of the jar.

He was absolutely clueless about the pure shitstorm coming his way. Luckily, the sound of knocking was heard through his loud ruckus and the first wave has entered the grid.

Ambrose turned off the vinyl playing in the parlor and made his way to the front door. He knows it couldn't be Aunt Hilda for she is working in the mortal bookshop downtown, it also can't be Sabrina since she's at the Academy and it most certainly isn't Aunt Zelda since she's all the way in Moon Valley, picking up some trinkets for the mortuary.

Opening the door, he was surprised to find Mr. Putnam, Theo, one of Sabrina's mortal friend's, father. He was holding a bouquet of roses, but Ambrose didn’t ask.

"Mr. Putnam." Ambrose greeted. "Are you here for the mortuary? If you are, I am terribly sorry for your loss." He said in professional fashion.

"Oh, no. No." He declined, giving Ambrose a polite smile. "I'm uh- Here to see Miss Spellman." 

Ambrose's brows furrowed. "I believe you have to be more specific than that, sir. I am living with three Miss Spellmans."

"Oh!" He gave a nervous chuckle. "I- uh- Miss Spellman- I mean, Zelda." As if a lightbulb has gone off over Ambrose's head. The nervous wreck, wrong type of flowers, dressed in nice clothes, asking for his Aunt Zelda. Ambrose practically wrote a manual for what he's supposed to do in this type of situation.

"Unfortunately, she’s in Moon Valley at the moment but she will be coming home soon,” he glanced at the clock on the wall. “But you could wait in the parlor or I would gladly deliver her your handwritten love letter.” Ambrose joked.

Mr. Putnam let out a small polite laugh. “I think I’ll just wait in the parlor then.” “This way.” Ambrose directed to the parlor, opening the door wider. Mr. Putnam muttered a small ‘thanks’.

“So, how many…?” The older man trailed off, and Ambrose immediately understood what he was trying to ask.

“This week, nine.” He paused, trying to recall. “The whole month, at least twenty.”

“Oh.” That was all the man could say.

“Sit.” Ambrose gestured to the armchair in the parlor. “Don’t worry,” He smiled in reassurance. “She turned down all of them.“ 

“Oh.”  He leaved the parlor to get the visitor a tray of tea in the kitchen, when the doorbell rang. And the second shitstorm has entered the server.

He gave Mr. Putnam a polite look and made his way towards the front door. He opened the door and found the High Priest standing there and a lot of things went through his mind. • There’s a mortal in the living room • This is the reason Aunt Zelda has been declining her suitors • Holy shit • The High Priest of the Church of Night and a mortal in the same room • Aunt Zelda’s lover and her suitor in the same room • His Excellency is holding the correct type of flowers; blue forget-me-nots

“Your Excellency,” he greeted. “This way to the parlor, please.” He didn’t even mind asking the man on what he wants. He already knows.

“Oh, no.” Faustus said. “I’m here for Zelda.”

“She is in Moon Valley, please wait in the parlor, Your Excellency.” He said for the second time this day. The man gave a curt nod and followed Ambrose into the parlor. He was absolutely confused as to why a mortal is sitting there, flowers in hand.

“Brother Ambrose, why is-” He starts to ask but Ambrose beat him to it.

“He is the suitor of the day.” He said, clasping his hands together.

Oh. Ohhhhh. “Do not worry, Your Excellency, she turned down all of them this month.”

Faustus’ eyes widened. “This month?”

“Twenty? Twenty-one?” He said, his hands shaking in a gesture of estimating. All Faustus could do was nod, although he and Zelda were an item, they didn’t exactly have a label. And truth be told, since they started their little liaison, she was the only witch that he went home with every night.

He made his way towards the parlor and Ambrose went to get the tray of tea on the kitchen island. He sat on one of the armchairs, opposing the mortal man, not bothering to look at him. Although Mr. Putnam felt like he wanted to retreat, he stood his ground. Although the man wore fancy clothes, he held forget-me-nots. He guessed that’s a point for him, then. He noticed the man had looks but had a dark aura and devil-like nails.

Faustus tried not to interact with the man although the tension could be felt throughout the room. Not only was he mortal but he was holding roses for Satan’s sake. His disdain for the man was simply because he was mortal not because he was wooing Zelda. Nothing more.

Ambrose entered the room holding a tray with a pot of tea with two cups on saucers. You could see the young man’s momentarily horrified expression when there came a knock on the door. He gave the guests a polite smile and made his way towards the front door, chanting ‘please be Aunt Hilda’ under his breath, in a tune.

Instead, he was met with Aunt Zelda and he found himself thinking that this was much better. Zelda frowned at Ambrose’s giddy expression. "Why do you have that smile on? What did you do?"

"Nothing, Aunt Z." Ambrose said, smiling. "But I have to warn you, the suitor of the day came in with your prince charming."

"What?" Zelda asked, handing Ambrose the bag of supplies for the mortuary.

"Let's just say that the High Priest of the Church of Night is having tea with a certain mortal in the living room." Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Yes." Ambrose teased, already heading down the mortuary.

Zelda peeked in the parlor and saw what Ambrose meant. Satan, she felt like she was sixteen again.

Sighing, she walked into the parlor and the two men stood up immediately. She had been in this situation once and vaguely remembers a duel between the two warlocks. 

"Gentlemen," she greeted. "I am terribly sorry but I am afraid I'm taken at the moment." The two men was shocked, especially Faustus. Since Zelda seemed like she just made their relationship official. "And I don't really think Sabrina would like me dating one of her father's friends." 

In the kitchen, you could hear Ambrose snickering and Zelda rolled her eyes. 

"Please see yourself out." She said with a small smile. Mr. Putnam gave an understanding yet sad smile while Faustus stayed behind.

"You're taken, huh?" 

"Not really." She retorted.  

"Really? I wouldn't be surprised since you had twenty suitors asking for your hand this month."

"Oh, don't be such a baby, Faustus." She said, pouring herself a glass of scotch on the nearby table. "I'd say you're just jealous." Now that was a slap on the face because it was true, he just had too much pride to admit it. 

"No, I'm not." He said, with much scorn. 

"What's with the flowers?" She asked, handing him a glass of brandy.

"It was supposed to be yours but then it seems half of Greendale probably gave you flowers this month."

She gave him a look. "Stop whining, it's not like I slept with any of them."

He opened his mouth to speak but Zelda beat him to it. "And don't mind Mr. Putnam, he's been like that since last year. It's not a surprise anymore."

"The men of Greendale has been like that towards you since you turned sixteen." 

"Satan, Faustus, what do you want me to do?" She asked, now annoyed. 

"I just," he stood up walking towards her, searching for the right words. "A warlock or even a mortal could walk in your parlor and just ask for you and you could say yes and-"

"So, you're jealous?" She asked once again.

He sighed. "Fine. I'm jealous." He said the word like it was poison.

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck, taking him by surprise. "Don't be." Her voice was muffled on his shoulder. This was unlike Zelda but he made no move to disentangle himself from her. He wonders if it was the scotch but she only had one glass. He rested his arms on her waist, his chin atop her head. 

He had never done this with anyone before, not even with her in their Academy days. He found it quite pleasant. "Would you mind being my top lady, then?"

Before she could answer or even register the sound of someone snapping their fingers in the other room, Unchained Melody started to play from the vinyl in the corner. 

Ambrose has never been so proud of himself before.

● ■ ● ■ ●

author: ok im so so so so sorry this sucks i had a hard time writing the ending but i just ughghg MY HAND SLIPPED WITH THE UNCHAINED MELODY THING AHHAHAAHAHAHAHAH rip mr putnam thoLMAO also, im so confused if i should call susie susie or theo?????? But i jist settled with theo for respect

Im an old soul thats why i love unchained melody so much atm and also i accidentally posted this here instead of my otha account, my apologies lmao but its still tagged spellwood ;))

N e ways, stay safe and i hope u loved it :)))))) ;))))

[laytonsartblog]

Okay so I'm dumb here's a one shot

I know I said everything that's a story would be posted on AO3, but, I have dumbass energy and was inspired by the reblog I made earlier and it is 2 am on a school night so WOOO incoherency is at an ALL TIME HIGH

@infinimay whoop tagged u for what I'll call the Bus Duty AU

Perhaps I'll make this a series?? Something light, fluffy, nothing too heavy on the angst (okay I lied)

--

The Wheels on the Bus (Spin the Tales of Love)

Chapter 1., Like Patton

Virgil and Damian woke up to get to school at precisely 7:30 am, and to be ready by 8:10 for when their bus arrived, every school day.

