#winter coats for newborns

[daytaker]

Hello, it is I, Family Anon, the anon who requested headcaons about MC’s family reacting to the brothers showing up and I have yet another request for ye, May we get some headcaons for Papa MC showing the brothers MC’s childhood photos? Them as a cute chubby baby, scribbling all over walls, getting braces (I saw a headcaon that was about them freaking out at the concept of braces and I just thought it was hilarious ), playing sports, their date for prom, and finally highschool graduation pics, Mama MC still doesn’t like any of them and is glaring at her husband for letting his guard down while MC is just rotting into the couch in embarrassment lol.

[ Related: "Mom, Dad, meet seven of my boyfriends" | "Mom, Dad, these are my other four boyfriends and my son" ]

"Mom, Dad, please stop showing my seven boyfriends pictures of me in the bath."

...is what you would have said if Dad hadn't already moved on from that picture to one of you with your face covered in Spaghettio's. Your dad is sitting on the couch between the twins, the five older brothers all huddled behind them as he flips through a photo album. It's only been a few days since he met the brothers, and while he was openly hostile towards them at first, he's quickly come to appreciate the fantastic sounding board they are for his ramblings on his beloved child. They're engaged, curious, and they ask all the right questions.

"Maybe we were too judgmental about that cult," your dad said to your mom the other day as you rubbed your temples. You've given up saying that there was no cult. You hardly even believe yourself anymore.

Mom has been glaring at Dad since he took out the family album he'd brought with him, but it had done her about as much good as glaring at him had done me.

Now, for a trip down memory lane...

You as a Newborn Baby

You, freshly out of the womb, with a red face contorted into an ugly sob.

"What's that?" Beel asks as he squints at the photo of the squirming infant that barely resembled a human.

"That's a baby, Beel," mumbles Lucifer.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing is wrong with it. Babies are just ugly when they first come out," Belphie explains.

"MC wasn't ugly when they first came out," Beel argues with a frown.

"Beel," Levi sighs. "That is MC."

"....Oh."

You with your Baby Sister

You're almost two and you're leaning over your mother as she holds your newborn baby sister.

"What is happening here?" Satan asks, perplexed. "There are two infants."

"Sure are," Dad says proudly. "That's MC, and that there is their little sister. You met her, didn't you, Derek?"

Satan says nothing, but still somehow manages to sound moody.

"She's our wildchild. Or, she was. Turns out MC has a bit of a crazy streak too. Isn't that right, MC?"

You say nothing. You're a little moody yourself.

You Crying on a Pony

You're about two years old at some autumn festival, your face frozen forever in a pitiful shriek of terror while you sit on the back of a docile pony while your dad walks beside you.

"Did that animal make you cry?" asks Belphie.

"As you can see from the evidence in this photograph, yes."

Belphie mutters something under his breath about making it suffer.

"That's from over 20 years ago. It's probably dead by now."

"Good."

"Belphie!"

You Taking a Bath

You're about three years old, and you and your sister are in the bathtub, naked as the day you were born, playing with bath toys.

"Humans have rubber duckies?" asks Levi.

"Humans?" Your dad gives him a funny look.

"Haha! Oh, Levi. He meant *Americans*. Sure we do, Levi!"

"It's strange that they let you take photos of them in the bath. I don't think they'd let someone do that anymore," Asmo sighs sadly. "MC, where did your sense of playfulness go?"

Trying to explain to these people that small human children are fundamentally unlike human adults is like talking to an especially inflexible brick wall.

You Dressed for Winter

You're standing in a thick coat, scarf, hat, mittens, snow pants, and snow boots. Your arms are practically stuck in the air at your sides.

This seems excessive, comments Lucifer.

Winters can get pretty cold in this part of the country, your dad explains.

Nonetheless, this seems excessive.

This was entirely normal outerwear for a six-year-old child going outside in the snow in January.

Nevertheless, Lucifer says, it seems excessive.

You remind Lucifer about the booties and doggy jacket he dresses Cerberus in when it snows in the Devildom and he stops making such judgmental statements about your parents.

You with Braces

It's a school photo. You're about thirteen. years old, and you're sporting braces. It's a painful memory.

"What happened to your mouth? Asmo gasps in alarm. "Who did that to your teeth?!"

Those are braces, Dad tells him.

"Braces?"

They straighten out your teeth bit by bit over the course of a long stretch of time.

And who did this to Asmo's precious MC?

The orthodontist, your Dad tries to explain, but Asmo is so disgusted he can barely stand to look at the picture.

You and your Prom Date

You're about seventeen, standing beside a boy around the same age, smiling into the camera. You're both dressed in formalwear and you both look vaguely uncomfortable.

"Hey, why's that kid lookin' so cozy with MC?" Mammon narrows his eyes at the photo album.

"That's Sam Jorgenson. Hey MC, you remember Sam Jorgenson?" your dad asks you.

Yes, you remember Sam Jorgenson, your on-again off-again high school boyfriend. You were always breaking up because of some stupid thing or another, and you were always getting back together over even stupider stuff.

"Why's he holdin' onto you like that?" Mammon asks accusatorially.

"Why are you looking at me like that? That's probably from my senior prom." You aren't looking at the photo, but you can guess which picture it is. "He was my date."

Mammon looks kind of devastated. Like he had expected to be the first guy to ever be your date to anything.

"Listen, Mammon, you're my first lots-of-stuff, but I had a life before I came to...um. Virginia. I wasn't saving myself for some hypothetical... 'backpacker' during my teenage years."

Mammon seems to feel like he barely knows you anymore.

You tell him that's just too damn bad, but Sam Jorgenson had a PS4 and beautiful blue eyes so you're not really that sorry.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 79 (Winter is Here and Ash Has Another Sibling!)

Brindleton Bay's first snowfall of the year was picturesque, but the light dusting of white on the ground was merely a tease. The snow didn't stop once winter had begun and it wasn't long before the coastal town was coated in thick white powder.

Ash loved hanging out in the snow, and he and Conrad loved to make snowmen while Heather took care of his baby sister.

They wanted to get to the city to visit Heather's sister, Holly, who had recently welcomed her second daughter with her husband, Kris. In keeping with their commitment to fish names, Tetra's little sister was named Betta.

(Tetra Daisy and Betta Cecilia Bell, for those interested!)

But newborns in both households made it difficult to travel, so they settled for sharing updates by phone and made plans to spend time together in the city for the upcoming Winterfest holidays.

Genius Ash wasn't all that interested in the crying, stinky baby who now lived in his house, and with one sister at home in Brindleton Bay, Ash met his other new sister, Bridgette, on his first weekend at his dad's after she was born.

"What do you think of your new sister, there, Ash?" Geoffrey warmly embraced his grandson, while Malcolm was prouder than he thought he'd be to introduce his son to his new daughter.

"Lavender and Bridgette don't do much," Ash complained. "But they're pretty cute, I guess."

"What sort of name is Lavender, anyway?" Nancy scoffed and Geoffrey shushed her.

"Where's Bridgette gonna sleep when she's out of her bassinet? I sleep on the pullout bed when I'm here, but there isn't room for two pullout beds in the living room!"

"Your Gramma and I used to talk about adding a third bedroom, but we never really needed the extra space before now."

Nancy forced a grin in front of her grandson. "And we decided adding another room to the top floor would disrupt our morning view, Geoffrey."

"We've got enough views," he said. "I'd rather see our grandkids well-rested and happy."

"You are always complaining that you can't turn your music on when Ash is asleep in the living room," said Miko sweetly. "Ash, would you mind sharing a room with your sister when you visit?"

"If she cries a lot, I might, but I'm almost used to Lavender. I bet I can get used to Bridgette's crying, too!"

While the Landgraabs set to work finally building Ash a bedroom at the penthouse, he bonded with his second little sister. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: The boujis medieval cc crib I downloaded for my UDC and haven't deleted appeared randomly but is honestly perfect for a Landgraab princess. And technically the lack of a bedroom for Ash is my fault. He was small and wasn't there that often so I could stick a toddler bed wherever, and it took me a while to figure out where to build the third bedroom in the Spire Tower suite without gutting the layout, which is my nightmare. But they needed that third bedroom and I figured it out. I'll debut it once Bridgette is an infant, because when I took photos of it that's how big she was.

ALSO at Heather and Conrad's he technically has his own room but he's sleeping in the guest room. I'm waiting for Lavender to grow up a little before renovating some spaces! I think they'll lose their guest room but I haven't decided yet. So we can give Nancy hell for this, sure, but it's redirecting wrath that should actually be on me. 😂

[wh0re43van]

Baby fever Pt 3 (Evan Peters X Reader)

Summary: Theres been tension between you and Evan for months due to your struggle to conceive. You guys decide to go out for a nice dinner to get your mind off of things.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: mentions of wine?, small argument?

A/N: I’m sorry guys I thought I uploaded this like two hours ago 😭 this will probably be the last part of this little series <3

Pt1 , Pt2

It’s been about three months since Evan and I have started trying for a baby. We know that it takes time, but that doesn’t take the sting out of the 10 negative tests we’ve gotten.

I sigh, resting my head on the window glass as I see the elementary kids at the bus stop awaiting their ride to school. A few are chasing each other, a pair of kids are sat down on the sidewalk as they share the same set of earbuds, and one kid stands quietly as they hold their backpack close to their chest. The warm hues of the morning sunrise cascades down on the group of tiny people. Orange and pink sun rays bounce of their coats, hats, and laughs that come out as puffs of condensation.

I smile to myself as I hold my herbal tea up to my lips, the steam coming from the beverage fogging up the cold window. I imagine what Evan would look like as he walks our child to the bus stop. What kind of silly dad pajama bottoms and stained hoodie set would he take our child out in. The image of Evan holding our little one’s hand makes my heart swell.

The click of the deadbolt unlocking grasps my attention. I turn to see Evan walking through the door with a few bags of groceries. He gives me a small smile as he sets the shopping down on the table.

“I still think it’s a bit early for grocery shopping,” I giggle as I pull him into a loose hug. He rests his head on top of mine, his hand instinctively twirling my hair.

“I know. I’ve been up since 5:00 am so I figured I might as well get up and do something,” he sighs. Evans been more beaten up about this than I imagined. I’ve tried to explain to him that it takes time, and you have to wait at least 3 weeks before you can get a positive result, but he doesn’t care much to listen. He’s just so ready to be a dad; to have that little bundle of joy in his arms. He already has so much love for a child that hasn’t yet been conceived.

“Would you like some coffee?” I ask as I look up at him with a small smile.

“That would be very nice,” he grins, leaning down to place a small kiss to my lips. I turn, reaching for the coffee grounds as he unloads the groceries.

“What did you get?” I ask curiously.

“Oh just some staple foods we were running low on: peanut butter, bread, butter…” he explains as he put each item away in their rightful home. “Oh and I found these pregnancy tests that let you know a week early!” He beams as he shuffles over to me, pulling six ‘Clear Blue’ pregnancy tests out of the canvas shopping bag.

“Evan,” I giggle, looking at him in confusion. “Why did you get so many?” I ask as I pour the fresh brewed coffee into his favorite mug.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. Just want to be prepared I guess,” he shrugs before turning back to the shopping bags. “Oh y/n look at this,” he says excitedly. I turn, handing him his coffee when I see the little bear onesie in his hand. “Isn’t this just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?” He asks genuinely, the biggest, goofiest smile on his face and pure joy glinting in his eyes. This man melts my heart.

