#yes I heard quite the scandal he wanted to read books all day so they quite made it up - can you imagine the shame?

[hedge-rambles]

Y'know, this really kinda works because I was thinking along the lines of a sort of...religious function? Like, at yes, Honourables are vital to the spiritual wellbeing of society and the household, somehow???

And it might be tough to reconcile a patriarchal religious structure which was a kinda important part of the development of Victorian ideals, with it being run by non-binary individuals. Which, yeah I don't have a solid answer for that currently, but it would lead neatly into the idea established above though.

A lot of local administration and record keeping in Europe before that era was the purview of the church. They recorded marriages, births and deaths for example. And they also made up the vast majority of the literate and educated class for hundreds of years. Many early academics of all bents were, first and foremost, clergy. Early universities were religious institutions first, evolving from church and monastic schools.

So it kinda makes sense for it to move from a more spiritual (but still administrative and advisory) role to academia, admin and advise.

I don’t think adding nonbinary to Victorian’s gender system would’ve fixed their weird sexism. If anything I think it would’ve made them weirder and sexismier

[carrotcouple]

It had been simple.

Going through the motions, investigating things that Nahida asked him to, picking fights with arrogant scholars, reading as many books in the forbidden section as he wanted to, rejecting invitations to go drinking with Cyno and Kaveh, writing when he felt like it, teaching Collei how to read.

He'd pretty much moved on. And by 'moved on' he meant that he compartmentalized, putting past events into a box and throwing them into a corner of his mind that he never visited.

So he hadn't expected to be hit with reality quite like this.

"Are you alright?" Haypasia asked him.

The thing was that Fujin was in every sense, a fallen God. Had it been the days of the Archon War he might have even taken Nahida's place as Archon of the people of Sumeru, and Celestia itself would have acknowledged him.

And the one person who'd seen his very core and had become his one and only worshipper and follower now stood in front of him and she had no idea who he was. That was the price he paid for erasing himself from history. Not that he would want her to remember him anyways.

There couldn't be any world where she would have wanted to serve a pathetic failure of a God. She'd witnessed his short reign and then watched him fall.

"I'm fine," Fujin crossed his arms. "I don't see how I wouldn't be fine. Did you really think I'd be weak enough to get hurt from someone as small as you knocking into me?"

"Oh dear," she said, scratching the back of her head. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" Fujin laughed. His stomach was twisting into knots. She was important to him. So important to him that he felt it in his non-existent soul. The failed God in him desperately yearned for the devotion of its only devotee.

But he was nothing to her now. Not even a memory. He didn't even exist in a world before now. Not to her at least.

"If you offended me, little girl, I'd have thrown you out a window. Remember to watch where you're going." Fujin turned and started marching away. He couldn't even consider this as her betraying him. By erasing himself from history, he'd been the one to betray her, not the other way around.

"Wait a minute! I'm not-"

"Haypasia? Is that you? Getting confused and lost as usual then? Are you back after having eaten all the drugs the Forest Watchers could pump into your system?" Fujin heard another student call out to Haypasia and he stopped in his tracks.

"How dare you! I research a legitimate field! Also that was incredibly rude to the Forest Watchers! Watch your tongue!" Haypasia cried out.

"Everyone here knows that you and the Forest Watchers are in cahoots to get more fundi-"

Fujin grabbed the student's collar and swung them so they were dangling out of a window.

"How about you try finishing that sentence?" Fujin snarled. "I wonder how long it'll take for you to hit the roots of the Divine Tree of Wisdom? Plenty of time to reflect on the brainlessness of your actions, yes? They call the Akedimiya the center of all knowledge and wisdom in all of Tevyat but all I meet are buffoons who cannot rub two brain cells together but are riding on the esteem of their school. Tell me, how many things have you achieved? Surely you must be one of the top students of the Akedimiya if you are able to wag your tongue so freely?"

"Mercy!" The student cried out, gripping his hand tightly, eyes wide and fear all over their face. Their limbs were flailing, obviously not wanting to die.

"You talk about the Forest Watchers stealing funding they don't need. I should throw you into a Withering Zone and see how you fare. Then you can prove they don't need funding, yes? As long as you manage to get out alive, of course."

Everyone in the hall was staring at him, terrified.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It was rude of me to say-"

"Hat Guy!"