Their mother, which is now Virgil's stepmother, always said that a tight schedule and tighter patience is what wins people over. That must be how she got Virgil's idiot dad, who took nearly three years of coy smiles and teasing touches to even start dating. They had married this year, and while Virgil is certainly happy about it, he didn't realize that it came with having to deal with a new stepbrother.

That's why, instead of 7:30 and 8:10, Virgil rises at 7:15 and is waiting by 8:00. Their mother never notices, never needing to wake up this early for work, and their dad works night shift. They were by themselves, but they handled it for nine year olds. Virgil especially figured out how to handle it as soon as he figured out that despite all this change, he was still by himself.

"Vi! Vi!" Damian, or DeeDee as he liked to be called, shouted as he approached Virgil at the bottom of the street. "Why do you never wait for me?"

Virgil shrugged. "I don't know, you give me a weird feeling, like cooties, but nice? Like wriggling worms in my head. It's sticky."

There was silence between them as they waited for their bus.

"You give me wiggly feelings too. Truce?" Damian suddenly said after what seemed to be forever to their adorable little minds, and he outstretched a hand.

Virgil took it. "Pleasure doing business, Worm boy."

Damian pouted and pulled his hand back, but didn't need to wait much longer in cute anger as the bus pulled up to their street. Seemingly forgetting the nickname, he pulled Virgil along onto the bus.

"Hey, kiddos!" their favorite, and only bus driver greeted as they sat in the front row.

Virgil never liked the bus, despite how early he was this year. It was loud and cranky and he had to sit next to DeeDee and there were always the mean kids who flicked his head as if a ping-pong ball on the way to their seats. The one thing that made it bearable was the fact he got to sit close to Patton.

Patton had allowed them to use his first name from the get go, inspiring names like "Patting!" from the kindergarteners or "Shatting" from the mean sixth graders. Virgil never tainted the name for he saw no reason to change what was already his favorite part of the morning.

Patton gave them treats on their birthday, never forgetting a single one. Patton hugged them when they were sad and showed them that crying was okay. Patton never yelled or screamed when things got too loud; he knew better than to plague these children with learned behavior, scorn, and hatred. Instead he'd play games that involved the whole bus to busy everyone, or at the very least play music and encourage them to sing along or guess the song.

Patton made things better. But Virgil knew he was sad.

Today, even with Damian's unwavering questions at everything he saw and with the fake stories he kept saying to the kid in the seat next to them, even he could tell that their bus driver was tired.

The two observant fourth graders watched as their second father didn't smile as brightly as he usually did whenever he greeted the kids getting on. He sagged; sluggish and baggy. Virgil noticed he looked a lot like his cousin Remy before a test under his eyes.

However, despite how observant, Virgil never knew how to comfort the gentle man. It's why he and Damian are in the front row. The doctors said he has a "speech impediment" where he couldn't put the words in his head to the outside world quite right. They said his brain was wrong. He knew Damian had a streak of lying and throwing tantrums. It's why he didn't like his new brother; he only served to make him look stupider.

Still, that didn't stop Virgil from putting a hand to Patton's shoulder, at least not entirely. He didn't expect for him to gasp and jump, but Virgil didn't exactly know what to expect anyway. He just pulled his hand back and looked down at his ripped pants in shame the rest of the bus ride.

--

They got there slower than Virgil had thought, but no, they were on time. Perhaps his brain was being weird again? He couldn't tell, but either way he walked begrudgingly by Damian into the school.

They passed by their school's office on the way into the gym, which is where you wait until school started. Virgil, again, ever the observant one, saw his school secretary in the window.

He was what was best described as professionally squabbled, or in Virgil's terms, cleanly messy. Mr. Nguyen had hair that was combed back just so and glasses that hid all his worries and fears. He had impeccable pressed ties that, on the occasion, got festive when a holiday came around. He had skilled hands and Virgil hadn't walked by a day where he wasn't working or presenting a board meeting or, if he wasn't doing that, wasn't there at all for the whole day.

Virgil never really disliked Mr. Nguyen. He had no reason to like him either. But right now, Virgil could see he looked exactly like Patton did; utterly miserable.

"Hey, DeeDee, y'see Mr. Nguyen? In the window?" Virgil whispered as he sat right at the entrance so he could get a good look at him.

Damian merely ignored him. "We always see him. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is," Virgil started, already frustrated with the words that wouldn't come out. "He like- he- he's Patton today."

Damian rose a brow, a suspicious trait he most likely picked up from his mother. "You mean he looks like Patton did today?"

Virgil could only nod in relief. "Yeah! He looks Patton today. Do you think the teachers look like that today?"

Damian scanned around the room. He saw nothing out of the ordinary on the teachers' face. However, he did spot a certain trashy boy that Damian all but felt puppy love for. He waved him over. "Rem! Rem!"

The boy, peeking from the corner around his preoccupied brother at his name being called, grinned a crooked and partially toothless grin and ran over to Damian. They merely embraced before Remus took out his backpack, no doubt to reveal some gross frog from his collection.

Virgil cared less and just kept staring at the office, seeing Patton and a few other drivers come in for their mandatory morning report before they head out to go back to whatever they do when not driving. Patton still looked like a walking corpse.

Virgil vowed to take that frown away.

However, the school bell had other plans.

--

Virgil thinks that time really has slowed down, and maybe it isn't his stupid brain.

Every minute of class felt not as much a blur as it usually was. Usually, class was as easy as it got, and today he even got to skip out of gym for speech classes. He liked the speech teacher, Valerie. She allowed him to say her first name like Patton did. Virgil liked Valerie too.

But even his marvel at how fantastic his day had been so far didn't distract him from the fact his bus driver was unhappy.

Virgil sat with Damian and all the other broken kids at lunch. Remus was there too, and as much as he loved Damian off his back, the two talking about frogs and the fact the French eat frog legs was already starting to get on his nerves. He just focused on his sandwich and juice box, never saying a word.

It became time to throw out the food, and Virgil knew it was gametime. He looked to everyone at the table before rushing, the other two running to throw out their styrofoam plates the fastest.

Sadly, like always, Virgil's dreams of success were barred by Remus's long, nimble legs and long, skinny arms.

Virgil wanted to pout and tell them that Remus always wins, but Mr. Glover came in to clean and one look sent the three of them scrambling to recess.

--

Today they had art time, and Virgil had never been more determined in his life.

He grabbed construction paper, glue, crayons, markers, tape, and a How-To: pop up book. They were supposed to be making Thanksgiving cards for one of the staff members, and technically he was following what he was supposed to do. It was just that Patton's name hadn't been listed on the board to write to for their fake post office.

No matter. He would make the best card ever to cheer up his favorite and only bus driver. Damian seemed more interested in watching Remus eat the glue stick and then calling for them to go to the nurse.

Virgil ignored the two's antics in favor of focusing on his masterpiece.

--

Finally, at the end of the day, with high hopes and spirits and even better hope for Patton, Virgil all but ran to the bus he remembers so clearly beyond anything else. Damian followed close behind, sitting beside him in the seat they always sat.

Virgil heard Patton greet him, as always. Virgil could still hear how tired he was. He looked as pale as Virgil did.

Virgil, without prompting, took out his card and shoved it into Patton's hands before taking his seat and covering himself up with his hoodie as far in the seat as he could go.

Patton watched the young boy sat back down in a hurry before looking down at the card. The craftsmanship, of course, could be better, but honestly Patton could hardly care. He read the "I Think Your Cool" at the top and then a hand drawing of a turkey, covered in glitter and Patton's signature blue.

Patton almost cried, and then did cry when he saw the inside.

It held handwritten words with a picture of presumably Virgil fighting away the storm clouds over Patton; the bus with muscles and also beating up the stormcloud. The words wrote "I saw your sad face. I want to fix it. See! Fixed it!"

When Patton looked up, sniffling and holding the card dear to his heart, he saw Virgil peaking out from his jacket. That little boy held the softest smile and even Damian stopped for a moment to grin, gap tooth apparent but not even a hint of malice could fill Patton at this moment.

Last night had been so awful, but maybe today hadn't been so bad. No, today had been fantastic. Virgil fixed his heart for just a moment.

Edit: the card! Made by moi

[tiaragqueen]

i just wanna confirm my request :) yandere prompts that hurt: 7 & 10 for jimin thank u again! ❤️

Parting Of The Ways

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Park Jimin x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,3k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Isolation, possessiveness

✂ This story is fictional and for amusement only. I don’t believe any of the members would do this in real life. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day!

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

***

7. “Is it that hard to love me back?”

10. “I know there’s something wrong with me, I’ve known it all my life! There’s no need for you to tell me!”

I guess you could say this is the sequel of ‘Promise’, or a standalone scenario depending on how you want to see it. And if it’s the former, this is where the MC finally lost her shit. Also, I hope these are the correct prompts.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Fear is a primal emotion that has the power to rob us of our ability to think rationally.” - A.B. Admin

“I want to break up.”