“It’s adorable,” I giggle, walking over to examine the outfit. It’s a brown, fleece, hooded onesie with bear ears and bear feet attached. I notice that its size newborn, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that even if I were pregnant right now, the baby would get here in August and we would have no use for this winter outfit. I just smile to myself and kiss him on the cheek before walking back over to the coffee pot to prepare my own drink.

“Woah! Is that caffeine free?” Evan asks urgently as he sets his mug down, spilling a bit before he rushes to me.

“Uh, no?” I look at him confused. He takes the coffee out of my hand.

“I read online that you shouldn’t consume caffeine while pregnant,” Evan explains. I raise my eyebrows at him.

“Okay… well I’m not pregnant yet,” I try to laugh it off and grab the pot out of his hand. He yanks it back, holding it up and out of my reach. “Y/n I’m serious. It’s not good for you or the baby,” he furrows his brows. I can feel my blood pressure start to rise out of anger.

“There is no fucking baby, Evan! I took another test a few days ago, and guess what? It came out negative just like all of the other ones! So please give it a rest!” I shout, surprising myself at how aggressive that came out; I guess I was holding that back for a while. Evan takes a step back, betrayal creeping into his face.

“There is no need to shout,” he says lowly, gritting his teeth. He doesn’t break eyes contact with me as he sets the coffee pot down. I know I’ve angered him. He has this calm demeanor when he’s pissed off; He never raises his voice or puts his hands on anyone, but when he’s mad the look in his eyes will strike the fear of god into you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I furrow my brow back at him. I’m not sure where this sudden anger came from, but now I can’t stop it. Now that I think about it, there’s been a bit of tension between us after the first few negative tests. It’s almost like he gets upset with me every time we find out that I’m not pregnant. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it that way and that he doesn’t blame me for our struggle to conceive, but I can’t help the thought from creeping in.

“You’re the one that snapped on me out of no where,” he says sternly, clenching his jaw. “Come on, what’s your problem? You’ve been cold towards me for months,” he asks seriously. I scoff, feeling my ears burn red.

“Me? Evan you’re the one that won’t talk to me for the rest of the fucking day every time that goddamn stick only has one fucking line!” I scream, not believing what I’m hearing come out of his mouth. He steps closer to me, intimidating me with his proximity. There’s no need for him to shout; He knows his glare speaks much louder.

“I’m going to our room. Come talk to me once you’ve calmed down,” he says through tight lips before silently walking away. I let out a frustrated sigh, pushing a box of frozen waffles off the counter as I flop down on.

‘I’m a fucking idiot’ I kick myself. We needed to talk about these feelings, but it’s just been so tense between us. The past few weeks I’ve been so emotional and there’s just been a tension hanging between Evan and me.

I sigh, standing up straight then finish putting the groceries aways. I decide to make Evan pancakes from scratch as a poor apology.

About an hour has passed and I’m taking the last pancake off the stove as footsteps sound down the hallway.

“You never came to talk,” I hear Evans’ sad voice as he comes around the corner.

“Well, I thought I would make you breakfast first,” I give him a small smile. Guilt rushes over me when I look into his eyes that are glistening with sadness. ‘How could I have yelled at him like that,’ I think to myself as he looks at me like a disappointed puppy. “Evan I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I’ve just been so on edge lately. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that… I know you’re just excited for the baby, but I feel like I’m disappointing you,” I sigh I pull two plates out of the cabinet. Evans hands quickly wrap around my waist, pulling me into a hug.

“You could never disappoint me, y/n,” he says sweetly, placing a kiss on top of my head. “I just got a bit carried away, I’m sorry. All I’ve been thinking about is starting a family; I don’t mean to put any pressure on you.” he says genuinely as he rubs his hands on my back.

“I love you, Evan,” his words make tear up but I keep my head pressed against his chest so he can’t see. He always manages to melt my heart with his kind words.

“I love you baby,” he pulls away to look at me. “Why don’t we go to that Italian place you like for dinner? We can have a nice night out to destress,” he offers with his award-winning smile. I sniffle, nodding my head.

“I’d love that,” I say with a grin. He grabs my hand, placing a kiss on top before helping himself to the pancakes on the table.

•

•

The rest of the day went pretty smooth. We didn’t speak of the baby at all, just spent some time together; it was lovely.

I get ready for our date, picking out a simple black dress. I slip it on and examine myself in the mirror. A frown creeps onto my face when I see my reflection, suddenly feeling insecure. As if on cue, Evan walks into the room sporting nothing but a pair of black slacks.

“You know, that’s one of my favorite dresses on you,” he says sweetly. I watch him through the mirror as he lays down on our bed, propping his head up on his hand to admire me.

“I was about to change. I feel like you can see how bloated I am in it,” I scoff, turning to look at him. He sits up from the bed, drawing his brows down.

“Y/n you look stunning. What the hell are you talking about?” he asks in disbelief. I trudge over to him, plopping down and resting my forehead on his bare shoulder.

“I don’t know,” I sigh honestly. “I just feel like I’ve been swollen and bloated for the past few weeks and it’s not even time for my period,” I groan into his arm. He chuckles, placing a warm hand on back.

“You need to be nicer to yourself. You look just as beautiful-if not more- than the first time I ever saw you,” he says softly before placing a kiss to the top of my head. I sit up, looking at him with awe.

“How do you still make me blush, even after all these years?” I giggle as my cheeks burn pink.

“I just have that effect on women,” he laughs as he stretches his arms above his head, purposefully flexing his biceps. I roll my eyes.

“Whatever,” I laugh as I stand from the bed. “Get dressed, Casanova,” I tease as I walk to the bathroom. He stands up without saying anything then gently slaps my ass. I can’t help but laugh to myself as he runs out of the room like a child who’s just stolen a piece of candy.

•

•

The car ride was full of jokes and positive energy. Now we sit in this lovely restaurant with a live orchestra and decorative fountains. It’s a bit flashy for my taste, but the food and service are so good that I can’t complain. Evan sits across from me in his signature formal wear: a white button-up and black slacks. He took the time to slick his brown curls down and away from his face and trim his beard and mustache a bit to better fit in with the black-tie atmosphere.

The waitress soon approaches our table with a bottle of wine (which looks much more expansive than any bottle that I pick up at Target) then sets the glasses on the table and opens the wine. Evan speaks up, asking her to leave the bottle as he wants to pour it himself. She smiles before walking away.

“I got this especially for you,” Evan laughs as he picks up the glass bottle. “So if you don’t like it, you owe me $500,” he teases as me pours me my drink. I almost choke on my breath.

“Evan are you crazy?” My eyes nearly pop out of my head. He chuckles at my expression as he pours his own serving.

“Crazy for you,” he winks, knowing that was insanely cheesy. “Plus, I’ve been kind of persuading you not to drink and eat certain things incase we conceive without realizing it, so this is my apology for trying to control your body,” he grins sympathetically, holding his glass of wine out. With a smile, I grab my glass and meet his with a clink. He takes a drink, but when I hold the earthy liquid up to my mouth, I pause. I consider his words about possibly being pregnant. I took a pregnancy test just a few days ago and it was negative like always. I shrug it off taking a sip of the bitter drink.

The night goes on, lovely as ever. It almost feels like an anniversary date with our reminiscing and sharing of old pictures, the high class atmosphere, the expensive wine. The night was perfect, honestly. Evan seemed to have been stressed because he drank nearly the whole bottle of wine on his own in less than an hour.

“God, you’re just so- and you’re such a… and kind! You’re so kind Y/n!” he stammers out with boyish giggles as he pauses every few words to manually sort through each of his thoughts. I laugh at the wine drunk man slouched in his seat

“Thank you, Ev,” I place a hand on his face from across the table.  He leans into the touch as he closes his eyes, his lips curling into a small content smile.

“Hey how come you didn’t drink yours?” he queries as he picks up my mostly full glass of wine, sloshing some of the dark liquid out of the vessel onto to the stark white tablecloth.

“Evan!” I whisper, snatching the glass from him. “Well, someone has to drive you home,” I giggle, shaking my head at the 36-year old child in the seat across from me. I give him the excuse of being the designated driver, but it was actually almost instinctual as to why I haven’t had much to drink. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time to go home,” I raise my eyebrows at Evan who’s got the wine bottle up to his eye, searching for more of the rich liquid. I snatch the bottle out of his hands. He stands from his seat trying to grab it back, but stumbles backwards into his chair. “Jesus Christ, Evan! You aren’t supposed to get trashed in a place like this,” I scold him as I motion around at the elegance of the building. He just shrugs his shoulders.

“Hey! I paid to be here just like everyone else,” he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist, snapping his fingers.

“I hate when you get wine drunk,” I sigh, shaking my head at the pure sass radiating off my husband. He just smiles at me with droopy eyes. I laugh, then call for the check.

•

•

After arriving home, I force my drunk husband out of his dress clothes so he can put his pajamas on. Evan is standing in the middle of our room in just his boxers as I sort through our dresser for his sweat pants and an old t-shirt. I carry the clothes over to him, then he suddenly grabs my hips pulling me into a kiss, swaying a bit on his feet.

“What if we try again tonight?” he asks lowly in my ear, catching me off guard, his energy now much different from his giggling self.

“I think maybe we should just get ready for bed,” I whisper back as he places small kisses down my neck, his strong hands pulling my body closer to his.

“That’s no fun,” he looks at me, frowning.

“Come on Ev. You’re drunk and I’m still sore from the other night. Let’s just get you in bed,” I smile, leading him to the mattress. He begrudgingly allows me to dress him before he lays down on our bed. Once he’s settled, I head to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

As I reach over the counter into the cabinet to grab a cup, I see the bag of the fancy pregnancy tests that Evan bought. I get my water and take a few sips while staring at the bag, contemplating whether I should use one. I shrug, taking one up to the bathroom with me so I can get ready for the night.

I set the box on the bathroom counter before taking off my makeup. As I walk to the toilet to use the bathroom, my eyes glance back over to the blue and white box.

‘You’re supposed to do it in the morning, it wouldn’t be accurate right now anyway,’  I think to myself as I pull up my dress, sitting down on the toilet, but in the same breath I think, ‘Evan bought like half a dozen, wasting one won’t hurt,’ I convince myself to hop up, reaching for the blue and white box, reading the directions quickly. I do as directed and allow the test to sit for two minutes. I turn away, brushing my teeth anxiously for the longest two minutes of my entire life. ‘I don’t know why I’m so worked up this time. I know it’s going to be negative,’ I think to myself as I put my tooth brush back in its holder. My heart drops to my stomach when I see the result of the test. I turn the other set of lights on in the bathroom so I can see it clearly. I blink my eyes as I hold the plastic closer to my face. I don’t believe my eyes.

‘pregnant’ is staring back at me in the small digital window of the pregnancy test. I smile, holding it to my pounding chest.

‘This could be a false positive. I’ll have to take another one in the morning,’ I rationalize in my head. ‘Should I tell Evan? If it’s a false, he’ll be crushed,’ I frown. As if Evan knows every time I’m thinking about him, he stumbles into the bathroom.

“Holy shit baby why do you have the LED’s on,” he hisses as he covers his eyes, trudging to the toilet in a drunken stupor. I stand still, just staring at the test in my hands, unsure of what to do. Evan yawns as relieves himself in the small room that the toilet is in.