Fujin sighed. That stupid fucking name. He needed to bring this up to Nahida. He turned to see Tirzad, one of the older Vahumana scholars staring at him in scandalized horror.

"Put that student down this instant! This is a sacred institution! You cannot bring your uncouth bullying in-" Tirzad began.

"Well," Fujin said, "I'd like to see you do something about it then."

He was about to go back to threatening the student when he saw Haypasia again. She looked scared. Scared of him.

Ah.

She really didn't know who he was. She didn't know that she had seen everything. But she no longer knew him.

Fujin laughed a little.

He didn't know why he felt such a keen and aching sense of loss. He had known for five hundred years that he was destined to be alone and unloved. That was why everyone had either thrown him away, used him, or left him.

"Nahida will understand," Fujin told Tirzad whose jaw dropped at him using the Archon's name so flippantly and casually and then he let go of the student.

Several people including the student screamed as the student went plummeting towards the lower levels of Sumeru City. Fujin flipped everyone in the hallway off, glanced at Haypasia's face, and then jumped out the window.

He caught the student just before they hit the pavement. Then he gently lowered them to the ground where they collapsed in a heap.

"You should write a book," Fujin grinned. "'How to offend Hat Guy and Survive'. How does that sound?" He patted the student's shoulder and then decided to meander into the Grand Bazaar to maybe find Nilou and watch one of the theater's rehearsals before Nahida found him and scolded him for throwing people out of the windows again.

His mind wandered back to Haypasia.

He wondered if she had enough funding for her research. He had a stupid amount of mora and people were allowed to anonymously donate to students.

He hissed under his breath, trying to squash the failed God that lived in his hollow chest. Haypasia wasn't his anymore.

He crossed his arms and unhappily headed to the Grand Bazaar.

[kaeyats]

SAGAU,, the archons read your fanfiction

inspired by this imagine by @anemoarchonhoe. your self-indulgent genshin fanfiction starts spawning in teyvat as holy scripture. even more embarrassing is that your acolytes treat it like records of your past lives.

reader's gender is not specified, as with most of my works. requests and imagines in my ask box are appreciated, but will take a while. :D

warnings: cursing, lots of innuendos, humiliation lol

you didn't know what to expect when you stepped inside the wangsheng funeral parlor to visit two of your favorite genshin impact characters. however, amongst the many possibilities in your head, it was not this.

morax, or zhongli as he liked to call himself these days, sat in complete silence, investing all his attention and senses into the book he was currently reading. he hadn't even noticed your presence in the room which was entirely unusual for him as one of your most attentive acolytes. but you didn't find yourself minding as much as you thought you would, especially when zhongli was making such.. intense facial expressions every passing second.

"oh, how scandalous.." he quietly mumbled to himself. if there had been any background noise at all, you wouldn't have heard it.

"'li? are you perhaps reading a light novel?" you finally spoke out, after probably watching zhongli read for 20 minutes. you tried preventing your laughter when the former geo archon jumped at the realization of your presence, but alas, it was too unusual of a sight and you couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"ah, i apologize for not noticing you sooner, your grace. i was simply investing myself in your scripture."

"it's fine, really. what do you mean by 'my scripture' though? i don't recall writing any holy bibles." you observed the book in his hand, the blank cover a lot more interesting with the newly given context.

"i meant the records of the previous lives we've shared. i was pleasantly surprised to find out that i acted the same way i do now. although i must say, i didn't expect you to be so nervous to approach me."

"the what-? wait, let me read that." zhongli offered you the book, complying with your every command like he always did. without wasting another second, you read through the pages, your stomach dropping as you realized what he had been reading.

"you- you weren't supposed to see this!" you choked, face contorted into a look of humiliation and shock.