Jimin stood still in the threshold of the living room, one hand hidden behind him. You glanced at it, before returning your attention to him. Whatever he was holding, or hiding from you was none of your business, nor did you wish to discover it. You just hoped that it wasn’t something as preposterous as a wedding ring. The desire to marry him had disappeared after his ‘little’ stunt he’d pulled several months ago.

“Jagiya, it’s… it’s a joke, right?” His shaky voice wafted softly in the air.

“Does it look like I’m joking to you?”

Jimin flinched at your harsh tone; something that you had never used on him. “B-but why…? What is my fault?” he asked, the tears beginning to sting his eyes.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “Really? You have the guts to ask that? Have you ever, for once, take a look at yourself?”

“What…?”

“I’m talking about your possessiveness and clinginess, Jimin!” you shouted, unable to conceal your pent-up frustration any longer. “I’m so sick of being your babysitter. I’m so sick of not being able to go out as often as I used to be. I’m so sick that I have to cater to your every need like I’m your bitch or something. I’m so sick of having to tell my friends and family that I couldn’t go out with them because you didn’t allow me to. I’m not your servant, Jimin! I’m not your slave! I have my own wishes and wants!”

“A-about that…” Sweats rolled down his temples as he tried to word his question right. This was your relationship at stake here, therefore he needed to find a solution to solve it as quickly as possible. “We can still compromise, right? W-we don’t have to break up.”

“Compromise? Compromise?! No!”

Jimin flinched once again, resisting the urge to whimper. You were being exceptionally cruel today. He disliked it. He wanted your old self back.

Your old self who used to speak softly at him like a mother talking to her son.

Your old self who used to caress his head when he felt particularly gloomy.

Your old self who used to comply with every request he made.

“We always compromised. And guess what? I’m the one who has to change. I’m the one who has to adapt to your moods. But you? You never change! You never listened to my requests. Even for a simple one, like when I asked you to leave to have my privacy, you always came back five minutes later. What kind of privacy is that?! Why are you so goddamn clingy?! It’s not like I’m gonna jump out of the window at any given opportunity!” you ranted.

“I-I just wanted to be with you!” Jimin cried, desperately trying to make you understand that it was only natural for a couple to spend time together. “Is that too much ask…?”

“Of course it is!” you yelled. “It is too much to ask because I’ve spent every waking minute with you. I’m sick of being with you, Jimin! Do you know that?!”

Jimin gasped, the tears finally gathered in his glistening eyes. “[Name], how… how could you say that to me? I love you. Why are you so mean to me?”

“Cut with that ‘I love you’ bullshit already!” you groaned, tugging at your hair exasperatedly. No matter how angry you were at him, no matter how indignant you were at this whole situation, you could never bring yourself to lash out to him. Especially hitting or generally being violent to someone who – as much as you hated to admit it – just wanted to make you both happy. “I’m tired of hearing that.”

No, you still had your control. You needed to control yourself.

Jimin bowed his head and murmured, “Is it that hard to love me back?”

“Yes, yes!” you grinned maniacally as though you were a scorned woman with a few screws loosed. “It is that hard. Because if you love me, then you wouldn’t keep me here like some kind of a fucking hostage! There’s something wrong with you, Jimin.”

“I know there’s something wrong with me, I’ve known it all my life! There’s no need for you to tell me!” he finally shouted, but you weren’t surprised in the slightest. It was bound to happen soon, anyway.

Relaxing the tensed nerves on your face, you looked at his weeping one blankly. “Then, if you already know, we’re over.” you finalized.

Jimin immediately grabbed your arm when you made a move towards the front door. “No! Don’t go, please! I-I’ll does anything. Just please don’t leave me!” he blubbered.

You peered at the pathetic sight below you, before brushing him off.

“[Name], please!” He was now latching on one of your legs as he howled shamelessly. “I’ll change, I promise! I’ll change so I won’t be possessive anymore. I’ll change so I won’t be clingy again. But please, don’t go. I need you. I need you so much, [Name]!”

“You always said that Jimin,” you said indifferently. “You always promised that you’d change, but you never did.”

Eager sparks illuminated his bloodshot pupils. From the way those painful sentences sounded, there might be some hope that you might accept him back. “Then, I promise that I’ll keep my words from now on. Just stay, please.”

“That’s enough, Jimin!” you snapped, feeling the blood rose to your face again. “Don’t force me to stay against my will! We’re over and we’ll never get back together. Remember that!”

“If you leave, then I’ll kill myself!”

Based on how he’d acted out that time, you didn’t doubt that he would go through with what he said. However, you were certain that he would never go down that route. Committing suicide because you couldn’t get your ex back would be a meaningless suicide, indeed. And besides, you were tired of his constant guilt-trip and cries.

How did you stand his antics for four years was beyond your knowledge.

“See? That’s why I hate you, Jimin. You always tried to manipulate me.” you sneered. “But guess what? I’m already immune to that. So don’t even think about pulling that kind of shit again.”

You shot him one last glare over your shoulder. “Goodbye, Park Jimin.”

The slam of the door echoed in the now quiet house. Jimin gazed at the piece of wood that separated him and you; him and the outside world where you were free to roam around. No annoying whines, no crocodile tears, and no subtle threats. Slowly, his hand reached out to touch the doorknob that felt freezing under his fingertips before withdrawing.

“[Name] will come back again, right?” he murmured, his slightly raspy voice filled the deafening silence. Jimin took out the velvety box that he’d hidden from your sight and opened it, revealing a silver ring inside. It gleamed under the otherwise dark room, and he could picture your joyful face. Almost.

Jimin smiled softly at the mental image, at what could’ve been a bright future for the two of you. “It’s a shame that she couldn’t see this. I should’ve shown it earlier.”

The next day, during your weekly shopping, you stopped to watch the TV out of curiosity. With a dispassionate expression, the news anchor reported the news of a young man committing suicide in his own apartment. The screen soon showed the victim sitting on a bathtub, pale face half-emerged from the slightly murky water.

“A red, velvety box sat on the basin next to the bathtub. It contains a ring, presumably a wedding ring. The victim presumably planned on proposing his lover. The police are still searching for the said lover in hopes of solving this case.”

The shopping basket dropped with a thud from your hand.

[oatsn-honey]

restless

masterlist

AO3

summary:  This time, Winry isn't the one waking him up from the dream. It's his own terrified screams that break his fitful slumber.

notes:  hey!! i'm somehow here with another fic, not too long after my last post!! :>>> it's not as long, but i hope u enjoy this little one-shot! <333

“They’re back,” He breathed while they were laying in bed one night. Lined up with the edge of the mattress, limbs nearly dangling off, his back was turned to her. 

Her brows creasing together in confusion, she stared at his shoulders. Despite her yearning to reach out for him, she refrained, knowing it would prompt him to stop speaking, doing more harm than good. “What’s ba--,” 

“The nightmares,” He finished finally twisting around to face her, the blankets rustling with the movement. Their gazes linked, blue meeting a quivering, guilt laden gold. His face, strange shadows splaying across his freckled skin in the moonlight, was disturbingly blank as he broke eye contact. A small part of her wished that he would allow himself to cry, just to show that vulnerability and trust to her, but she quickly squashed it down with scorn. His doubts were reasonable -- understandable, even -- and valid. And she accepted that they were drilled into his subconscious by years of pain and paranoia. She was simply appreciative of the shred of honesty. His lips pursed, he continued, “But, they never honestly stopped in the first place. They’ve just… gotten worse.” 

“Yeah,” She sighed, making a minute motion forward. “It’s almost every night now, huh?” He nodded, lips quirking awkwardly to one side. She swallowed harshly, voice quivering and hesitant, “What are they about? You’ve only mentioned a few...”

His hand, the one returned to him, emerged from the covers to rub at the corner of his eye. He settled, staring blankly at nothing through the cracks between his fingers. Finally, that serious frown managed to worm its way onto his face, and she quickly came to realize that she had, in one fell swoop, ruined any chance of delving further into the matter. “I don’t really feel like talking about it.”

She mustered a small, sad smile, and caved at last, slinking forward and near him. Pressing her body flush against his, she wrapped her arms firmly around his waist, pulling him close to her. He tucked his arms underneath her own, resting his head on her shoulder, holding onto her tightly. When she felt the small quivers running through his body, she tenderly whispered, “It’s alright, everything will be fine. You don’t have to tell me now. It’ll be okay, Ed.” She pressed her face into his hair, the golden tresses falling around her face. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! No, stop! I didn’t know, I’m sorry!” 