“This could be false,” I start as I look at his backside. “But this test is positive,” I say quietly, unsure if he can hear me over the gallons he’s pissing. “Jesus, Evan,” I raise my eyebrows at how much he’s going.

“What?” he asks after a pause while turning his ear towards me, seemingly unsure if he heard me correctly. I wait for him to finish. Once he adjusts his pants and turns around, I take a deep breath before handing him the test.

“Now this could be false but-“ I begin as he tries to focus his tired, drunken gaze on the small letters on the test.

“Pregnant,” he reads aloud slowly. He looks up at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw before pulling me into a tight hug.

“Now like I said Ev, it could a false positive,” I remind him as I giggle against his chest.

“No way,” he looks at me with tears of joy streaming down his face. As soon as I see his tears, my own roll down my cheeks. He places a gentle hand on my stomach, using the other to wipe his eyes.

“How long until we can feel it kick?” he asks genuinely with pure joy glinting in his eyes. I giggle at his eagerness.

“It’s gotta grow legs first,” I snicker as he rests his forehead against mine. He laughs when he realizes how silly of a question that was before placing a gentle kiss to my lips.

“Lets get you to bed, Mama,” he picks me up, seemingly much more sober now, to carry me to our bed.

[devilfic]

thinking about your first christmas as a family after bruce adopts dick grayson.

bruce is nervous because every christmas since becoming batman has been piss poor. there’s been no big dinners because it’s just been himself and alfred for so long. gifts were exchanged not on christmas morning but left on beds and desks and in elevator shafts because the holidays were such a strange time for the two of them without thomas and martha around. sometimes it was easier to give each other the space. alfred always left the fireplace on for when bruce would get home from holiday patrol, perhaps with a cup of hot cocoa just the way he liked it left on the hearth, always suspiciously steaming as if alfred had stayed up until bruce got back to leave it there.

then you come along and there’s dinner again, and sometimes bruce is even home some of the day to celebrate with you. the tree comes out of storage and you add a novelty ornament to it every year because the others are all for show and it just doesn’t make the tower feel like home. bruce bakes with you, stealing fudge from your mixing bowl. you almost (almost!) get to send him off with tinsel around his cowl ears and jingle bells on his belt. warmth is returning to gotham in december with you around.

but then dick comes along and everything is different! bruce doesn’t really realize it until he takes dick out shopping for a winter coat and an employee gives dick a candy cane on the way out, but it’s going to be christmas soon and he hasn’t planned anything. he’s been fine with the way things are for so long that he hadn’t realized that dick is still young, that christmas is still something to look forward to, that he’s a father now.

you walk in one day and bruce is stringing lights around the fireplace with dick running around the tree, wrapping it in ribbon and tinsel. bruce hoists dick up to put the star on the tree and they both nearly knock the whole thing over. dick hangs christmas wreaths in the batcave, super glues a bright red rudolph nose on the hood of the batmobile, builds gingerbread houses with little gingerbread bruce and you holding hands while gingerbread dick beats a gingerbread bad guy with a peppermint carved into a batarang. it sits very proudly in the kitchen. you’ve never seen bruce so flustered before. alfred has never seen the tower so badly decorated. he loves it.

on patrol, you lament about how cold dick must be in his robin costume and force him into leg warmers and a sweater, even as he whines about how it’s never bothered him before. bruce watches as you tug a hat over dick’s hair, tucking the little black strands underneath and placing your warm hands to dick’s flushed cheeks. you warn them both that if they don’t stay warm, you’ll be restricting their vigilante privileges. the boys just share a look because they know you really mean it.

you worry so much when they’re out together. try as you might to pretend to be asleep once bruce settles in beside you, you always sneak out of bed to check on dick before returning to your room. bruce pretends he’s too exhausted to notice and just pulls you closer.

dick gets you two out of the tower, too! bruce takes you both ice skating in gotham square, stumbling around on his skates like a 6′1, beefy newborn dear as you and dick skate circles around him and laugh (you really don’t mean to embarrass him so bad that he skates over to a bench and pouts for ten minutes, but you and dick convince him to skate between the two of you until he can stand on his own).

the snow in gotham is dirty, but that doesn’t stop dick from initiating snowball fights with you when you go out past the city lines. bruce takes the two of you to an old family friend’s estate and catches you two from the window pelting each other with handfuls of snow like your lives depended on it, and you bet your asses he’s coming for blood when he meets you both out there. none of you are dressed for getting covered in snow and alfred gives a very stern talking to you three by the front door when you get home.

and when christmas morning comes, bruce feels his heart clench as dick throws himself on top of you and bruce’s sleeping bodies in bed, begging you both to get up so he can open presents already. alfred stands by the bedroom door with this fond look on his face, mumbling something about how “familiar” this all was.

dick loves every single gift you guys give him. he runs off to his room to play with his new toys and video games the minute you let him. by the end of dinner, dick is passed out on the couch with a full stomach, so bruce laughs and takes a few pictures to tease him before scooping him up to take him to bed. it isn’t until dick is tucked under his sheets that it really hits him: he loves this kid. he’s got a family now. he’s going to do everything in his power to protect it. he gets misty-eyed at the thought that it’s his turn now, something that seemed so far out of his mind ten years ago.

he’s still kneeling by dick’s bedside when you come in and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his hair, “dick left us a gift. wanna come see?”

it’s a little foreign to him when bruce first sees it. he’d seen it maybe a few times at christmas parties at boarding school, almost always managing to evade getting dragged underneath it save for the few times he’d been given a sloppy, eggnog-spiked kiss by a classmate.

you stand under the mistletoe hanging from the lowest arch in the house (probably the only one dick could reasonably reach), giggling conspiratorially.

“was this your idea?” he accuses, slinking closer to the plant but not quite giving in just yet.

“dick wanted me to tell him about some christmas traditions and picked this one out. he’s never had a traditional christmas before, ya know?”

“and did he already get his kiss?”

“a big, embarrassing one right on the forehead from me AND alfred. he’s had his fill of this tradition, I think.”

bruce can’t help but laugh. he’s so full of warm food and joy. he’s happy dick’s happy. he’s happy you’re happy. he’s so happy. “can’t say the same for myself.” he cups his hands on either side of your throat and grins, breath scented from the candy cane he’d been sucking on after dinner. he kisses you and the mint passes to your tongue, a cool contrast to the feverishness of his mouth. he hadn’t felt this warm in years.

[popjunkie42]

Painted Blind: Chapter Four

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Chapter Four: As admiration and worship for the hero of the human lands grows, Feyre chafes under the attention. At an unexpected announcement, she watches her future spiral out of her control.

Thank you to @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for beta reading!

Chapter Four under the cut.

Nesta slapped at my skirts for the third time since the speeches had begun. I was tugging at the lace collar on this fucking dress…

I dropped my hand and scowled.

The itch of the wool, the tightness of the collar that choked back every swallow…it was oppressive.

The afternoon sun was pale, as if sensing its power had fully waned on this, the longest night of the year. Standing uncomfortably on a wooden stage, my sisters on one hand, my father standing with the mayor and his family behind a podium, I did my best to ignore the crowd.

They stretched out before us, three times the number of people in our little village, most of them in fine hats and suits and rich winter dresses. All of them staring up at us. My skin was hot, even in the cold of the early evening.

The mayor had started droning on a while back, something I couldn’t pay much attention to. A jolly bustle of a man, he looked fat and happy with his wealth, his cheeks ruddy in the winter cold. He smiled easily, and the fit of his suit was immaculate. I wondered if what his family was wearing today cost more than my entire reward.

The speeches had begun after lunch, a picnic where my sisters and I had tried hard to pretend we weren’t hungry, that we saw this sort of lavish spread on the regular. Roasted chicken and small pheasants dressed with winter vegetables, glimmering slices of ham, golden rolls with pats of butter that glistened, spiced wine and candied winter berries for dessert. I watched Nesta swallow thickly as she spooned a moderate, polite amount of food on her plate. Next to me, Elain was licking the greasy chicken fat off of her dainty fingers and trying hard to hide it. Despite all our mother’s hissed lessons about small, dainty bites and demure ladylike appetites, we all ate until we groaned.

The entire town had gathered around, now staring rapt at me and the garrulous mayor, the breath of them all rising up in the cold like steam above their heads.

“Wipe that look off of your face,” Nesta hissed.

We had been taken to the town last night. Given rooms at the mayor’s house, each bedroom finer than our whole cottage. In the morning, I had been bathed and scrubbed and plucked until my skin burned. The maids tutted at my cracked nails and the dirt underneath they couldn’t quite scrub clean.

Afterwards, they had shoved me into a frilled woolen dress. A monstrous thing. Stockings and corsets and lace trim and shoes with heels so high my arches ached. I stumbled around the room like a newborn fawn, clasping and flexing my good hand into anxious fists. I had the overwhelming urge to rip the entire outfit off and run into the woods.

I swallowed the desire to tug at my collar again, the lace itching against my dry skin. It choked me, like a snare around my neck.

Clothing like this hadn’t been in our closets since I was a child. But the feeling was still familiar, my clumsy small hands ripping away my skirts and sleeves, rushing outside to climb the willow beside the manor, mother furious with me after all the dirt and ruin.

And now Nesta was here to take her place.

My sister wore the slightest of confident smiles, looking regally over her upturned nose at the crowd below. Elain beamed, her face full of joy and sunlight even in the pale wintery afternoon. Both of them looked aggravatingly at home in their new finery, warm in their spotless coats and scarves and soft leather gloves.

A terrible itch creeped up my neck, down my spine.

Standing there, I felt a nagging sensation, like I was in the woods and hadn’t yet spotted something that had spotted me.

Looking across the stage, I saw the Mayor’s son, glaring. As soon as my eyes met his, I swore he looked away with distaste.

He was young, probably about my age or just a year younger. Brown hair, pale skin, soft hands. His eyes were dark and his mouth was locked into a sullen pout.

I had no doubt he was the type to stay far from the forest. Probably had never skinned a rabbit, or felt hunger in his belly.

Apparently, I had offended him personally.

With a wistful smile, the mayor turned to me, and I wished I had been paying better attention. My heart thundered as all eyes in the crowd focused on me.

“We have lived in fear,” the mayor said, turning back to the gathered crowd. The people of Innisville, our old village, the ones that forgot me and my family so easily when the money slipped away. “Even though we live in freedom from faekind, even after five hundred years, we are still controlled by the wall and the terrible things that breach it. We have let ourselves be splintered by disagreements and differences, while the real enemy threatens us from beyond. Our true enemy takes advantage of the discord among us. It is only if we join together that we can push back the dangerous creatures waiting to descend upon us in the dark of night.”

A hearty cheer rose up, mist in the cold.

No wonder he was mayor.

But his words fell flat on my ears. I had suffered more under the hands of my fellow man than any fae or beast, the monster in the cave included.

“Sometimes,” he boomed, his magnanimous smile back on me like the sun, “it takes a great act of bravery and sacrifice to bring us together. It takes an extraordinary person to remind us that we are one. That we are powerful together.” Cheers and murmurs of ascent were bubbling up from the crowd, an echoing call.

I hated every moment of it.

I wasn’t brave, or selfless. I hated the grand sentiments, when all I had ever wanted was a full stomach and safety for my family. I hated the eyes on me, eyes that weeks ago would’ve scorned us. Fine boots that would have kicked at us, teeth that would have gnashed.