"oh? i truly do not mind. in fact, i feel flattered to have been chosen by you in my past life as a mortal."

zhongli continued, the more he spoke, the more you wanted to melt into a muddle and disappear from the face of the earth. "as for the more intimate moments, i also do not mind, though i never imagined myself to be so... rough. if it is what you find pleasing then i do not mind trying again in my current form."

if you didn't feel embarrassed a few moments ago, you sure were now. curse you modern au zhongli smut!!

hanging out with ei was always a pleasant occasion. yes, the god was ignorant to the running trends of teyvat and even more so to the trends of earth, but that was the appeal of it. you found her ignorance to be quite charming in a way. it didn't take away her competence as a god and it definitely didn't make her any less intimidating, but you found it refreshing (and hella hilarious).

in inazuma, your godly existence was never neglected. everytime you stepped out of the crux into inazuma, there would already be all kinds of decorations in the streets with dozens of guards waiting by the harbor and hundreds more people anticipating your arrival. today wasn't any different as you stepped into the harbor, only one key detail, ei wasn't there.

the thought had you dizzy in worry. she was usually so.. commited to you. and that sounded self-centered as all hell, but it was simply the truth. ei was the embodiment of consistency and loyalty, so it shocked everyone when she wasn't in the harbor to welcome you. you wasted not a second and headed straight for the grand narukami shrine.

you found yourself in the plane of euthymia for the very first time, stunned as to how massive it looked in real life. "i'm not angry or anything, but it was very out of character of you. is there anything wrong? are you fine or...?"

"no, everything is fine, your grace. i just do not wish to hurt you any longer. the guilt of my actions have finally settled in. and i can not feel any more remorseful than i do now."

"hurt me? when have you ever-"

"i have read of what i have done in the previous life we have shared together. my actions were absolutely preposterous! i wouldn't have chosen anyone over you, especially since we spent so many years growing up with each other." you could say nothing at the face of ei who truly sounded hurt and looked like was distressed beyond words.

"ah fuck, this is about the fanfics again, isn't it?"

safe to say, ei went from crying mess to blushing mess when you explained to her that the book she was reading was simply but a fictional story you wrote back then. and yes, you spent about 30 minutes explaining to ei that it was like a light novel because that's the only basis she had for such things.

you were out on a friendly date with kaeya and rosaria inside the angel's share that night. you were still wary of drinking anything with alcohol, scared of confessing anything about any of the genshin characters that you might regret. so you settled with drinking grape juice instead and still had a merry time with the two troublemaking alcoholics. the atmosphere around you was still a bit tense though, the people of mondstadt still not used to your casual behavior while being the all-creator. all eyes were on you and you felt it.

in a quest to break the tense atmosphere, venti hopped on top of a table (despite diluc's angry protests) and plucked his harp with a gentleness that was out of character for the bard. for the first time that night, the attention left you you and all eyes were on the anemo archon.

your relief hadn't lasted long though because the tale that venti told that night, was eerily similar to one of your 5wirl fanfiction. he sang of the creator, specifically using your given name, pining for himself in another life, one in which he had been a famed idol of some kind. he sang of the details of your inappropriate endeavors, repeating in his lines how much you enjoyed the many uses of his mouth.

sooner and later, kaeya started laughing and wheezing like a mad man, hitting your back in a teasing manner and rosaria looked at you with a smirk and a teasing glint in her eyes. but what annoyed you the most was the green bard who looked absolutely smug as he winked at your blushing face.

"fuck it, pass me a bottle of dead after noon, charles."

as soon as he finished his song, you dragged him out of angel's share, already a bit tipsy on the strong alcohol you had started drinking ever since he started exposing "holy (unholy) scriptures" to the rest of the world. you looked absolutely agitated, but venti couldn't erase the smile on his face. as you two left, the whole room snickered and smirked with knowing looks on their faces.

[shadows-and-flowers]

Reconciliation (Elriel) - Chapter 1

Author’s Note: What was originally going to be a one-shot, if not a long-shot, turned into a 3 part series. Oops? It’s been quite some time since I have written anything, especially a chapter, so feedback is wholly welcomed and worshipped. I hope you will find my work to your liking. :)

Many thanks of gratitude to @shedoessoshedoes for her fantastic edits!

Summary: Solstice passed months ago. Elain’s pain, however, has not. Unable to bear it, and the constant reminder being a mistake in the Shadowsinger’s presence, she seeks respite at a certain cabin to sort out her thoughts and just...breathe.

She didn’t expect him to care.

Oh, how wrong she was for that assumption.

Pairing: Elain x Azriel (Elriel)

Warnings: Mentions of heart break, assumed unrequited love, angst

Word Count: 2476

______________________________________________________________

Even the sky shared Elain’s sorrow.