He woke up screaming again, bellows of terror echoing throughout the ominously dark room. Chest heaving, lungs constricted, stomach churning, he sat straight up, swallowing the wave of nausea that urged him to vomit.  Without Winry to shake him awake, frantically calling his name, Edward found that the dream had become more exceedingly horrendous. Too petrified to even close his eyes, he unsteadily swung his legs over the bed, the automail of his left feeling heavier than lead. Attempting to quell the rapid beating of his heart and the anxiety and fear shooting through his body, he shakily rose. 

The buzz of Winry’s machine lures him, and he finds himself wobbling out of the room and into the hallway. As the noise grows louder, his throat begins to feel tighter. Once, the clatter of her tools lulled him to sleep, but now it only served to grate at his mind, reminding him of all the strain he had made her withstand throughout the years, all that he forced onto others. The nightmare flashed in his vision, and with a stumble he took a moment to rest against the wall, panting heavily. 

Regaining control over his frantic breaths, he shuffled tiredly towards her workroom, immediately catching sight of the flying sparks, generated by the particular tool in her hand. The room was dark and hot, suffocating, with only a bright desk lamp shining down on her work. With the roaring of her machine, Winry didn’t hear him stop at the doorway. 

“Winry,” He introduced, leaning exhaustively against the doorframe. She clicked off the tool and the mechanical whir petered out. She swiveled in  her chair, facing him. Pushing her goggles past her hairline, she tilted her head at him. “You should go to bed.”

Giving him a look, she laughed wryly, “Could say the same thing to you, Elric.”

Expression falling, he sighed. There was a moment of silence, and a bone-deep tiredness radiated from both of them. “Winry, please, you need to rest. There’s no need to rush anymore -- you can take some time for yourse--”

Pushing against her brow, Winry spoke adamantly, exasperatedly, “Well, you aren’t, and never were, my only client, Ed, so you don’t have much to say in regards to whether or not I need to rush.” Her words stang, and he made an indignant rebuttal that she promptly interrupted, “ You aren’t my priority right this second, and there are people who need urgently need my automail. I’m not sure if your prideful attitude and confidence will allow you to see that fact, but it’s true.” She grunted, crossing her arms and drawing her lips into a thin line. 

In her heart, Winry fully knew that she was being unfair -- flitting her eyes up towards him, she could plainly see the bruise-like circles carved underneath his now dulled amber eyes. Heaving a burdensome sigh, she collapsed into her hands. “Sorry,” She whined, dragging a slim hand down her cheek, voice taut with emotions and sounding close to tears. Reprimanding herself, she was reminded of how utterly exhausted they both were. 

She bit her lip at the memory of jostling Edward awake, sobbing and frightened as she cried his name through the screams. “No, you’re right,” His defeated words broke her from the reprieve. Winry’s shoulders drooped and she felt like sobbing at his admission, knowing that he was too drained for even the thought of snapping back at her. 

Following a long, drawn-out pause, with her mind too jumbled to respond, he was left to uncomfortably shift his weight between his two very different feet. “I think… that I’m going to go.” He turned away, before stopping just outside the door. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Winry.” He disappeared down the hallway, his metal leg clanking along with his uneven steps. She could distinctly make out the limp. 

Choking back a shout of his name that was itching at her throat, she cried quietly. Swiveling in her chair, she hurriedly told herself to calm down, the panic pricking throughout her body contradicting the sentiment. “I’ve already made it bad enough.” 

She bashed the heel of her hand into her forehead, tears of humiliation and shame leaving wet trails on her cheeks. The mechanic rubbed at her temples, willing the worsening headache away. With a regretful exhale, she clenched her eyes shut, early drifting off to the stillness of the air and the hum of the old house. Blinking rapidly, she sat up, warding off the drowsiness.

She stood, swallowing her bout of anxiety, and dragged herself from the room and making her way down the creaky stairs. When she poked her head into the kitchen, Winry found a hot kettle of tea kept warm on the stove. A mug had been set out. After wringing her hands nervously, she poured herself some, wrapping her calloused hands tenderly around the warm glass. As she watched the dark liquid slosh around in the cup, the tea’s herbal scent wafted up to her, prompting her to take a tentative sip. The all-too familiar flavor of an oat flower, lavender, and lime-flower brew greeted her. The taste bit at Winry’s tongue, throwing her mistake right at her heart. This was the combination that was used in Xing -- to combat nightmares, anxiety, and depression.

 In a flash, Winry was reminded of the phone call she shared with Mei just a week previously. “The oat flower works to regulate circadian rhythms and synthesize natural melatonin. In Xing, lime-flower is used to treat anxiety and sleep disorders, and is effective against nightmares. It’s also used to assist retired soldiers, as it also functions as a mild sedative and antidepressant.” With the information invading her thoughts, her guilt increased tenfold. 

Shuffling out to the sitting room, she found Ed slumped against the couch’s armrest, a book situated on his crossed legs, his steaming mug cupped in his hands. Hoping to muffle any sound, Winry took a seat in the armchair opposite of him, nearly missing his small flinch at the sound of scrunching material. 

“Hey, I,” She started, thrown off by the urgent need to swallow thickly. He didn’t glance up at her, but Winry couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes drifted shut, only to snap open brief seconds later, frantically searching the page’s of his thick alchemic book for a familiar passage. Taking in a steadying breath, Winry began, “I’m sorry, Ed. It wasn’t fair of me to say that.” Voice teetering out again, she searched for the words she knew she still had left to say. 

Tired eyes looked up at her, meeting with her own, he sighed, closing the weathered book. She didn’t miss the way he neglected to move the bookmark. Placing his tea down on the side table, he responded despondently, “Win, I’m sorry too, I--”

“No, Ed!” Winry exclaimed, the liquid in her mug nearly sloshing over the edge. Exhaling forcefully, she attempted desperately to ring the tension from her face and voice. “No, Ed, you have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong.”

“But, Winry,” He argued, only to be abruptly cut off once again.

“You were worried about me. You weren’t saying that my patient’s don’t have priority. You were just saying that I should have priority too, and I’m sorry that I didn’t understand.” Her body slumped, defeated. “I’m just so… tired,” A wry chuckle passed her lips, “But I guess that’s contradictory to me staying up.”

Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Winry,” He sighed laboriously, placing his head in his hands, “No, I’m sorry for… putting you through so much.” She pursed her lips, eyebrows furrowing at his words. “You were right,” Winry made a sound of protest, but didn’t get a chance to make an outcry at his words, “I was, am, prideful. I didn’t ever consider that you had to take care of other people, or yourself, and I consistently worked you to death. Not to mention,” He paused briefly before continuing, “I was always coming back to you banged up, and would never even tell you why.”

“Edward…,” Her face fell, face drawn as she looked towards him; the way his hair cascaded down and brushed his legs. Leaning forward, her hand came to rest on his knees. 

“I never thought of how you felt, I didn’t consider your pain, Winry.” Looking up at her, his eyes were pooled with guilt and sorrow. 

“Ed,” Winry’s voice was taut with emotion, and she launched forward, wrapping muscular arms around him. He didn’t make a sound, simply placing his fingertips tenderly at her waist. “Please, stop, Ed. Please just stop blaming yourself for everything that happened. You were doing all you could to save your brother, and no one is upset at you for anything you did. Everyone’s, I’m, just glad that you both are back and safe.”

Leaning away rapidly, her hands rose to gently smack his cheeks -- his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “Now!” She declared, “Cut it out! I love you, you big goof!”

Lips still pursed, his eyes softened, before he smiled gently. Her thumb caressed his cheek tenderly, “Seriously, Ed, I love you, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You deserve a break.” His arms wrapped more tightly around her waist, and she leaned in to embrace him again.

Suddenly, she found herself flipped over and onto the couch, Edward hovering over her,  laughing as his fingers danced lightly against her skin, tickling -- Winry began howling so forcefully that she couldn’t decide if it was even funny or not. Tears pricked at her eyes, only from joy instead of remorse. “Stop! Stop!” She found herself squealing between giggles.

“Nope!” He sang, amusement lacing his tone. Kissing her neck, his fingers tickled her sides, making her nearly sick to her stomach with glee. In a feat exhibiting her tenacity and strength (and ability to squirm away), she had overpowered him, reversing their roles. Now tickling him, she pulled a loud string of laughs (despite his lack of ticklishness), entertained by her hilarious assertion of pride and dominance.

In their playful match, she finally relinquished, leaning back and groaning exaggeratedly, “Fine,” She dragged out, “Enough is enough!” She leveled a teasing glare with him, “It’s a draw.” Smiling, Edward laughed silently, before bursting out with hearty chuckles. She whacked his arm, winking, before hopping off of the couch. She latched onto his hand, dragging him into their kitchen. 