But Nesta’s hand was on my back, warm but unyielding, and she pushed me just a few steps forward towards the crowd, my feet stumbling.

“Our entire land has been blessed by this fearless and exceptional girl. Feyre Archeron, the hero of the human lands!” More cheers, and my name ringing across the crowd, from mouths that would have spit on me only weeks before. “Her talents were born out of hardship, but her undaunted spirit belongs to all of us living below the wall and the land of the fae. Although we will always remember those that we lost, we thank the girl who went out into the forest alone, and did what no one thought possible.”

The crowd erupted into applause. I balanced on the edge of the wooden stage, feeling like I might topple into the sea of bodies.

It was too much, too many adoring faces, people I had never met. They didn’t know me. My own story was being told in front of me, like I wasn’t even there to tell it myself. I was a hunter, and I needed those gold coins simply to gain a breath of air. These people in the crowd had been the ones to laugh and sneer at my misery, to ignore our hunger.

I hadn’t done it for a single one of them. Maybe that made me cruel, and heartless, but I knew it was the plain truth even as it hid in the dark shadows of my heart.

But the mayor wasn’t done. Once the cheers and applause had died down, his smile grew even wider, and he looked to my father.

“And, in a gesture we hope will inspire the land, my son Charles,” he motioned to the scowling boy, his face fierce and fixed on the ground in front of him, “is to be wed to our hero, Feyre Archeron. Our families will join together, uniting our villages. To remind us that heroes are among us, and we are stronger together. Feyre,” his eyes twinkling, “welcome to our family.”

The roar of the crowd was deafening, pounding in my skull and shaking my bones. Shock kept me frozen, and despite Nesta’s pinch at my hips, I knew my face was contorted in horror and shock.

My eyes found my father.

He had draped himself with the beast’s fur, like a cloak. Dressed in a dark, layered suit, he continued to smile blandly and ignore me completely.

No wonder Charles had looked murderous. I felt the same.

He was glowering on the edge of the stage, his mother whispering something into his ear with intensity. But he refused to smile.

The celebrating crowd in front of me was a mass of teeth and red cheeks. On the rising of their cheers, I felt my future slip out from under me completely.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Stumbling out of the mayor’s manor, I realized I was well and truly drunk.

It wasn’t for the first time in my short life, but it wasn’t exactly a state I was accustomed to.

Certainly not with such high quality wine, strong and dry slipping down my throat.

There’d been that one time when Isaac swiped a bottle being unloaded behind the tavern, and another when Elain shyly revealed a bottle of wine after we had gone to bed, refusing to share which of her admirers had gifted it to her. We had shared the bottle, taking indelicate swigs straight from the mouth until we giggled with mirth. Until the headaches and hunger hit and we had kicked each other in bed until my shins were bruised.

It hadn’t been like this, though.

The earth swayed under me. Warm light spilled from the side door of the manor, the party in full, brazen swing behind me. My skull felt like it was wobbling on my neck. My feet wouldn’t go where I wanted to put them. Swaying and stumbling, I braced myself still on a leafless tree in the garden.

Forcing my eyes to focus, I examined the bark, the bandaged hand splayed there, my middle finger still bent and unable to fully extend. A mangled claw, I thought. A promise of death and hunger to come.

Or, it had been. Now there was Charles. And a mayor’s manor, and a lifetime of servitude and lace dresses that would choke the life from me.

The thoughts rattled in my head, building and building, turning into something that felt like too much.

My hand grasped the collar of my dress, pulling the insufferable lace away with a loud rip.

Lace fell into dirty snow.

The tree was my lifeline, my body still swaying like I was nothing more than a branch in a heavy breeze. My thoughts went to the hard bark, to the deep roots beneath the frozen earth. I wished for roots to keep me steady. I wished to dig my toes into the ground and sprout branches and leaves. To transform into a peaceful and thoughtless tree, never hungry, never promised to anyone, only drinking rainwater and soaking up the sun.

But it was no good. Something acidic turned in my stomach, and I fell to my knees and retched onto the ground. It burned my throat as it came, wine as dark and red as it was going down. My sick steamed in the snow in front of my quivering arms, the smell bringing up more and more until only dark bile was left.

Behind me, a crunch of snow, a deep sigh. I tried to wipe my mouth clean.

“I see you took my advice to behave yourself very seriously.”

Nesta didn’t seem too shocked by my predicament.

It was hard to focus on her disapproval when my head pounded, and my throat was burning.

“Go fuck yourself,” I rasped, hoarse and slurring.

I expected her to leave. But in a moment, firm hands were on me, pulling me up from my own mess, shoving me back against the bark of my tree.

Tears were leaking out of the side of my eyes, and I groaned as my muscles shook, falling in between the roots. A knob dug into my back.

When I could lift my neck and my eyes finally focused, I saw Nesta perched on a rock in front of my feet. Her skirts were folded neatly in one gloved hand, keeping them smooth and straight from wrinkling or falling into the snow, her feet pressed rigidly together.

I wanted to laugh. I lay in front of her, sprawled on the ground, snow melting and seeping into my dress. My lips stained, the lace at my neck torn, my own sick beside me.

Perhaps Nesta wasn’t wrong, when she called me a feral beast.

We sat in silence for a moment as my breathing calmed, and the biting cold woke up some of my sleeping senses.

“At least he’s a mayor’s son,” Nesta finally said into the quiet, the din of the party seeming far away. “You’ll have a soft bed. Someone else will always chop your firewood. You’ll never be hungry again, Feyre.”

My sister’s coldness gave way slightly. She seemed almost wistful. Even in my drunken state, I could tell some of her fire had been tempered.

But I had none of this calm acceptance. Thinking of Charles again, of that childish pout…fire bloomed on my skin, acid dripped in my mouth.

I spit onto the dirty snow.

“I’d rather be dead,” I hissed out, my throat still burning. “I’d rather starve in the forest. I’d rather the wolves take me.”

Nesta only blinked. “You can’t mean that.”

I locked her with a gaze and hoped I was steadier than I felt.

Nesta didn’t balk at my anger, or my words. By now I should have known better than to try to fight her iciness with my fire. Instead, she watched me with head tilted, a look of pitying curiosity on her face.

“Daughters are to be wed, Feyre. Even ones who hunt in the forest. It was always our fate.” Her eyes shifted to the snow, kicking a toe of her new boot into the hard powder.

Even as I sat on the sopping snow, my skin was burning. I felt an unquenchable fire ignite within me, full of my rage.

“How could he do this to me?” I was angry, and I hated the sullen whine of the voice that came out of me. “I fed him. For five years I fed him. Put food on his own table. I sold my pelts to get his medicine. I rubbed his shoulders when his back seized up.” The words felt like ash in my mouth. Not even the cold of this solstice night could freeze them, stop them from spilling out. “And he…gave me away. Like it was his decision to make. He didn’t even tell me. He didn’t even ask.”

A shrug of Nesta’s shoulders. Infuriating, calculating. “At least Charles is young,” she said into the cold air. “Father just introduced me to Lord Rochester. He must be sixty if he’s a day. A widower, with bad breath and fat fingers and three children older than me.”

I regarded my sister. She had never told me anything like this before, with her voice sad and clear.

“I know it’s vain,” Nesta said, fisting her skirts tighter in her hand, “but I always wanted a handsome husband.” Her eyes seemed very far away. “Someone strong. Someone…worthy of me. Who could match me. That’s what mother used to say.”

I realized that as much as I had wanted peace and a family for both of my sisters, I had never really asked them what they wanted. And here was Nesta, raised to entice royal and rich men alike, now hoping for nothing more than some bare comforts and the dream of a dashing young husband she might never have.

She shrugged. “Maybe you’ll find some peace here, Feyre. Be safe, taken care of. Maybe even happy, some day.” I knew that Nesta spoke of her wishes for herself.

“And,” she said with another careless shrug, “if not, you can lure him out into the woods. Push him off a cliff. Just be smart, and make it look like an accident.”

A laugh punched out of me, quick and unexpected, Nesta raising an eyebrow at the sound.

Deep down, I knew my sister wasn’t joking.

Read on AO3

[radiant-reid]

What Christmas Means To Me

Check out the song with the same title !!

Summary: The Reids discuss all the things that are Christmas-y and important to them while being really in love with each other. a/n: this is the first part of my Christmas/winter theme collection, more to come &lt;3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (fluff, omg so much fluff)

Content Warning: nothing

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist | Navigation

"She's finally asleep!" Spencer exclaims, although the excitement is in his tone, not in his volume. He slides the door across the tracks, sealing the living room off, as quietly as he speaks.

Y/n left her husband to deal with Mabel and her bedtime issues. If it wasn't a glass of water that she needed, then it was to go to the bathroom or have another book read to her. She adores all three of her kids, of course, but it could, occasionally, be challenging. Thankfully, Spencer has always been the Patron Saint of patience.

"Ah, I love you." She says, holding out her arms wide to hug him. She's dressed in a sweater that matches his and a pair of pajama shorts with a mistletoe pattern on them.

Spencer reaches her in two steps, keeping his arms low so he can pick her up enough to spin her around while she melts into his chest, her head on his shoulder.

"I love you." He coos. "And I love this place." He says, pulling away from her to look at the house.

It's the perfect place to spend Christmas: at their own home. Outside, it's cold, much colder than usual. There's a light blanket of snow coating the ground and more snowflakes that they can see falling through the bay window.

It's warm inside, though, the fireplace lit. There's no other light besides that, a few low-burning candles and the Christmas lights on their tree. They all let out a perfect warm glow, rather than the bright type of light that you get from LEDs. It makes everything look so much more romantic.

They decorate every year, and it's always over the top. On the sides of the fireplace are stockings overflowing with presents with the names Beatrice, Mabel, and Chester stitched onto them. Y/n brought them out of hiding while Spencer was tussling a 4-year-old into bed.

Under the tree is another impressive pile, although some of those ones are to be unwrapped tomorrow morning when the whole BAU family comes for Christmas lunch. Likely, there will be even more brought around from everyone, and even more likely, the most from Auntie Penelope.

"We went over the top, didn't we?" Spencer voices what she's thinking.

"When don't we?" She asks rhetorically with a giggle. "I made hot chocolate if you're not too tired."

He shakes his head. "Never too tired to sit up with you, baby." He assures her.

It's true. The amount of long nights they've had, most after becoming parents, is extraordinary. Even if he'd been out on a case, as soon as he was back at home, if a newborn baby needed to be fed, a toddler had a bad dream, or someone forgot to do their homework, Spencer would abandon sleeping to offer her support.

She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to the kitchen to get their reindeer mugs. He's sitting on the window seat when she returns, back resting against the wall, and an arm outstretched for her to join him.

She does, placing the mugs on the part of the window seat not covered by the cushion closest to the window. She rests her back against his chest, legs stretched out but not nearly as long as his. To stare at him, she turns her head to the side. He keeps one arm around her back while he uses the other to hold his hot chocolate, which might be more marshmallows and cream than liquid.

Spencer would be pretty under harsh, fluorescent light, but he's stunning with soft light illuminating his features. It's been a decade, and he's still perfect, like nothing has changed, except maybe his hair. His curls, even though recently cut, are growing out.

"I love you more and more each day, you know?" He tells her after a while of admiring how stunning his wife is.

"Getting sappy on me, Reid?" Y/n jokes, still flattered by his compliments.