Thick raindrops fell heavily on the window. Elain wordlessly lifted a finger to the glass and trailed after one, following its path until it disappeared. If only emotions were so easy to vanish like the pitter patter of the rain. Significant, yet vulnerable and gone just as quickly as their arrival. She didn’t like rain. It reminded her too much of the Cauldron, when she was pulled from the black depths soaked to the bone and dripping multitudes of droplets, just as the sky was doing now. It mimicked Elain’s emotions well. Covered by gloom in dark grey clouds as her heart has been clouded, shedding tears as her tears have flowed freely in the passing weeks.

Yes, the downpour was quite fitting tonight.

Sitting here curled by the window in her chambers, watching in silence and a heavy ache in her heart reminded Elain too much of the time when she was first Made. Grieving, counting the days and hours until her then intended wedding, unable to discern reality from the haze she found herself ensnared in; and although she did not sit here for the same reason, she was still grieving all the same. When she finally felt like herself again after many long months so long ago, she had hoped to not feel that kind of pain ever again.

She hoped in vain.

This was a mistake.

A mistake. No words spoken have stung so fiercely than those from that night. They haunted Elain, echoing without end in her ears. Solstice had passed months ago, and yet the wound was still fresh, as though it happened just yesterday.

Elain frowned. Doubt waged war on in her mind and consumed every thought. She didn’t understand any of it. Her connection with Azriel had always been special, a bond that couldn’t be put into words but was appreciated all the same, but the way he looked at her was unlike anything Elain had ever experienced; to be capable of taking her breath away and fill life in her lungs at the same time seemed impossible to her, something only heard of in Nesta’s books. Not even Greyson had possessed that power over her while she was a mortal. The way he touched her... Mother, how scandalous the mere grace of his fingers over her skin felt, setting fire to every part of her body. He, too, seemed unwilling to part let any interaction go by without touching as much as she was. Surely, she couldn’t have been mistaken, couldn’t have read the signs wrong. This was what Elain thought that night. His presence then afterwards became scarce, and he had joined dinner less and less until his seat was became nothing more than a hollow chair. And the times Elain had been blessed to see him – well, she could only count on one hand the number of times she’d been in the same room as him, and those times were even worse than his disappearances. He wouldn’t spare a single word. A nod at the most, never letting his eyes linger for more than a brief second, as though he couldn’t look at her. That was when the realization hit Elain. It that hurt more than his rejection.

He didn’t want her.

Tendrils of darkness curled around Elain’s hands and brushed against her skin with gentle strokes. They whispered in her ear. He misses you. He doesn’t mean it. He loves you.

Love. A cruel jest.

“Begone, shadows,” Elain demanded. “Unless your master intends to speak to me himself like a male, then I have no interest.”

Elain, Elain, they woefully chanted, and then disappeared into dark whispers as they vanished.

A soft knock rapped on her door, followed by the creak as it opened. Elain didn’t need to look to know who the visitor is would be and wasn’t surprised to see Feyre standing at the doorway when she turned away from the window.

Feyre’s smile was a soft one. Worried, but she did not wish to overstep. “I came to check on you. We missed you at dinner.”

“I’m sorry,” Elain said sincerely. “I guess I wasn’t hungry.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. She didn’t have much of an appetite, and doubted Azriel would attend, and if he did, she wasn’t going to subject herself to more humiliation and pain.

“Would you like to join Nesta and I for tea? It’s your favorite.”

Elain shook her head. “No thank you. I think I will retire to bed soon.”

Feyre frowned. It was not unlike of her to skip dinner, refuse tea, and shelter herself away from people. Those patterns resembled recently Made Elain too much, and Elain hated it.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I think I’m just tired.”

But Feyre, a skilled huntress — a skill requiring more than the knowledge how to notch an arrow— had a keen eye. She knew better than to believe her terrible lie. Far too observant — a skill Elain didn’t know to be jealous of or annoyed by — no conclusion would be made without her own findings. Even before becoming Fae, she possessed the particular skill of seeing through a mask, picking it apart piece by piece with nimble fingers until there was nothing left, and maybe it was because Elain did not particularly favor lying and didn’t have an air of aloofness about her like their older sister to dispel what she may be truly feeling, but hiding her emotions was not a skill she possessed.