Sitting him down at the table, Winry scampered off, hollering behind her, “Wait a moment!” She emerged moments later with an armful of old board games, housed in deteriorating boxes. Smirking, she slammed them down on the table. 

Edward gasped, launching from his seat to snatch a box from the pile. “Win! This is the game you, Al and I would play all the time as kids,” He shouted, eyes shining with something akin to childlike excitement, “We always had fights over it!” 

Winry yanked it from his hands, staring down at the faded box, “Oh my gosh! It is!” Sliding the rest of the games off of the table, hardly caring about the mess created, the mechanic began to prepare the board.

Sitting down urgently, nearly bouncing in her seat, Winry encouraged, “You first.” She offered him the dice. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” He smirked, rolling the dice (as Winry rolled her eyes), putting his turn into motion. Groaning at the low number, he moved his game piece dejectedly. She snickered, confidently grabbing the dice off of the table.

Not 15 minutes later, both were slumped over the table, game pieces strewn about the table and tiled floor. With their hands intertwined, reaching across and over the board, both began to nod off. 

“I won,” Winry heard, and Ed felt her hand tense in his in response. He laughed softly, tiredly, and she did the same.

“Sure,” She hummed, looking up at him through her eyelashes, only to find his eyes closed, breathing even. Sighing, body miraculously relaxing in the increasingly uncomfortable position (she told herself it was the power of exhaustion), Winry smiled gently.

Just as her consciousness fades, a delightful sound reaches her ears. “I love you, Winry. Thank you.” 

notes: hope u liked it!! this is actually my first fma fic i've ever posted, which is really surprising, considering it was my first fandom! funny enough, my first fanfic was fma and i wrote it in a little notebook that i carried around with me!

i'm so in love with these dorks,,,, and i hope y'all liked the way i wrote for them! at first i was like,,, "wait they wouldn't fight" and then i felt stupid. so

i hope u have accepted my strange gift of random tea knowledge haa

pls let me know what u think about this down below! tysm for reading!! <3333 (also, happy new year!!! hope u have a great 2020!! keep ur chin up!)

[firefrightfic]

Why is Slade emotionally stunted? (sorry i havent read much comics.) I got a vague impression that he has no mom, his father beat him as a child, they are very poor so his father has to sell him, I dont know what happens after that. Would u say he had as bad a childhood as Jason?

First things first, I want to clarify here that I’m talking about the Rebirth version of Slade as written by Christopher Priest in this post, rather than other, older versions. For example, the original Slade as created and written by Marv Wolfman in New Teen Titans was a rather different beast than the Slade we have today (and much more capable of discussing and expressing his feelings openly).

Now moving onto your question. Yes, I would say a large part (if not all) of Slade’s inability to express emotion is a direct result of his childhood. He grew up in what I think we can reasonably assume was a deprived home, with an alcoholic father who was deeply abusive – to the point he considered locking his young son out in a freezing shed in the middle of winter a justified punishment. And judging by the dialogue here, it’s certain he both physically and verbally abused Slade regularly as well (with ‘nancy’ being a particular term used that Slade would later go on to repeat with his own son Grant in the future).

Following on from that, the panels below also show that Slade’s inability to express emotions normally was evident from a young age (it’s worth noting these pages are taken from a sequence where Slade is placed in a telepathic simulation by the Society of Evil, but I still believe the memories and dialogue we see here to be completely valid, given that the Society’s goal was to ascertain whether or not Slade was still evil at a time when he’d temporarily turned to doing superheroics). He couldn’t even cry over his own mother’s death, and is cold and practical over matters like death to a chilling extent.

Based on just this brief glimpse of his father’s treatment of him, I think it’s safe to say Slade grew up in an environment where the expressing of emotion, especially ‘weak’ emotions like love, affection and otherwise caring were treated with scorn, and as children often do, he internalised those lessons as a means of survival. He’s not a sociopath, as both the above and blow panels discuss, but some irrevocable damage was definitely done, at least when it comes to his familial relationships.

All of Slade’s kids suffer from the emotional unavailability of their father. Grant got the worst of it (to the point it ultimately led to his death), but Joey and Rose definitely feel it too. Slade absolutely loves and cares for then, but expressing it openly and rationally… that’s a whole other ball game. He’s more given to displaying affection in other, unorthodox ways, such as putting out a hit on his own daughter to give him an excuse to spend time with her that doesn’t involve actually telling her that’s what he wants, or seducing his son’s fiancee to prove she’s a spy for Amanda Waller in order to protect him. Like Wintergreen says, you have to learn to understand the code with Slade, because he just doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth for more.

There’s also what happens with Tanya Spears, aka Power Girl, who Slade meets and then starts to develop paternal feelings for. Something which makes him so uncomfortable in the end that he kills her dog in order to drive her away from him.

To put it bluntly, I think Slade can’t stand the feelings of vulnerability that come with being openly emotional around other people. He built his current persona as a defence mechanism when he was a child and even now, as an adult with three grown children of his own, he can’t let go of it, nor that association of emotion with weakness. It’s better for both himself and them that he keeps everyone around him at a distance, because otherwise someone is inevitably going to get hurt. Which unfortunately is not an unreasonable assumption, given everything his family has been through because of him in the past.

Now as to whether this equates to him having had a worse childhood than Jason is a matter of opinion. Personally,I don’t like to quantify one instance of abuse against another. Both Slade and Jason went through horrible situations as children, and they both dealt with those situations in different ways, which then informed who they became as adults. Though Jason, at least, was able to escape his abusive situation at a younger age than Slade, then was taken into a loving home environment by Bruce for a few years of his life before he died. 

Meanwhile, Slade ultimately had to rescue himself by joining the army when he was sixteen (lying about his age to the recruiter), and while that was almost certainly better for him than staying with his dad, it’s also an environment that wouldn’t have helped him with his emotional issues any. It may even have worsened them, particularly in the time period Slade would have been a soldier.

(Though he also did meet Adeline in the army, and there’s definitely plenty more I’d love to see about how they connected and what their courtship was like, since she’s somewhat older than Slade, a divorcee, and her selection and training of Slade for the genetic experimentation that gave him his abilities has been referred to as ‘grooming’ within the comic. Theirs was definitely not a traditional romance, and on some levels Adeline is shown/implied to be just as a dysfunctional as he is.)

[straightfacedstrangeness]

Patlabor fanfic WIP

Summary:  Shige has a cute moment with Noa.  Asuma is definitely not jealous.  Because this is SV2 and nobody ever has anything better to do, absolutely everybody gets involved.  Basically, Noa becomes the center of a (PG) harem comedy and has absolutely no idea.

Backstory:  I’ve been going through a handful of fanfic WIPs and story notes from the past few years, seeing if anything really sparks my interest / seems like it’s worth finishing up...and I really like a lot of lines and concepts in this one, but I also probably won’t ever finish it.

At the time (sometime in 2018), I never finished it because the ideas got more complicated than I felt like wrangling, and because the “she was actually just blushing over Alphonse all along” ending seemed so obvious that it didn’t feel like the shenanigans leading up to the reveal were “worth it”.

And now, I probably won’t finished it because at the time I thought Noa was in her early or mid-twenties, and that Shige was in his mid- or late twenties...but it turns out that Noa is 18 in the Early Days / TV timeline (and left SV2 by the time she was 23 in Patlabor 2) and that The Next Generation set Shige’s canon age at 59, making him fucking 45 during Early Days / TV.  8′)  Since part of the story hinges on Shige crushing on her, even though (or especially because?) it’s onesided, the age difference kinda squicks me out too much for me to want to write any more.  But again, a lot of the lines and concepts make me laugh, so I figured I might as well share.

If you like this but wish it had more terrible sex jokes and/or that it was just poorly written Shige/Sakaki smut, check out my AO3 page cus that describes the only two Patlabor fics I've finished thus far  X’D  (And I definitely won’t be offended if that’s not your cup of tea.)

And now, the story~ (+ notes)

“AHH—!”

Shige started, banging his head on the raised hatch.  It took a few moments of swearing and cradling his skull before he managed to straighten up and turn around.

Noa had her hand over her mouth, a fiery blush spreading across her face.  He hadn’t expected to see her—it was so late, and she was clearly dressed to go home.

“Oh, uh,” she fumbled, shuffling her feet a bit.  “S-sorry, I didn’t—didn’t mean to interrupt—”

Shige grinned, though the muscle movement made his head injury sting.  “No problem!  ’Sup?”

“I, uh...”

Another surprise.  The blush deepened, and—Shige had never seen her shy.  Hadn’t thought her capable of it, honestly.  Noa was the only girl he’d ever met who burped openly instead of holding it in.