He chuckles, breath fanning her face. "Ten years, four months, five days..." He pauses to look at his watch. "Nineteen hours and eight minutes."

"I married such a loser." She complains while beaming.

"Mrs. Reid." He warns lightheartedly. "Don't make me put you on my naughty list."

She smacks his chest as both of them laugh. "You wouldn't dare."

He puts his mug down next to him where it won't spill and pushes a few strands of hair out of her vision. "Not when you make a killer hot chocolate." He assures her.

Y/n pats his chest. "Now I know we said no gifts..." She trails off, smirking. "But I got you something."

Spencer scoffs before chuckling. "Baby, you have done that for seven years. I'm not surprised anymore." He reminds her. "We could always just reevaluate the rule."

"Nope." She shakes her head, moving off him, and opening up the drawer below the seat. When she produces a neatly wrapped gift, Spencer also has one in his hands. Y/n deduces the gift in his hands is probably jewelry, either a necklace or a bracelet, based on the box's shape. "It's not Christmas yet, though." She pouts, more eager to see his reaction to his gift than to get her own.

"I won't tell if you don't." He says mischievously.

She swaps gifts with him. "Deal."

"You first." Spencer insists.

She pulls the wrapping paper off excitedly before opening the- as rightly suspected- jewelry box. It is gorgeous. Easily the most stunning piece of new jewelry she's ever seen. It's the most perfect tennis bracelet, equip with enough diamonds to outshine a polished case of jewels.

"Holy shit! Thank you." She says in awe. "This is stunning, and I don't want to know how much that cost you." It had to be in the high four figures.

He shakes his head, taking it from her hand, so he can delicately put it on her wrist. "Money comes in and out, and it'll never be as valuable as seeing that smile."

She grins again with a blush. "Keep that in mind when you open yours."

He's suspicious of what that means as he opens his, sliding the lid off the watch box. Her eyes light up after seeing his light up at the expensive, shining watch.

"Wow." He remarks, admiring it. "You did not have to go all out and buy me a Rolex, but thank you."

"You're welcome, handsome." She says, taking it from him to put on his wrist like he had just done for her. It definitely belongs on his wrist, of all the wrists in the world. His old one was nice, but it had been chipped over its long lifespan. "Now I can stare at your hands for longer." She jokes, playing with his fingers.

He laughs at her fondly. "You're always welcome to do that."

"I really love this." She says, admiring her own wrist. "But Christmas means more to me than presents."

He nods in agreement, not misinterpreting her statement of ungratefulness. "Christmas means love to me. You, the most gorgeous, talented person I know. Our wonderful kids, the whole extended BAU family, and everyone else's love."

"It means being happy to me. Like that feeling when you can't stop smiling, even if it hurts." He knows that feeling every time he looks at her. "And kids not going to bed so they can see Santa, Christmas lights on houses, carol singers, Christmas songs, family, a big meal snow, oh, and Christmas movies."

"There's one more thing." He realizes with a cheeky smirk. She hums, waiting for him to continue. "That." He points upwards to where there's a piece of mistletoe hanging over them. "Christmas means lots of kisses, too."

She giggles lightly. "So smooth."

"Thanks." He replies quickly before closing the gap of a few inches between their lips. Their lips attach in a well-practiced, languished kiss. It's not something they get to share often with their busy lives, and it only makes it more special.

Both of them have matching grins when they pull back. "We should go to bed," Y/n suggests with a yawn.

"Agreed." He nods. "We're going have to be up at 5am anyway."

"I'll make the coffee and hot chocolate, you make breakfast." She offers, like it's not what they do every time.

He leans in for one more kiss. "Always."

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[madameaug]

Piercings

Pairing: Jungkook x Jennette (ft. Peanut)

Synopsis: Story of Peanut getting her ears pierced.

Jungkook was more than familiar with the procedure for piercings. He was becoming the poster child for body modifications. At this rate, he would run out of area to get tattooed or pierced.

His influence even spread to Jennette. A couple months ago she got an industrial and flat piercing. Jungkook was this close to convincing her to get a matching lip piercing. But she turned him down talking about "professionalism."

Had Jungkook been going to his piercer alone, he wouldn't be contemplating turning back to speed off in his car. The little person in the car seat he was carrying was staunchly different from his typical appointment. His peanut cup was getting her ears pierced. At the request of her mother and aunt (mostly her aunt though).

Jungkook, drawing the short end of the stick, had to take Peanut to get her ears pierced. As he chickened out on taking Peanut to her vaccination appointment.

He couldn't help it. Watching his peanut cup in pain gave him heart palpitations, which led him to wonder how he was going to make it through this appointment all by himself.

Jungkook's leg bounced as he sat on the stool in the back of the piercing/tattoo shop. His piercer, Gus, sterilized the needle. Oblivious to Jungkook's panic. Peanut was waking up from her nap. Bubbles were around her mouth as she did the adorable newborn scrunch.

Jungkook smothered her cheek in kisses. Embracing the natural warmth she possessed in the winter temperature.

"Ready, boss?"

No.

Jungkook nodded his head. He was already chewing on the inside of his cheek. Placing Peanut on his lap, Jungkook secured her head in his hands. Peanut was calm as ever, looking around at the new environment. Her fist became tasty as she lodged it in her mouth.

"It'll be quick. In and out. You don't have to fret baby." Jungkook spoke out loud. Unsure if his prep talk was for Peanut or for himself. Taking his cue to get this process done, Gus walked to Peanut's left side. The infant watching the man get closer. Not visibly uncomfortably, but definitely keeping track of his every movement.

"Give me a countdown," Jungkook asked, his voice sounding small. His eyes already closed tight.

"One, two." Before getting to three Gus injected the needle through Peanut's lobe. Prepared with the small stud jewelry to add to her ear.

With one eye open, Jungkook braced himself for the horrific cry. Tears of his own brewing at the waterline. Peaking down to look at Peanut, her expression was emotionless. Fist still in her mouth, saliva strands dripping down her winter coat.

"Like a soldier." Gus complimented, going to the other side. "This should be a piece of cake then."

Giving Jungkook the same countdown, Gus finished the piercing on the right ear. Unlike the other ear, Peanut started to whine. Fist came out of her mouth to touch the recently pierced ear. She whimpered, turning her body away from Gus.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jungkook whispered to Peanut. Bouncing her in his arms. Finally, standing up. Still not happy, Peanut gently rubbed her ear.

"Thank you for squeezing us in." Jungkook paid with his Apple Watch, refusing to place his sniffling baby.

"Any time man."

Jungkook sat in the driver's seat. His phone dialed Jennette's.

"Oh my baby, well, my big baby." Jennette was graced to see Jungkook's red eyes while holding Peanut.

"I take it things went well." She had a teasing smirk on her face.

"I'm never doing this again." Jungkook wiped the stray tears falling down his face.

"Can I see my actual child? I can check up on you later."

Peanut faced her mother. Eyes just like her father.

"I'm so sorry, mama." Jennette blew kisses to her baby, who rested her head on her father's shoulder. Her sniffles eased as the pain went away in her ear.

"Jungkook, bring my baby home."

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 1: The Abandonment

Every chapter will be uploaded to the Masterlist linked in my pinned post on my account 💖

*50 days until Competition*

The ice had always been home.

From the moment she laced up her first pair of skates and wobbled like a newborn fawn on slick ice, Elain Archeron knew she found her future passion.

It all started when she was nine years old, residing in a place called the Village with Mama, Papa, and her two sisters. It was the last month of the year, and school had ceased for winter break just as the fluffy white snow began to coat the ground. Everyday on their trek home from classes, Elain and her sisters Nesta and Feyre passed by a secluded lake, sparkling blue in the spring and beautifully frozen in the winter. This time, however, the lake was occupied.

The girl had been no more than twelve years old, twirling with the grace and poise of a veteran skater. Each intricate twist and turn captivated Elain’s attention so much that she had tugged her sisters’ hands to stay and watch, gasping in delight when the girl launched herself through the air and landed precisely back on the ice. Little Elain had never beheld something so magnificent.

She’d run right home in the snow to beg Mama and Papa for her first pair of ice skates. What little money they’d had was already being put toward art classes for Feyre and dance classes for Nesta. While she'd been disappointed at first, Elain was always resourceful. Her free time was spent helping the elderly in her Village prepare their gardens for the harsh winter. After a few weeks of laying mulch down, wrapping larger plants with plastic covers, and moving small plants inside the homes, Elain had saved up enough money to finally buy herself a pair of pink ice skates, her most prized possession.

And she practiced. She practiced Axel jumps and Biellmann spins until her leggings were ripped, her muscles were sore, and her feet throbbed in anger. She studied videos, and even joined the girl on the lake, who she finally discovered was named Yoona. It was fitting, since Yoona’s skating was just as elegant and graceful as her name.

Sometimes Elain skated alone, when she needed a moment to clear her head. Other times, she showed off her skills to Nesta and Feyre, who smiled from the sidelines and urged her to “Be careful!” when she tried to land a new jump.

Even if she was not the best skater to grace the ice, she fell in love with it anyway. Everything about figure skating was exhilarating. The artistry, athleticism, the emotion, was incomparable to any menial task she’d ever done. The rush of adrenaline–the feeling of free falling and flying–was simply unparalleled. And maybe Elain believed she had a talent for it, (and was content not to pursue it further) but according to Mama, it wasn’t enough to shine on her own.

Figure skating had at one time been a hobby for Elain, a way to destress and escape the pressures of reality. She’d wanted to keep it that way, but Mama had other plans. Across the Village was a small piece of land called Prythian, where seven territories respectively named after the seasons and solar phases, competed at an annual event to showcase the best skaters in each region. The top scoring team was rewarded with accolades and a monetary achievement.

Mama caught wind of this shortly after Papa’s death. Whether the plan made sense or not didn’t matter to Mama. The prospect of potential fortune was so enticing that she hadn’t wasted a moment selling most of Papa’s trinkets and other belongings, and relocated the family to Velaris, a charming city in the heart of the Night Region.

Velaris had everything. Kind residents, delicate shops, mouth watering food, and to Elain’s sheer delight, it was in very close proximity to the Snowspell Ice Rink in Winter Region, the largest ice rink she’d ever seen and the only one in the entirety of Prythian, as far as anyone knew. Even along the main strip of Velaris was a newly renovated dance studio and an up and coming art classroom, both of which piqued the interest of Elain’s two sisters.

But it was Elain’s hobby that Mama controlled. Feyre was already being requested to paint wall murals in mansions for some of the richest families in Prythian at just sixteen years old, and nineteen year old Nesta had snagged the lead choreographer position in the dance studio. Children from all Regions traveled just to take one of her classes.

In short, the two sisters were making a name for themselves, willingly, standing out amongst others on the societal ladder. Elain wasn’t. And Mama did not take lightly the fact that Elain had preferred a quieter, simpler life, one filled with multiple hobbies and a surplus of happiness, over one that brought the Archeron family wealth and recognition.

Within the first few months of moving Mama had made friends with a man and woman from the Autumn Region, Beron and Lucia Vanserra, during one of the days Mama accompanied Elain to the rink in Winter. Beron was a commanding presence, with an air of arrogance and flaming temper. On the other hand, Lucia was a quiet woman, timid yet sweet in nature. Their youngest son, Lucien, was also a talented skater, perhaps the best throughout the Autumn Region.