After a long and uncomfortable moment of silence, Feyre spoke. “You’re not fine.” That’s my high lady seeing the truth

Elain lowered her gaze to her hands. Yes, she wasn’t fine. She hasn’t been fine for some time, and she was tired pretending otherwise. In a way, she felt glad, almost relieved, for Feyre’s attentiveness. At the same time, where would she begin? She wasn’t sure she’d understand. She didn’t know what it felt to not be wanted by the male her heart yearned for – needed. No one would understand.

And even if Elain were to, could she without feeling the pain's sharp sting?

A gentle hand touched Elain’s cheek. Feyre smiled wryly from where she sat beside her, thumb lightly stroking over her skin before running over to the corner of her eye. “You’re crying.”

It took a moment for Feyre’s words to register. Reaching up, Elain felt her face and realized she was, in fact, crying. She hastily wiped her face. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“Elain,” Feyre started, softly. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I’m okay.” Elain cringed at how harsh her voice sounded. Her shoulders slumped. “But if I’m okay then why do I feel so terrible?” she whispered.

Feyre considered the question as she stroked the back of Elain’s head, carding her fingers through her locks with fingers seeking to soothe her sister’s distress. “Some forms of pain linger longer and weigh more heavily than others,” she said, tenderly. “You endured that very pain after...” The Cauldron. Greyson. She didn’t finish in fear of reopening an old wound. A betrayal like the one Elain went through was difficult to get past.

“Greyson was not a true love.” The confession shocked even Elain. She had loved him, but...as she thought back prior to being Made, to her old life, it occurred to her she did not feel anywhere near as strongly for Greyson as she feels now for Azriel. It was the desperation to fall back into the life that was normal and comfortable ever since she could remember, or maybe it was to keep the life that was stolen from her and resulted in their poverty. She never wanted to endure that again; never wanted Nesta to go through that and suffer the same fate as their little sister had, supporting an ungrateful family in the harsh and dangerous conditions of freezing weather and scorching heat and wandering through dangerous forests.

Feyre’s face, shadowed with concern, softened as the realization dawned on her. Understanding shone in her eyes. “Love? Oh, Elain. Do you love someone now?”

“I do.” Elain barely recognized her own voice as it rasped out in barely above a whisper. Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision, and when Elain tried blinking them away, they fell freely. “And he doesn’t love me.” oh no babe

“Elain,” Feyre breathed, and took her sister in her arms and hugged her tightly.

“I just want the pain to go away.”

Her voice cracked, the words trembling in her throat and threatening to break apart all together. Elain didn’t try to say more; the ability to speak fled, and she had little desire to even so think about it, let alone allow her thoughts to dwell on it any more than she has. Her body trembled, and she closed her eyes. Whether it was an attempt to try to keep the tears at bay or to wistfully will away the pain, she didn’t know. For so long she has fought the heavy sorrow Solstice brought; the pain, the anger, loud doubts about herself echoing even in her sleep, the relenting questions. Months of silencing it, bearing it, of wondering why, only to determine with a shattering heart she wasn’t good enough. Now as she laid in her sister’s warm embrace, her scent a soothing balm to the aches in her soul, for the first time Elain stopped fighting and slumped in Feyre’s arms and let the tears flow, tucking herself deep in her chest as the silent tears turned into sobs.

Feyre’s arms tightened. “I’m so sorry. I wish I had known so that I could have — I wish I could have helped you.”

It was several moments when Elain’s cries subsided, now again a quiet river of tears streaming down her cheeks. She pulled away, and though Feyre loosened her hold, she didn’t drop her arms. Another moment carried on in silence before Elain finally spoke, her voice small and cracked with tears. “No one can help me.”

Feyre’s heart broke, but she understood. If there was anyone who understood her pain, it’d be Feyre. “May I ask...?”

Azriel almost kissed me. He regretted it and won’t even look at me. I’m a mistake to him.

She wanted to say the words; wanted to let them spill like a melody from her lips, to relieve herself of this burden. All Elain could offer was a shake of her head.

“I won’t press,” Feyre promised. “Do you need anything? Tea, food, a book?” Elain shook her head again. “I think I need to sleep.”