Noa’s hand slowly rose up to point at—him?  Oh, no, past him, into the cavity of her Ingram’s leg.  The hatch on its shin had been opened and the curved guard over the ankle removed, exposing a tangled web of pistons and wiring.

“Hm?”  Shige blinked, then seemed to get it.  “Oh!  Oh, you’re worried about your ‘Alphonse’, right?”

“Oh, n-no, that’s not—”

“ ‘He’s’ just fine, Izumi-chan, cross my heart!  I’m just taking a peek at the ankle servos, you’ve been shifting to the left a teensy bit when you walk lately—not enough to interfere with the auto-balance, of course, but who wants to worry about maybe possibly potentially tripping over six-ton feet in the middle of a chase scene, right?  I’ll get ‘him’ back in tip-top shape in no time!”

“Ah, well, th-thank you, Shige-san...”

Shige grinned again, turned back around, bent into the leg cavity and picked up his toolbox.

Sound echoed in here.

He heard the slight whistling through his teeth as he tried to expel the tune stuck in his head, every little reverberating clink when his tools touched the mechanisms.

He didn’t hear footsteps.

More carefully this time—squatting further down instead of straightening up—Shige extricated himself and turned around.

Noa jumped, glancing away sharply, shuffling her feet again.  That pink in her cheeks looked utterly alien, but...very, very cute.

Shige swallowed.

“H-hey, c’mere,” he blustered, grin a bit more lopsided than before.  “Lemme show you.”

Noa hesitated—wow, shy was a really great look on her—but stepped forward.  There was only room for one on the awkwardly curved slope of the Ingram’s foot, so Shige slid off and gallantly helped her up, being extremely careful about the placement of his hands.  Noa’s fingers dug into his shoulder as she steadied herself, peering into the inner workings of the Ingram.

Shige pointed at things, his already-too-loud voice echoing throughout the cavern of the exposed leg.  He explained what was what, Noa nodded and “oh!”ed and asked all the right questions, her hand on his shoulder the entire time.  She glanced clumsily back and forth between the towering mechanisms and Shige, eyes bright, breath a little ragged.

It was Noa who almost slipped and fell climbing down, but Shige was absolutely dizzy.

---

“Sucks to be you, Asuma-chan~”

Asuma and a handful of the maintenance crew were crowded in the break room divvying up their Shanghai Noodle lunch orders.  He squinted skeptically.  Shige had been bursting at the seams with swagger and pride all day, and the tone of this latest remark implied a dramatic reveal.

But Asuma refused to give him the satisfaction of showing he was curious, and instead calmly dipped his chopsticks into his ramen with nothing more than an “Oh?”

“Izumi-chan’s got a crush on me.”

SSSSPPGHHHKHKG!!

Half the room jumped.  Shige crowed with laughter.  Asuma tried his best to hurriedly wipe the wet noodles off his vest and to look coolly aloof at the same time.

“So, what,” he grumbled, failing at the latter, “is this like the time you thought the mailman had a crush on you?”

“He did,” Shige retorted defensively.  Then he settled back in his chair again, arms folded behind his head, the picture of perfect smug serenity.  “But I caught Izumi-chan staring at my sexy ass while I was bent over the Ingram’s ankle servos last night.  You ever seen her blush?  Almost reminds you she’s a sweet young girl!”

“What makes you think she was staring at your ass?” mumbled one of the mechanics.

Asuma almost dropped the paper towel he’d been furiously wiping with.

“Yes.  Yes!” he blurted, then remembered he was supposed to be coolly aloof and crossed his arms (spreading the broth stains to his sleeves).  “I mean...it was probably ‘Alphonse’ you were working on, right?  ‘He’s’ the only ‘man’ she has eyes for.”

“Oh, so you think just ’cus she hasn’t jumped on you that she’s completely immune to masculine charms?”  Shige snorted, but he was already starting to go red at the ears.  “All you ever do is yell orders at her!  I’m the one taking care of her beloved ‘Pat-chan’ every day—nursing ‘him’ when ‘he’s’ sick—making sure ‘he’ always looks ‘his’ best—it just makes sense that she’d fall in love with—”

“Seriously?  By that logic, Noa’d be sleeping with the entire maintenance staff!”

All the mechanics in the room became very alert.

“Or Chief Sakaki!” added Asuma.

The mechanics instantly deflated.

“Whatever.”  Shige snapped up his bowl and dug in, pointedly avoiding Asuma’s gaze.  “You’re just jealous.”

A triumphant smirk played across Asuma’s face.  He sat back down, stain be damned.  “Aw, don’t worry about it,” he said soothingly, blowing on his own ramen.  “I get it.  You’re crazed with loneliness being cooped up with a bunch of sweaty guys day after day, right?  Of course you’ll take any smile from a girl as a—”

“I am not—”

“Shige-san!”

Both men nearly fell out of their chairs.

“There you are!” chirped Noa, though she gave a self-conscious start as she glanced around the room and saw just how many people were in it.  Asuma stared.  He’d never actually seen her blush before.

“U-um,” she went on, suddenly timid again but trying to smile through it.  “So, Shige-san...I just wanted to ask...c-can I, uh, hang out with you again after my shift’s over?  ...Like yesterday?”

“Absolutely, Izumi-chan,” said Shige smoothly, flashing a toothy grin at Asuma.  “Absolutely.”

---

Hiromi groaned.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Asuma hissed, shaking him.  Well, as much as he could shake the big man.  “You’re curious too, right?”

Hiromi groaned again.

“What?  It’s gotta be you, it’d sound weird coming from anyone else!”

Groan.

“You’re nonthreatening, man, you’re like a big teddy bear, you listen to people and care about their feelings and stuff!”

 ___

Notes:

Asuma bullies Hiromi into discreetly asking Noa cus Hiromi’s nonthreatening (like a big teddy bear)...Noa misinterprets & thinks Hiromi’s asking her out?

Ota thinks crush talk and/or dating a coworker is super unprofessional but now he can’t stop thinking about it either, is jealous that no one’s hitting on him?  Starts alternately peacocking & being really irritable? Demands Noa and Kanuka rate the men in terms of attractiveness and then immediately gets mad cus that’s so dumb?

Noa keeps hanging out w Shige after work, looking at Alphonse’s schematics...he tries to ask her on like an actual date and she’s disappointed? Goes anyways (& went with Hiromi too)?? Now everyone’s really confused??? Asuma asks her out too???

Kanuka’s stoically scornful, like “are you all that desperate for a woman?” (like they’re all crowding around Noa cus she’s one of the only girls they know, and/or comparing it to kids who don’t want a toy until they see someone else play with it)  Hiromi’s just really embarrassed and too shy to admit to Noa that there’d been a misunderstanding

Shinshi’s glad that everyone’s thinking seriously about their romantic futures

Shige & Asuma start getting weirdly competitive and start going on like trio dates where they keep one-upping each other and/or Noa thinks it’s a group hang and invites the others along

Eventually Kanuka just spells out to Noa what’s going on & she’s really surprised and embarrassed. Admits she was so shy and cagey with Shige cus she didn’t want anyone making fun if her for looking at Alphonse “naked” (since he was a mechanic, he’d understand the fascination)

[lostinaseaoffictionalbliss]

To The Rescue Part 2

Summary: You start work for Tyrion and the two of you become very close

Pairing: Tyrion x reader

Warnings: none

You awoke earlier than usual to prepare for the day. It was your first day working for Tyrion and you wanted to look your best. You had taken a bath the night before as to make things easier on you. You brushed your h/l h/c until it was neat and then you grabbed your best dress. It was a pale red with black stitching and a yellow rose embroidered on the hip. It fit you snugly showing off your slight curves. With one last look in the mirror you smiled and went to the sitting room. Your brother Jonathan was sitting there drawing. He looked up when you entered the room and gave you a huge grin. "You look really pretty, Y/N. Are you going to work for the Imp today?" he asked.

Over dinner the night before you had explained to him that you had gotten a job and who with. "Jon, don't call him that it's rude," you scolded. He had the decency to look ashamed. "There are two more pies on the counter. I'll try to bring some more food home this evening. Please stay out of trouble," you told him. He ran over giving you a hug saying, "I'll miss you." You gave him a sweet smile, placing a loving his on his head.

A knock sounded on your door causing you to pull away from your brother. When you answered the door Bronn's cheeky grin greeted you.

"Morning my lady," he said in a joking tone. You had learned the evening before that he enjoyed joking, women, and a good drink. "I'm not a lady, Bronn. You know this," you said. He chuckled as the two of you started down the street. "Maybe not a noble lady, but you are a lady. And a pretty lady at that," he said. You blushed at the compliment seeing as Bronn was attractive.