Mama and Beron had a vision, one that only Elain and Lucien could accomplish together: wealth, status, fortune, fame. (Even though the Vanserra family needed none of those things. Beron was simply blinded by greed.) And so they were thrust together as partners at the age of seventeen, forced to skate together to bring honor to their families, all the while losing what drew them to the craft in the first place.

They competed against some of the best skaters in the nation, on a mission to claim the top spot on the podium, yet always falling short to pairs like Viviane and Kallias of Winter, Cresseida and Varian of Summer, or Morrigan and Azriel of Night. The couple from Winter excelled in chemistry and emotion, always bringing the judges close to tears with their routine. The siblings of Summer were coordinated and aesthetically pleasing to the eye, flowing in sync like parallel streams. And the best friends of Night excelled in athleticism and pure skill.

Each competition loss was met with insults disguised as corrections, harder routines, and longer days of training. She could not exist without living and breathing the ice, yet not in a way that fulfilled her. Elain had considered quitting at one point in time, but even after Mama’s death when Elain had turned twenty-two four years ago, she couldn’t bring herself to hang up the skates. Everything that Mama stood for had been ingrained in her brain. Wealth. Status. Recognition. Honor.

She had not succeeded when Mama was alive.

She wouldn’t fail her in death, too.

Twenty minutes past their allotted practice time, Lucien casually strolled into the Snowspell Ice Rink with the nonchalance of a man who did not appear phased that the competition was only a month away. Elain quirked a brow at his unusual tardiness and lack of skates, readjusting the fuzzy pink leg warmers around her calves, matching perfectly with her sweater.

“We only have the ice for an hour,” she reminded him as casually as she could, though her forehead crease was evident. “The Ice Warriors have practice at five.”

Being the only rink in Prythian came with one major con. While it was beautifully constructed and in pristine condition, ice time was divided equally between figure skaters, hockey players, and those who simply wanted to enjoy a free skate. Arriving on time was imperative to ensure everyone had equal usage of the ice.

Whether Lucien sensed her annoyance, he didn’t let on. Instead he stared at her, face uncharacteristically passive before saying, “I’m pulling out of the competition.”

Elain blinked. The ice beneath her feet thawed, and she felt like she was falling. Were her cheeks red from the cool air or from the absolute panic that shocked her body? “You–what?”

Lucien huffed, digging the toe of his boot into the ice. “I’m dropping out of the competition,” He reiterated, a twinge of indignation to his voice. Lucien did not possess the same temperament as his father, but every now and again his straight red hair would glow a bit brighter when he was on the cusp of irritation.

“I don’t understand,” Elain answered with a shake of her head, arms splayed outward in protest. “The competition is a few months away. Not a year, not six months. We’re supposed to perform Ode to Joy and–.”

“We don’t have a shot, Elain,” Lucien hissed, jaw clenching. “We’ve been partners for almost ten years with nothing to show for it. I don’t know if it’s me or you or–or us–but something isn’t working. Each year we seem to perform worse than the last.”

The ringing in her ears grew louder with every word that fell past his mouth. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. The competition–her duty–Mama–.

“We have to do this,” Elain said quietly. Her heart hammered frantically in her chest. “I have to do this. Your father–my Mama–Lucien I can’t quit. We must figure something out. We’ll practice more, or have your father pay for higher quality lessons, just–something other than pulling out of the competition.”

“I don’t think it’s a skill issue,” Lucien replied with a half hearted shrug. “Not for me, at least. I've been Autumn’s best skater since I was a child. I was skating before other kids even learned how to walk.”

Elain scoffed, if only to hide the prick of tears at her eyes. He may not have had Beron’s temper, but maybe he inherited a bit of his arrogance and condescending tone. “So, it is a skill concern. My skill, or lack thereof, it seems.”

“Listen. You’re good, Elain. I know for the first part of your life, you were self taught and that’s not your fault. But we’ve been training for years with some of the best figure skating coaches money can buy and you haven’t improved enough to even boost us from fifth place to fourth. You are good. But being good doesn’t win competitions.”

Every word, whether insulting or true, pierced through her heart. Shame washed over her bones. Lucien’s words were eerily similar to the ones Mama said a long time ago.

Lucien bit his lip, contemplating, “And it’s not just that. We’re not–compatible. I don’t know if we ever have been. Be honest, would you have chosen me as your partner, had our parents not been consumed in their own scheme to force us together?” He challenged, arms folded across his chest. “Willingly, with no outside pressure or familial obligations, would you have chosen me?”

Elain’s silence was answer enough. Because no, she wouldn’t have. Competitive skating had never been on her radar. Being Lucien’s partner, as awful as it sounded, was never something she considered. But she hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Feyre was a child prodigy. Nesta waltzed as easy as breathing. Both had Mama’s love, affection, and approval. Without ice skating, Elain had nothing.

Lucien sighed, tan fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he exhaled the tension from his body. “I wouldn’t have chosen you either. No hard feelings, I promise.” He stepped forward then, thrusting a chilly hand into his pocket. “My timing is terrible, I know. I’m sorry. I just think this is the best choice for me, Elain. And for you, too. You won’t have to worry about disappointing your mother–again–and I won’t have to work harder for the both of us.”

She reeled, almost as if she’d been slapped. Her lack of skill had been holding him back. The time, energy, training, tears, and aching muscles had been for nothing. She had failed to live up to expectations, again, disappointing her now ex-skating partner and deceased Mama in the process. Her lip trembled.

“Take care, Elain. I’ll be seeing you.” Lucien reached out, hesitantly squeezing her shoulder before stalking off the ice. She watched him leave in stunned silence, the only movement on her body being furrowed brows as she caught glimpse of a second figure in the distance, too blurry to fully grasp who had accompanied Lucien for what was probably moral support.

She didn’t have time to process that forty minutes had come and gone before a heavy thud hit the ice. Elain hastily brushed the tears from her cheeks just in time to see Cassian, defenseman for the Velaris Ice Warriors, greet her with a smile that was still somehow intact with the exception of one or two missing teeth. After all, he was notorious for goading other players into spats on the ice.

“Hey, Elain! So listen, what do you think is the best way to ask Nesta to go out with me–.” Cassian froze, eyes bulging out of his head. “Wait. What? Why are you crying? What the fuck happened?”

It was then she felt the presence of two more hulking hockey players behind her. Exhaling a shaky breath, she skated back a step to glance at the three teammates.

Cassian, number 26, top defenseman in the league in points and penalty minutes. Wherever Cassian skated, chaos and blood were sure to follow. While leading the league in points as a defenseman was certainly an achievement, he preferred throwing punches on the ice, specifically in Eris Vanserra’s face whenever Nesta’s name left the redhead’s mouth.

Rhysand, number 35, captain of the Ice Warriors and the best center to play the game. His ability to create plays for his teammates was unmatched, racking up the most assist points out of every player on his team. His impressive hockey IQ and innate ability to be a leader earned him the title of captain. When he wasn’t leading his team to victory, Rhys was spending time with his dog, son, and wife, Elain’s younger sister Feyre.

Elain swallowed, eyes shifting to the third teammate.

Azriel, number 54, right winger with impeccable speed and a lethal wrist shot. His ability to glide around the ice undetected has fooled his opponents time and time again, unable to defend against him as he buried the puck in the back of the net. He was calculated and strategic, using his sculpted body to block shots and only brawling when necessary.

Azriel, the former skating partner of Morrigan, representative of the Night Region in seven competitions, placing gold in five. Her teenage rival, whether he was aware of it or not. Who was now staring at her with a hardened expression.

“Elain?” Rhys asked, gloved hand squeezing her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elain mumbled tearfully, fingers gripping the end of her sweater. She prayed the tears wouldn’t slip past her lashes. “Just that I have to live with the realization that I’m a complete and utter disappointment.”

She skated off the ice before any of the men could get another word in. Had she looked over her shoulder, Elain would have noticed how Azriel’s jaw set, and how his eyes tracked her every movement as she glided across the rink.

The thought had hit her the moment she saw him, and she’d done everything she could to keep it out. She didn’t want to, she really didn’t want to, but it was one hell of a good idea and she couldn’t convince herself otherwise.

She stood in front of a black door in a pair of warm fleece leggings and a crew neck that was two sizes too big, albeit comfy.

Pushing against her brain screaming to Run away now, Elain, she tapped four times on the door, holding her breath. She almost choked when the door swung open a second later.

Behind the door stood a shirtless Azriel with a fluffy blue towel secured around his waist. Water droplets clung to every part of his body, brightening the black ink swirling across his shoulders, neck, and chest. Elain only realized she was staring when he gently cleared his throat, shooting a half smile her way.

Squaring her shoulders, Elain proclaimed, “I need your help.”

ARTWORK FOR THIS CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: HERE

DIVIDERS BY: @saradika-graphics

[violettduchess]

I am so in love with your Comte domestic au, I have read it so many times! What about a continuation for au week? It would have to be the "free space day," so if you have something in mind, obviously disregard this. But what about more domestic with Comte and his family spending time together? Or maybe for the soul mate au, it could take place before your other au fic, where Comte finds his soul mate? Oooh, or it could still be soul mates, but the kids are grown, and he's reflecting on big moments they've spent together?

Anyway... obviously, just delete this if you're not taking requests anymore or if you don't wanna use them. Sorry this got so long.

A/N: Hello anon! Here you go! This is a Soulmate au explaining how Comte met the mother of his children from this Domestic Bliss au from last years event! (and to the anon who asked for Comte and Bookstore au and the anon who asked for Comte and Coffee shop au....I combined them all 💜)

An entry for @xxsycamore and @queengiuliettafirstlady 's Different Universe Same Love CCC

Comte x female reader

WC: 1349

Inked into the skin of your right shoulder, your black and white tree tattoo reaches towards the sky with its bare, spindly branches that echo the gangling shape of spider legs. You chose the image after going for a walk on a stark winter's morning. Something about it resonated with you, echoing the vacuity of your lonely heart.

You’re shelving the latest bloodsucking Young Adult novel, breathing in that delectable new paper smell, when a voice rich as caramel, interrupts, asking if you could please direct him towards the foreign literature. You turn to find yourself looking into arresting, honey-colored eyes set in a face that jerks your heart awake from its lonesome stasis. It begins beating a lively, almost frantic rhythm in your chest.

You give him directions even as you try to fit all the pieces of this beautiful man together in your mind: wavy dark blond hair, slanted cheekbones, lips that smile easily and with such warmth. He thanks you but doesn’t move. Neither do you. The moment your eyes met, something took its first breath, something cocooned deep in the chambers of your hearts and sparked to life by your connection, like the fertile meeting of sunlight and water. 

A few minutes later you have a date to meet for coffee.

It feels so much larger than it sounds. 

That night, as you lay in bed, dreams inhabited by a man with desert eyes, your tattoo changes. The branches are peppered with small, newborn leaves the color of limes. Fragile. Delicate. Hopeful.

The coffee shop is small, a hidden gem tucked into a side street you’ve never ventured down. You arrive too early, a habit you usually pride yourself on but now is causing waves of anxiety to rush through you. Will you look too eager? Who cares because it is truth. You are eager. You are so very eager to see Comte again.

And then, as if responding to the siren call of your longing, he appears in the doorway, gilded in sunlight. He looks damn near angelic as he enters the shop, a place that suddenly seems so mundane with its walls covered in glossy photos of coffee beans and faded tile floor. 