“I will leave so you can get rest, then. If you need anything, please come find me. I’ll be here.” A silent I’m here for you. Gently squeezing her arms, Feyre offered a smile before rising from her spot beside Elain and leaned over and kissed her head. “I love you. Sleep well.”

The door was only closed halfway when Elain called out. “Wait.”

Elain chewed on her lower lip in thought. She vaguely recalled there being a cabin somewhere they used, a safe place to be alone. She loved Velaris and her family – her sisters, her brothers through marriage and her miraculous nephew. Even the Inner Circle had become her family, and they welcomed her with warmth and open arms. But Azriel – it was too much. Too much thinking, too much feeling. She needed to get away. Even if for only a few hours just to breathe. As long as she was in the same home as him, always wondering where he could be, always being graced with his cruel scent whenever he was near, Elain wouldn’t be able to heal.

She needed to get away.

“There might be something you can do,” Elain said quietly. “I..I think I might want to get away from Velaris for a little while. Away from...this.” She winced, realizing her words weren’t as delicately put as she liked. Judging by Feyre’s face, she seemed to have understood her meaning. “Is there anywhere I can go to be by myself for a while?”

Understanding lit Feyre’s eyes. She smiled. “I know just the place.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cabin was lovely.

Elain couldn’t help herself. She marveled at every corner. Every piece of furniture was placed flawlessly, complimenting the room as though great thought had gone into the spot. A warmth filled the air; not a warmth to protect from the cold — although it did provide that, but a warmth that made her feel at home. One that offered comfort and a sense of peace. :)

Safety. She was safe from every thought and doubt.

“It’s beautiful,” she said softly as she turned to her sister who stood at the door, watching with a sparkle in her eyes with what Elain thought she saw was relief. “Thank you for bringing me here. I...” she trailed off, unsure how to express her gratitude. “Thank you.”

Feyre’s answering smile was more than enough for Elain to know she understood perfectly. “This cabin has a ward so no danger can come and harm you. It has its own magic as well. Anything you ask for, it will be granted.”

“Magic? If I ask for a loaf of fresh bread, it will give me –” She smelled the sweet, yeasty aroma first before a wrapped bundle appeared in her hand. Elain gasped and unwrapped it and found a warm loaf of freshly baked bread in the cloth.

Feyre grinned. “Anything you ask,” she repeated. “I will come back in a couple of days to check up on you.” She paused, hesitant, and gingerly asked, “Will you be okay by yourself?”

“I will be fine,” Elain reassured. She offered what she thought was a smile, though forced. “I...Don’t tell anyone. Not even Nesta. I know she means well but I need to be alone.”

“It’s our secret.”

Elain felt a weight lift from her shoulders at the promise, a rock of concern that no longer burdened her. She trusted Feyre’s words: she had never broken a promise or led her astray, and she and understood the need for isolation. She wouldn’t say a word.

“I know you want to know. I know you want to ask and I’m sorry I can’t talk about it.” Feyre opened her mouth to protest. Elain shook her head. “No. It’s not okay. I killed the King of Hybern, and I can’t even talk about what has broken my heart.” She laughed bitterly. “If you want to know...” Her jaw tightened. “Ask Azriel. I’m sure he will have a more than sufficient answer.”

Feyre frowned. She wanted to ask what she meant, when Elain turned and disappeared further in the cabin with her loaf of bread and thought better against it.

Then the realization dawned on her and she quickly winnowed away.

[absolutepokemontrash]

happy 666, my fellow chaotic bisexual <3 om! brothers discover uquiz, what happens??

Hell yeah <3 let’s do this!

The Brothers Discover uquiz

Why are These Questions So Weird..? (Lucifer)

*sigh*, what’s MC doing now? Quizzes? Well, that’s surprisingly tame in comparison to the other stuff they get up to. It was good of them to want to stimulate their brain-

Wait, these are just personality quizzes? Oh MC…

Wait, MC wants him to try some quizzes? Really? Ugh, fine. Only because he’s simping doing it for the sake of the exchange program. The point of this thing was for humans and demons to learn about each other, right?

These questions are… questionable. And so are the quizzes… what mindless drivel is this? He’ll have nothing else to do with it!