When you arrived at the red keep you began to feel nervous. You had never been in such a nice place or around so many lords and ladies. What really made the butterflies flutter in your stomach, your heart rate pick up, and your palms sweat was the idea of doing a bad job. You were grateful for this opportunity and the last thing you wanted was to screw it up. Bronn noticing your nervousness said, "Quit being so fucking nervous. I'm sure you'll be just fine." You took a deep breath telling yourself to calm down. "You're right I've got this," you said.

Bronn led you into the tower of the hand and knocked on a door. "Come in," Tyrion said. You opened the door and walked in. "Ah, Y/N glad you could make it," he told you. You gave him a shy smile. "Thank you again milord for this opportunity," you said. He waved away your words. "Nonsense you don't need to thank me. I'm happy to help. Bronn go do whatever it is you do when not needed," Tyrion dismissed him. Once he was gone Tyrion began showing you what it was he needed. It wasn't much mostly finding information and writing it down for him or writing letters for him when his hands became tired.

Days became weeks as you worked for Tyrion. The longer you worked for him the more you looked forward to seeing him everyday. He was able to make you laugh like no one ever had before, while making you feel safe and cared about. It bothered you that so many people mocked and scorned him when all he did was try to help them. One day a month after you had been working for him you were walking through the keep and someone called him a misshapen dwarf. You stormed over to them and pushed them. "How dare you. Lord Tyrion is a kind and wonderful man who has done so many things to help the kingdom. He's a better man than you'll ever be," you chastised.

The lord angered than someone below him would have the nerve to speak to him more or less touched him called for a guard. Before the guard could arrived Bronn stepped up beside you. "Y/N, there you are Tyrion's looking for you," he said. You nodded and allowed him to lead you away from the lord. Once you were in a secluded hallway he stopped and turned to you. "Seven hells what is Tyrion going to need me to rescue from next?" he asked. You blushed and looked at the ground. "I'm sorry you had to help me out again, but those men were bad mouthing him and I couldn't just stand by. Not after everything he's done for me," you said.

"Well if you're u going to keep getting into these situations maybe I should teach you how to defend yourself," Bronn said. You gave him a cheeky grin of your own. "Well maybe you should," you said. He shook his head and led you the rest of the way to Tyrion's room. "She's almost more fucking trouble than she's worth," Bronn told him before leaving the room. Tyrion turned to you with a look of curiosity.

"What was he talking about?" he asked. "Some lords were saying awful things about you and well my temper may have got the best of me," you answered. "May have?" "I pushed him and told him you're a better man than he would ever be," you replied. He gave you a look of surprise before walking over and grabbing your hand in both of his. "Sweet girl why would you do something like that?" he asked you. You lifted your head so your e/c eyes met his mismatched ones. "You've done so much for me. Coming to my rescue, purchasing food for my brother and me, and giving me a job. You've become my friend this past month and I'm more than grateful," you explained. The money he paid you had allowed you to buy clothes for you and your brother as well as provide you with all the things you needed.

He offered you a kind smile as he patted your hand. "Aye and I do it all over again. You're a wonderful woman, Y/N. I only wish I could do more for you," he said. That really surprised you; he had done so much already. "You've already done more than is necessary. I'm glad to have this job and to have you as a friend," you told him. Tyrion walked over and poured you both a glass of wine. "You're father lost his life fighting for my father. I'm sure there is something more I could do for you," he said offering you the cup. "I can't think of a thing," you said. "Nothing at all?" he questioned.

Your eyes met his once again and you lost yourself for a moment. "The one thing I want you couldn't give me," you said. He looked at you curiously waiting on you to elaborate and when you didn't he realized what it was you wanted. "I may not be able to marry you, but you're wrong about me not being able to give you what you want," he said. Your mind reeled with thoughts of what he could mean. You had been so lost in thought that you hadn't realized he had led you to a chair and sat you down. It wasn't until his lips were on yours that your mind came back to you.

"You feel the same?" you asked. Tyrion gave you a kind smile and nodded his head. "I do indeed my lady. We must keep our love a secret however for your safety. If my sister or father ever found out they would hurt you. I couldn't bare it if that were to happen. You understand don't you?" he asked. You wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. "Of course I understand. Just knowing you return my love is enough for me. Maybe one day in the future it can be different, but for now I'm okay with keeping us secret," you replied. With those words he gave you another kiss; this one more sweet and longer lasting. You let out a sigh of content when you broke apart. Turning away from him you set to work as to not draw suspicion about why you were there. Maybe one day you could tell the world, but until then you would be happy knowing Tyrion was yours.

[feel199x]

♛┈⛧┈┈•༶to protect our district ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ chapter II

I II III IV V VI VII

ceo!hwang hyunjin, mafia!stray kids, mafia leader!hwang hyunjin

masterlist

a/n: when you reach the end, please let it be known that i didn’t mean to be a big mean dumbass and leave it the way it is;;; but truth be told i’m not sure how reader’s gonna get themselves out of this one. enjoy!! mwah    ʕ； •`ᴥ•´ʔ i am tired..it’s 1 am;;; i hope u enjoy babes

warnings: angst, death and gun mention. threats of murder          

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ♛┈⛧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ♛┈⛧┈┈•༶ ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Jisung cut in, “But we’ve just met today, how are we supposed to function as a team?”

“He’s right,” Chan added, “How can we be expected to work well together when the only thing we know about each other, are our names?”

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. “We have twenty four hours and counting,” he said lowly, “Either you spend that time worrying, or you get done what needs to get done.” Hyunjin slid a wall to reveal an armory, throwing you a gun. “Figure it out.”

You held it in your hands, letting it rest upon your lap. “You don’t actually expect me to,” you paused, “actually kill someone, or multiple people?” You examined the sleek black metal, letting your fingers run along its coolness. “Because I can’t,” you added, “I can’t kill someone.” Everyone shot you a look of concern, almost like they wish you hadn’t said anything to push Hyunjin further.

“Do you want to die?”

A silence spread across the room, when the rest of the team didn’t even dare to flip a page through their file. “Do you want to die,” Hyunjin said louder, “Because I can arrange that. For you, or for anyone else in this room. We all have roles to play, roles none of us chose. That nine on your neck is a promise, and a threat.” And you went quiet, staring at a machine that only brought death and misfortune. “Do you understand?” he looked at you, his eyes slightly glassy, fingers tapping the side of his thigh, “Tell me, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Hwang Hyunjin.”

And before the team could waste another moment, there was immediate discussion in the room. Plans already have been formulated, ideas bouncing off the walls. Changbin walked over to you, explaining where you had to be set up. “You see,” he pointed at the building’s roof, “That’s where you should be stationed. It’ll be high up, so the others won’t be able to see you.” You looked over at the picture of the building. “But it’s a hotel,” you mentioned, “It’d be easier to rent a room. If the feds found out, it would be harder for them to sweep the floors compared to the roof.” He nodded, immediately pulling out a pen to do some math and calculate the best room. He spoke again a few minutes later, scribbles of math and circles decorating the picture of the hotel, which was now unrecognizable. “You need to be on the eighth floor,” he explained, “On the furthermost right side of the building. You’re gonna have to figure out how to take the shot without being seen on your own.” He looked up at you, taking of the black hat he was wearing to fix his hair, and gave a soft smile. “If it comes to that, of course.”

 Hyunjin flipped through the file roughly, in frustration. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said, “They’re the same age as us. Are they also taking over their parent’s roles?” Chan nodded, and pulled a picture of a boy just slightly older than Hyunjin himself. “It looks like he’s the leader,” Chan explained, “So you’ll probably be speaking to him.”

“What about the others?” you asked from across the room, “Are they all the same age as us too?”

 Chan looked at you, unsure of whether he should tell you the truth. “Yes,” he answered, “They’re around the same age as us.” Chan continued to explain information about the Woojin’s father, explaining what they did and what they ran. Turns out that Woojin’s father also ran a business, but instead of a corporation like Hyunjin’s father, he ran a casino. Supposedly, it made it easier for illegal gambling to be kept under the wraps. “Gambling,” Hyunjin scoffed, “What an empire to be built upon.”

 Comments like those meant you had a hard time stopping yourself from teasing Hyunjin. You understood that things had changed tonight, he was no longer your friend. He was a leader, and he had to be respected. But it felt stiff and uncomfortable, like you were walking on eggshells around him. It had only been an hour, and yet it felt like you hadn’t been able to talk to the real Hyunjin in forever. If this is how it would be the rest of your life, then you didn’t want to ‘fulfill your role’ as the Hwang men had said. You kept assembling and disassembling the gun Hyunjin had given you until your fingers were sore.

“We’re gonna try to negotiate with them first though?” asked Jisung, “Because if we shoot so will they.” Jisung seemed to voice a concern that everyone in the room had, and with that question everyone turned to look at Hyunjin. There was a steady tapping against Hyunjin’s own thought before he answered. “Of course,” he comforted, “This is just in case. Last resort. We have to be prepared for everything, one step ahead of them.”  