He joins you, ordering tea, so much more civilized than your giant cappuccino topped with cinnamon and chocolate dust. Your eyes meet his and you flush, looking away. What now? Panic rears its ugly head, trampling the excited beat of your heart into the ground.

“Is that the latest X. Sycamore novel?” He notices what you have laying casually on the table by your drink, the beautiful indigo cover and gold lettering. It may be old-fashioned but you are a lover of books you can wrap your hands around, covers you can touch. Someone who has a tactile love of words. You nod. “Do you like her work?” In answer he reaches behind him, into the pocket of his beautifully-tailored beige coat and pulls out the exact same book.

From there it’s easy. So easy. One cappuccino becomes two. One cup of tea multiples like flower buds in spring time. Conversation flows like a current between you, rife with warmth and crackling with soft electricity. You decide you can’t pinpoint the exact color of his eyes because they are always changing. The brightness of Goldenrod when he is happy, dark as pyrite when he’s contemplating, animated as the sun’s shimmering caress of the sea when excited. You learn all his facial expressions and soak in the sound of his voice, burying them deep inside your heart to recall at any time.

When he checks his wristwatch and sighs, you sense your time together nearing its end. You stand abruptly, a motion spurred by the wild desire to beg him to stay and the need to act as though you are perfectly fine with him leaving. Unfortunately you knock against the table, sending your half-full cappuccino toppling just as he’s gathering his coat. Your heart, so light and breezy, turns to stone like a gargoyle in sunlight, sinking down into the twisting pit of your stomach. The stain across the expensive wool looks garish, something out of a horror movie.

At first he refuses your offer to pay for the dry cleaning but you are insistent and he relents. You feel oddly giddy. If the price of seeing him again is a cleaning a soiled coat, then you are willing to pay it. Gladly.

That night, your tree changes yet again. The branches are fuller, anointed in thick, lustrous green. Leaves unfurl themselves towards an invisible sun, towards a welcoming sky.

You hold the freshly cleaned jacket as if it is a child in your arms, tenderly so as not to wrinkle it. The garment bag is a soft blue, a stark contrast to the dark, rich colors of the mansion you find yourself walking through. If elegance were to fashion itself into a home, this would be it. Your heels click across the polished wood as the butler leads you to where Comte is waiting for you. His library.

The garment bag is removed from your arms and he is speaking in that sonorous voice as he greets you but you are not listening. Your mind is trying to soak in the sight of the shelves, rows and rows of shelves, towering above you to meet the breathtaking molded ceiling. Surely this is heaven. Surely he is its keeper.

His hand on your shoulder steadies you, brings you back down to earth, to his warm gaze and the scent of sandalwood. Would you like a tour? You nod and his hand slips down until it takes yours, gentle at first, questioning. You tighten your grip, wordlessly telling him yes, this is ok. Yes you want this. His exhale of relief is audible. 

“Let’s begin over here, with Molière.”

That night, your tree has added hundreds of tiny buds clustered throughout its green branches. Each flower bud a tiny pink universe waiting to be born.

He invites you to the cinema where you hold his hand, fingers interlaced as you lose yourselves in the story playing across the screen. The dream ends when the lights come on, scattering the wispy remnants of magic the movie spun around its audience.

You step out of the theater, hands still clasped together and stop as you notice the light haze of rain that has started falling. You glance at Comte. The bus stop you need to get to is several blocks down. He squeezes your hand. 

"It doesn't look so bad, chérie. Shall we?"

You agree and together step out into the cool rain. For the first minute it really isn't so bad. The rain dampens your clothing, kisses your skin gently. But after that, it's as if the clouds decided the warm-up is over. The storm gathers its thunderous drums and flashy lightning guitars and the real show begins.

You jump as his arm gathers you close against his side for protection, a bulwark in the sudden downpour. Together you search for shelter through the blur of rain. It only takes you a second to remember where you are. 

The oversized awning of the bookstore shields you from most of the heavy rain. You turn within the circle of Comte's protective embrace, your gaze slowly tracing a path up the pale column of his throat, the angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips where it stops, caught there like a thread on a nail. Something warm is unspooling within you, lifting you up to meet him as he leans down, both of you moving in unspoken tandem. Your eyes flutter closed and the world shrinks down to the feel of his lips on yours, cool with rainwater. 

The moment your lips touch, you glow with the warmth you have felt in his presence from the beginning. It plunges into the furthest corners of your heart, taking root. As he cradles your head in his gentle hand, his mouth moving over yours, seeking and finding, you know. 

You know. 

You know. 

He is yours, now and forever.

That night, you sleep in Comte’s strong arms. Your tattoo is in full bloom, a symphony of soft, pink cherry blossoms, a timeless concert of exquisite joy and breathtaking tenderness. A testament to the love of two souls, meant to be.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @bubblexly

[la-undercover-latina]

Christmas Creations (Armin Arlert fluff)

This is for my girl @arlerts-angel

Just a little holiday fluff with our favorite blonde babe

Taglist:

@arlerts-angel @arlertwitch @leviismybby @humanitys-strongest-bamf sorry if I forgot anyone

“Angel? Y/D/N? Are you guys home?” Armin asked as he stepped through the door, shrugging off his puffy winter coat that your daughter insisted that he wore this morning because ‘You’ll get sick daddy’.

And there’s one thing that everyone who knew Armin Arlert knew without a shadow of a doubt: there were 2 people on this planet that are completely spoiled rotten.

You and your daughter.

Armin followed the sound of sudden giggles to see the two most important people in his life sitting on the floor with colored pencils in their hands.

Armin leaned against the door, his heart full as he watched the love of his life play with their daughter that they made out of love. A daughter that was Armin’s carbon copy, much to your dismay.

“I spent 9 months growing her and then birthing her and she has the nerve to be a carbon copy of you,”

“What can I say, I’ve got strong genetics,” He had leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips as you and your newborn spent quality time getting skin to skin contact.

“Daddy!” Your four year old smiled beamingly at Armin and you looked behind you to see your husband gazing at you both with the most loving look that you’d seen in his oceanic eyes.

“What did you draw?” Armin asked, picking his little princess up in his arms.

“Mama made Santa and I made the reindeer,” she smiled, while you grabbed the drawings.

“Are you ready to show daddy?” You asked, pressing a quick kiss to your husband’s lips.

“Eww! Mommy you’re gonna catch cooties,”

“So daddy has cooties?” You gasped in mock surprise.

“Yeah, Rosie told me,” Jean and Mikasa’s daughter was ever so slightly older than your daughter, and always fills your daughter in on the ways to survive being a big girl. Apparently the most chief lesson recently has been about how boys have cooties.

“Did Rosie say if the doctor can get rid of it?” Armin asked.

“Nope. All boys have them. It’s why boys have to stand up to use the potty,” That had earned a snicker from Armin and you.

You, unlike your husband, we’re better at hiding it with a cough.

“Well dang, looks like my littlest princess can’t have any goodnight kisses after her bedtime story,” Armin said in a singsong voice.

“Rosie’s wrong,” your daughter said with the most sincere look on her face. The prospect of no more goodnight daddy kisses was unacceptable.

“No I can’t have my princess getting cooties,” Armin had to bite back a laugh.

“I don’t care. Daddy cooties are okay,”

“Yeah daddy cooties are fine. It’s those other boy cooties you need to watch out for,” you smiled, brushing some loose blonde hairs from her forehead.

“Hey, so since you and mommy got to draw, how about we all go see Christmas lights tonight after dinner,”

“Can we?” The four year old suddenly became extremely hard to hold from her bouncing at the prospects of Christmas lights.

“Only if you finish all of your dinner,”

“Veggie too?” Your daughter asked and you nodded.

“Yeap, veggies have to be in your tummy before we go,” you told her, tickling her tummy.

“You and mommy clean up while I make dinner, how’s that?” Armin asked and your daughter nodded before grabbing her colored pencils and putting them back in the box.

“Hey Angel, did you ever think when we met that our lives would be like this?” Armin asked, his crystal eyes on his mini me.

“No, but I love every second of it,” you smiled softly at the man you got to call your husband for the rest of your lives.

“Good, because you’re stuck with me,” Armin teased and pressed another kiss to your lips. It was one of those kisses that, while you were a great mother and never forgot about your kid, made you forget the world around you existed. It was as if time stopped in that moment. The only thing that mattered to you was Armin’s lips against yours and strong hands holding you.

“Good. Wouldn’t want it any other way,” you smiled and Armin pulled you in for another kiss.

“Mommy… Daddy… Can you stop kissing so we can go see lights faster?” Your daughter asked innocently, getting a laugh from you both.

[askthebadkidz]

It snowed and we thought Riz would be upset but he’s just flexing his winter coat on us 😒

I wish he was like cats where they have this part of their back you can grab to make them go limp immediately.

carrying his ass home like a newborn kitten

-Fig

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 12: Dowdy

Since the moment she was put into clothes for the first time as a newborn infant, Aeryn Striker had Opinions about what she wore.

From the feel of the fabric to its color to the number of buttons or hooks or strings, to the patterns and designs, cut and quality, the child was pickier than her parents often knew what to do with. Her elder brother was the first to realize the baby’s fuss came from disliking certain clothing items.

Unfortunately for tiny Aeryn, her parents were not wealthy, and clothing for an active, fast-growing child in a farming community needed to be economical above all else. So hand-me-downs from her brother and other village children, and cheap, sturdy fabrics that could take the wear and tear and staining, and could be let out for a time until she entirely outgrew them.

There were tears and pouts, shouts and crying, when she didn’t like her outfits. One summer morning everyone had a good laugh as Corran tried to catch an entirely naked three-year-old racing through the village.

In the end, Zaine could usually, mostly, get Aeryn to acquiesce for a time, distracting her with treats or toys or exploration or other childish games. Her natural inquisitiveness and sense of adventure could make her temporarily forget the uncomfortable, the shapeless, the ugly.

And she would “lose” things she particularly hated, in convoluted ways that left them unsalvageable. Otherwise Zaine would just find them and make her wear them again.

Finding outfits Aeryn did like came with their own problems of her wanting to wear them always, until entirely stained and discolored, and worn all the way through; they rarely lasted long enough for her to grow out of, and there was no handing them off to someone else’s child.

“She’ll eat everything put in front of her, listen to long sermons politely, be quiet when asked—and given a ‘good’ reason, sure, but still,” Emelia sighed. “I do not know what we are going to do if she ‘loses’ another pair of shoes, let alone this year’s winter coat.”

These habits only changed slightly on the family’s move to Thavnair.

The lighter fabrics felt better, and the patterns and designs, the colors and embellishments, all pleased Aeryn greatly. Some of it was the novelty at first, but even once she was used to the Hannish styles, she found…less to complain about.

She was old enough to no longer streak through the neighborhoods in fits of toddler petulance, for which Emelia thanked every divinity, and hoped the worst of this particular difficulty finished.

—

It could be said that Nani Shaila didn’t really get along with anyone, but she particularly disliked Zaine and Aeryn. The mother of Tanzel Eadir’s late wife, Nani Shaila resented his marriage to Emelia, feeling her own daughter was being replaced, regardless of her grandchildren assuring her otherwise.

She stayed under Tanzel’s roof for them…and also because none of her other children wished to deal with her. Tanzel was a man of patience and a firm enough will to mostly keep his first mother-in-law in line. His own mother, and new mother-in-law, helped.