As the dawn’s sun rose and shined eagerly at the newly formed team. But you were too busy to notice. Chan was going over the plan again, making sure, double-checking that there was no room for miscommunication or mistakes. “Jisung and I will follow as back-up with Hyunjin,” Chan said again, “Changbin, you’ll watch the streets, the skies and look for anything suspicious. ___, you’ll be stationed in room 0325 and wait for Jisung’s signal. If things go awry, I need you to take all the necessary shots and then come to help us. Jisung, if things go wrong, escort Hyunjin off the premises. Changbin, have the car ready and make sure we’re not being followed.”

“What if they ask you to put down your guns,” you asked, “what then?” “We make sure they do it first,” Hyunjin answered, “We’re not going to let them dominate the situation. We can’t let them have the upperhand.”

“Hyunjin,” you added, “What are you going to say? How are you gonna avoid a conflict?”

 That’s when he smiled the type of smile that made your heart stop. You weren’t sure if he knew that he was making your heart tighten, or if he could here how fast it was beating. “Let’s meet back here in two hours,” he clapped, “You guys can go.” The boys nodded as they made their way out of the room, rubbing sleep out of their heavyset eyelids. “How do you know they won’t sell your information?”

“I bugged them.”

 You choked on air and made a bewildered face. “How, why, when, what?” you rambled, “Did you bug me?” He shrugged, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. “I don’t know,” he said smugly, “Did I?” You were about to smack the back of his head when Mr. Hwang appeared, his scorned face illuminated by the growing sun’s light.

 He gestured for the two of you to take a seat as he entered the room again. He sat, fixing his tie in the uncomfortable silence. It grew and grew until it suffocated the both of you, so much so that when Mr. Hwang finally spoke, it made you jump. “I hope that whatever relationship the two of you have,” he said as he leaned in to make stressful eye contact, “Doesn’t get in the way of the establishment the Hwang family has built. The same empire that Hyunjin is taking the reigns of.” You nodded, trying to get back in Mr. Hwang’s good graces.

“Of course, I-”

Mr. Hwang cut you off with a dark look. “Hyunjin, you may leave,” he ordered, “now.” Hyunjin shot you a worried look and made his way out the door. You watched him pitifully, miserably, as you were left in unfamiliar territory. Because Mr. Hwang wasn’t just an apex predator, he was a beast, a monster. You wouldn’t want to be in a room full of people if he was in it, much less an obscure room in his mansion, all alone.

“I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully,” Mr. Hwang said lowly, “You mess up, in any way, shape, or form. I will kill you myself. If I find out that you are clouding Hyunjin’s judgement. I will kill you. And not only will I kill you, but I will make Hyunjin watch the entire time.”

 He laughed and smiled brightly, fixing the golden watch that rested on his wrist, and winked at you. “It’s none of my business what you get up to in your free time,” he added, “Unless it concerns the kingdom I’m passing down to Hyunjin. Then, it’s every man for himself.” He got up and patted your back, smoothly making his way outside the door. He opened the door quickly and chuckled as he watched Hyunjin stumble slightly. “You’ll get better,” he comforted, “Soon.”

You slid down the couch and groaned. “It wasn’t that bad,” you said, “Don’t be nervous.”

“Who said I’m nervous?”

You pointed at his hand. “You’ve had that tick since we’ve met,” you smiled, “It may just be the death of you.”

He laughed, taking your hand and holding it to his heart. “Nah, I think you’ll be.” You smacked the back of his and glared at him.

“Shut up, pretty boy.”

He frowned, stretching his legs onto the coffee table. “You know,” he said, “I was about to apologize for being a dickhead, but you’re making me regret it.” You turned to him, confused. “Why?” you asked, shrugging, “Things are different now, I get it.” His hand twitched again, and you thought he was gonna hold your hand, but he just pulled his hand back to his side.

“I’ll see you in a bit.”

As you got ready for the first assignment, your mind lingered. The truth was, as much as you hated to admit, the feelings you had for Hyunjin could get in the way of the team. It wouldn’t cloud Hyunjin’s judgement, you were sure, but yours? Not so much. It hadn’t been an issue until these past few years, and now, as these feelings grew more urgent- the more you realized how helpless the situation was. You couldn’t repress the feeling you had, but you also had no choice. You couldn’t act on it, the conversation you had with Mr. Hwang made that very clear. Soon you’d have to call Hyunjin, Mr. Hwang, too. You grimaced at the thought. But nevertheless, all the little moments you’ve shared, all the almosts that kept you up at night. They were gone. They had to be if  you wanted to be a key functional piece in your machine of a team. But what scared you the most, was not loneliness, not your death. But being the reason someone else had died, imagining someone dying- and you having to take that body in a count, having that follow you for the rest of your life. You could not play god, no matter what role you are being forced to play. Because sooner or later, someone will play god with your own life.

And soon the time arrived.

You moved silently, the team had decided to move separately. You settled into the hotel room, brushing your hair out of your face and set everything up. It was a lot to carry, and you were almost relieved when you had to assemble everything. You were surprised at yourself, your fingers steady and smooth. You leaned the nose of the gun outside the window and stared through the magnification piece. You listened intently to the walkie-talkie that sat upon your collarbone. Hyunjin entered the meeting area, with Jisung and Chan following closely behind. Changbin and his car was nowhere to be seen in the area, and you trusted that it was a good thing. Through the windows if the building, you watched as another group of men entered the building. Woojin, you presumed in the front, and behind him, two boys you recognized from the file you were given late yesterday night. Your heart began to hurt as it’s beats increased exponentially. Sweat began to grow on your back, as you realized, all of you were kids. You were born into this life, denied a choice, a life. Choice, you knew nothing about.

But fate, destiny? You knew too well.

“Hyunjin.”

“Woojin.”

“Put your guns on the floor.”

“Ladies first.”

You heard the hesitant clatter of weaponry on the floor.

“Are you here to negotiate?”

“Are you?”

“I am. Under one condition.”

Your breath hitched, finger less than a second away from the trigger. You steadied your breathing, listening intently to the conversation, watching Jisung’s body language closer than you have ever paid attention to anything in your life. But instead you heard Hyunjin laugh.

“Are you in any position to limit me to conditions?”

“No. But neither are you.”

There was a pause, and you could feel yourself starting to worry. The panic beginning to surge through your veins. But you wouldn’t mess this up. Not on choice. Not on fate. Not on god.

“So, why don’t I propose a condition, hm?”

“Go for it.”

“I know you have an assassin ready to shoot me from one of those windows up there. How about we bring them down, have them kill each other? A small price to pay for unity.”

This wasn’t part of the plan, the rest of you had never talked any of this over. Hyunjin hadn’t even made any new suggestions when Chan was going through the final plan. None of this had been talked over. Your hand was sweating, making the trigger slick and wet. You watched as Woojin’s face contorted and he whispered to both of his associates.

“Agreed.”

“Shoot to kill?”

“Shoot to kill.”

[x-wearethefuture-x]

((I want a royal au but with two women- a princess and her handmaiden or perhaps a female knight?- having a forbidden relationship. Like m/f ones are fantastic too and I will never ever turn down the opportunity to write a royalty au in general... but imagine the double taboo of their relationship- it would be great! ;u; Imagine the angst when they're discovered by the queen who keeps quiet only so that her daughter won't be disowned and can take the throne when the time comes. But she's angered and upset and refuses to be understanding, so she keeps the women apart, maybe even firing the handmaiden or trying to humiliate her by giving her a worse job at the castle where she can keep an eye on her and degrade her and know that she is never alone with the princess. Then the King and Queen hold a huge ball to find a husband for the princess immediately.

Or two princesses from different kingdoms, one is betrothed to the other woman's brother (perhaps the families have been friends for a long time and the children all grew up together, or maybe they're just trying to stop a war or create an alliance or something?), but the two princesses fall in love, instead. Maybe they fall in love when one comes to meet her soon to be husband, or maybe they've been slowly falling in love over the years they've known one another. Either way- they play it off as if they’re just close friends and nobody questions them. They steal glances and kisses and hide out in the garden near the rose bushes or the tiger lilies and they talk about a future together that they know they’ll never have.

UGH. Just... give me f/f royalty plots. Give me all the love and the angst and the quiet, stolen, glances and the brushing of hands. Give me nights spent together in silence, lying beneath the starry sky, wishing that things could always be this simple, wishing that they would never have to part. And give me the night when they sneak away together, deciding never to return and to try to make their lives elsewhere, without the lingering hatred and scorn of people who could never understand them. Just give me it all;;))