But Tanzel was also a busy man and important to their Coooperative’s business dealings. So of course, the first time back in Radz-at-Han since her mother had married Tanzel (whom Aeryn liked quite a lot, but still felt painfully shy around), it was Nani Shaila minding the younger children as they went shopping in the Bazaar. And Aeryn being the youngest of all the Eadir children, Nani Shaila felt she had to keep the little girl at her side the whole time.

“I’m eight, Nani,” Aeryn tried to remind her. “I’m big enough to go ‘round by myself. I’ll even run errands for you!”

“Hrmph,” Nani Shaila looked down her nose. “You’re scrawny for eight,” she said again. “And tend toward trouble besides. Oh, you’ll complete the errands—in your own time and way, and I shall be left to clean up after you.”

“Or send Rashae to do it,” Aeryn said, before thinking. She winced, and then winced again when Nani Shaila gave her cheek a finger-flick. 

“Mind that impudent tongue, girl,” her step-Nani said. “Just for that, the book stall’s where we shall visit last. Now take my hand; it’s far too busy today and you’ll get stepped on by an Arkasodara otherwise.”

Aeryn doubted that, but slipped her hand into Nani Shaila’s iron-claw grasp and hurried after her longer stride. She said nothing else, paying half-attention as Nani Shaila visited various shops and stalls, many of them wholesalers, haggling for prices, and having her goods packaged and delivered to the Cooperative’s building.

“Almost done,” Nani Shaila said over three hours later. The sun was well past noon, it was hot and sticky-humid, and Aeryn was tired, hungry, and bored. Her arm seemed nearly pulled from its socket, drug about by Nani Shaila all afternoon. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were her own Nani Zahra, or even Dodi Anya. But they wouldn’t have kept her at their sides and then complained about her being underfoot all day, either.

Still, Aeryn perked up when she saw where they were headed next; a dress shop, yalms of colorful, silky fabrics on display out front.

“Hrm. I hear they’ve come under new management,” Nani Shaila said. “Behave yourself.”

Which meant “don’t touch anything,” which was quite possibly the worst thing ever.

The Hyur shopkeeper behind the counter had a mustache, so Aeryn supposed he was grown up despite how roundly soft and smooth his face was, and that he was only as tall as her Nani. He smiled too broadly and greeted them. “Welcome, madame, welcome! What might I do for you and your grandchild on this fine day?”

Most of the other shopkeepers had immediately recognized Nani Shaila as a Cooperative representative. Many of them had known her (unfortunately) for years, but others had taken one look at how she wore her jewelry, turban, and dress and knew.

But this man was young, and new, so maybe he didn’t know how to tell yet. Aeryn watched him, since she was allowed to do little else.

“We had a deal with your predecessor, and I mean to see if that might continue.”

“Mmm, yes of course. I cannot honor any prior bargains, of course; times change, prices go up, and if one doesn’t keep up, well one doesn’t keep a shop. But I’m sure we can come to an equitable arrangement.”

Nani Shaila’s eyes narrowed. “Hmph. We’ll see. To start, young man, I want to check on bolts of Doman silk.”

“Ah, yes of course. Just a moment, let me go find those for you…” He turned and began checking the stacks behind him.

“They’re right there,” Aeryn said, pointing to a rack covered in a brilliant rainbow of bolts. She was fairly certain an adult should have been able to see it from the counter.

“Why yes, good eye, little one!” the clerk said. “If it had been a bhujamga it would have bit me. So many things to keep track of.”

Nani Shaila squeezed her hand in a warning, but Aeryn really was trying to be helpful, and the clerk seemed glad for it.

“Here we are then, madame, the finest and newest of Doman silk!” He lifted up one of the bolts. Aeryn saw dust on the cloth when it caught the light. “Perfect for a new sari, or even just something to spruce up an old market dress, eh?”

“This is a new dress,” Nani Shaila said coolly, checking the edge of the silk. “But I see your meaning.”

“I perhaps misspoke to say ‘old’ when I meant more…classically styled.”

“You’re wearing last season’s style,” Aeryn said. “And it’s not even fit right.”

“Aeryn.”

“But Nani—”

The clerk frowned now. “Your grandchild doesn’t know when to stay quiet, I take it?”

“She does unfortunately tend to be honest,” Nani Shaila said. It took both Aeryn and the clerk a moment to realize what she had just said. “I believe we’ll be shopping elsewhere. Good day.”

She turned, dragging Aeryn along as she strode out of the shop. 

They were halfway down the block when Nani Shaila suddenly laughed. She had a sharp, cackley sort of laugh that Aeryn didn’t hear very often. “I meant to drag that out longer before laying into the poor fool, but his face! Leave it to you to know when something’s wrong concerning clothes.”

“So I’m not in trouble?”

Nani Shaila looked down her nose at Aeryn. “There’s still time in the day,” she answered acerbically, then paused and looked along the road again. “But I suppose it is past time we went to the book stall.”

Aeryn grinned. It may not have been the best day, and there weren’t new clothes nor even bolts of cloth to make any, and she was still stuck with Nani Shaila, but it wasn’t all bad.

[bigdvmnhero]

Draxum was there when the last ronin was born. Winter whirled into the world in quick, sleek sheets, blanketing every living thing, as if to say, let us now sleep and never wake.

But something was stirring in the valley. The boy had been standing there for a very long time; Draxum was almost afraid he’d surrendered to the season, too.

Grief-gummed, clumsy like a newborn fawn, Mikey pulled his legs out of the frost and began to walk. He did not turn at the sound of his name. Blue spoke of this often: the long lethal quiet between them where nothing lived for long. 

“Ignoring me as well?” Draxum asked. “Fine. Be a ghost, then. That is what they’re calling you these days anyway. The Last Ronin.”

The footfalls slowed.

“I like it.” Mikey’s voice cracked from disuse. He tilted his head, and snowflakes fell from his half-done ponytail. “Suits me. Don’t you think?”

“They’re calling you masterless. Without kin.” Draxum pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. “The worst kind of ghost.”

“I intend to be,” Mikey said, and when he lifted his eyes it was the first brilliant, sky-flayed look of something unbowed, something that kept itself alive. “‘Cause I’m going back there, I’m going to bring Donnie and Raph and Leo to their doorstep, and I’m going to haunt every fucking one of them.”

read collection on ao3

[catherinebrae]

October`s Child

Lipstick print on the hot coffee cup, grey tile covered with golden leaves, The Goldfinch, frozen glasses and messy hair, red nails, long black coats, tears of losing friendship, lo-fi walks to railway station, midday French lessons, newborn ideas, blurred mascara circles after unexpected nap, longing for Christmas and winter miracles.

[bookwyrm-art-stuff]

fluffy dragon.

(versions with and without stripes)

I overthought this way more than it looks like, so details below the cut (drawing details and the random shit I made up about this type of dragon. Don’t be fooled, I made it up as I wrote it)

This cutie lives in the mountains and other cold places. It was vaguely based off polar bears, mountain goats, snow leopards and mountain lions, besides my usual wings of fire style dragons and stock knowledge about drawing stuff like fur.

This particular individual is a juvenile, coming up on their last molt into their adult coat. Since these dragons reach maturity around when the first heavy snow hits, their new coat will be entirely white. Come spring, when the snow begins to melt and shortly after the mating season, they will molt into a more mottled and darker pelt to raise chicks.

The chicks are born live, and raised usually by two or more individuals. While capable of sexual reproduction, this species tends to reproduce asexually, but raise the chicks in groups of two to seven adults. There are around three chicks per dragon ecery season (all in one litter), and dragons in a group usually give birth in staggered intervals across the season, so that there are only three to six newborn chicks at a time. Parenting varies across groups; some have specific dragons caring for specific ages of chicks (one or two care for newborns, others care for youngsters, more care for older juveniles), some simply rotate with each litter, but one oddly consistent fact is that the parent almost never cares for their biological chicks. A dragon will slow down somewhat during the gestation period (these dragons often move to work with the youngest chicks in larger parent groups so that they don’t strain themselves with teaching older chicks more difficult things like hunting) but after giving birth they bounce back very quickly, and most keep with the younger chicks through their growth, rather than caring for their own newborns, especially if the parent is inexperienced. If there are complications in a birth or other injury or a parent dies, the rest of their group will take over care of their chicks and them if they are still alive. These communities result in a shockingly high survival rate in both parents and offspring through the summer, though during the winter these groups split up and youngsters and adults alike die from natural causes. While they separate during the winter, there is little hostility between individuals, and they often simply ignore each other until spring, though groups during mating season have been seen to act friendly towards each other year round. During “mating season,” when groups of parents gather and arrange to raise chicks, yearlings from last season are often adopted into groups of more experienced individuals of at least six years and help parent the chicks while not yet bearing any of their own.

[nyanashima]

Skating Headcanons (Brothers)

No proofreading we die like men

Content warnings: none!

Lucifer

He’s the Avatar of Pride. The flawless first-born. Perfect at everything.

Naturally, he should be good at skating, right?

WRONG.

He’s stumbling like a newborn fawn the second he steps onto the ice.

Please hold him. He’s too proud to use a chair, but not steady enough to stand on his own.

Grips your coat for some sense of stability, his cheeks reddening from more than just the cold.

Figures it out eventually, though. By the end, he’s able to skate by your side while holding your hand.

Mammon

Not very good, but not as bad as Lucifer. He trips a few times and that’s about it.

If you’re better than him, he’s gripping your sleeve, awkwardly trying to not ask you to slow down and wait for him.

“I’m not scared, what’re ya on about? ‘M just worried about you breakin’ one of those fragile bones’a yours. You’ve gotta be more careful, or Lucifer’ll have my head!”

Leviathan

This is just like Yuri on Ice

Trembling like a wet chihuahua the entire time.

Goes very slowly along the side of the rink, holding the wall to stay upright.

Too shy to use you for support, and will explode if you offer (he might accept after some coaxing, but know that he’ll be on the verge of passing out).

Secretly relieved if you also suck, so you can be bad at skating together ❤️

Satan

Pretty decent, he goes out sometimes after school.

Acquainted with a well-known figure skater so he knows a couple (simple) tricks.

Will offer his arm if you’re not the best skater. Might even wrap his scarf around you. What a gentleman.

Not very good at stopping so he runs into uses the wall a lot.

Absolutely ELATED to find out that Lucifer can’t skate. Tries to take a video, but his phone has mysteriously disappeared.

Asmodeus

Petrified of falling and getting bruised, so he’s very cautious starting out.

Gets the hang of it pretty quickly, but will use his lack of skill as an excuse to hang off your arm.

Quits halfway through to take cute pictures for his Devilgram. He just has to take advantage of his rosy cheeks~!

Fawns over you if you’re good at it. (He takes some photos, but those are just for him.)

Beelzebub

I hate to assume he plays hockey but like. C’mon.

Could zip past everybody if he wanted to, but likes to stick close to you and Belphie.

Frets over you and offers you his winter gear. If you decline, he still puts his hat on you.

More than happy to be held onto if you need support. He thinks it’s super endearing, and loves having you this close.

Belphegor

A little unsteady getting onto the ice, but he’s actually pretty alright.

Used to go skating in the human world with Beel and Lilith, so he’s still got the skill tucked away.

Loves to see everybody enjoying themselves, just like back then. Brings back good memories, y’know?

Grateful that skates are made of metal now instead of animal bone lmao.

Laughs if you fall, but will help you up after. What a gentleman

Lets you hang onto him if you need to