*three hours later*

“Lucifer, you haven’t slept in like, two days, go to sleep.” “Not now MC, I need to figure out what kind of -core I am…”

He’s addicted. But the good thing is, he can kick his addiction as easily as it started! He’s Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride! Some mere quiz website won’t get to him-

Oooo, what kind of cake is he? What kind of cake is he?

Why Didn’t He Get the Results He Wanted :( (Mammon)

MC! MC! MC! Pay attention to him! Why are they lookin’ at their dumb phone for? There was a much better view right in front of em’. The view is him! MC! Look at him!

In a fit of jealousy, he swipes the phone and sees… quiz results? Eh? MC? Why is this phone saying you’re submissive and breedable? Who the FUCK does this phone think it is talkin’ to his MC like that?!

Wait… why are they laughin’? It’s a joke quiz? Huh… is he submissive and breedable?

No, but only because he lied on the quiz questions to get the result he wanted.

Soon both he and MC are on their DDDs swapping weird quizzes and showing each other their results.

According to this quiz, and Mammon’s spirit animal is a crow. Huh, that’s the most accurate result he’s gotten all day.

After a while he does get bored of it though. After of course, he makes a quiz of his own and asks Lucifer to try it, but little does Lucifer know that ALL the results are bad! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ah, The Quiz Maker (Leviathan)

Levi both takes and makes quizzes, he knew about uquiz way before MC started taking quizzes to see what overrated vegetable they are.

Levi’s favourite kind of quiz are the fandom related ones that test his knowledge. Psh, these filthy casuals think they can beat his otaku knowledge? Don’t make him laugh!

Wait what do you mean he only got 6/13 right? Um, what the F U C K?

You know what? Whatever. He doesn’t need these stupid quizzes!

Five minutes after that, he’s back on the site.

Levi also likes to see what kind of fanfiction trope he is and who he’d be in a fanfiction. He always hopes for main character or love interest but he usually ends up getting “bitch who gets sidelined” or “mischaracterized baby”.

When he makes quizzes, he makes them as imbalanced as possible, and as a result, none of his quizzes get very popular.

MC needs to get him off the site because he just started a “how well do you know Tumblr memes” and we as a society don’t need to know if he was a Johnlock shipper.

GOD DAMMIT WHAT CAT IS HE????? (Satan)

MC? Why aren’t they reading the book he gave them? Was it that bad? MC? Satan waved his hand in front of their face a few times before they snapped out of their trance.

MC quickly explained that they got really absorbed in this quiz about what kind of cat they were. Everything else was irrelevant to Satan, he heard cat and snatched the phone. 

Ten minutes later and he was just breezing through cat related quizzes just to get to the picture at the end. No one tell him he can just Google cat pictures online, he’ll growl at you.

Okay do that if you’re a monsterfucker and you find that shit hot-

But anyway, after the initial cat bomb, Satan casually peruses the site, he likes the fiction trope quizzes a lot too.

Using his intense knowledge of both cats and books, he makes quite a few of his own quizzes to add to the site.

Oooooo, What Hand Cream Scent Should he Try? (Asmodeus)

Similar to Mammon, Asmo first got huffy that MC wasn’t paying attention to him, but on the other hand, they were keeping still while he painted their nails, so that was the only plus.

MC is honour bound to listen to him ramble! Why weren’t they chiming in with the occasional “uh huh” and “yes dear”?! This was an outrage! A scandal!

Oh, MC was doing a quiz on what kind of fruit they are? Ooo fun! Let him see!

Nail painting night gets out on hold while Asmo scrolls through assorted quizzes. He likes the dirty joke ones a lot (I mean, obviously) and he also loves the ones where they assign the quiz-taker a scent or perfume.

He’s always looking for inspiration for scents to try out~! This is great!

Beelzebub

Beel and MC were in the middle of talking about food, (surprise surprise) and Beel ended up asking about human world fast food chains.

“So, what one do you think I’d like?” “Here! Take this quiz and find out!”

Beel is a little confused at the contents of some of the question and quietly worries that if he hasn’t listened to the songs for the song lyric questions that his answer will somehow be corrupted, but he finishes the quiz quickly.

“Huh, yeah I can see you liking Wendy’s.” “Can we go?” “Sure buddy, when we visit the human world.”

Beel takes a lot of the food themed quizzes, but he quickly forgets about the site and continues on his day.

*Prolonged Snore* What huh? Quizzes? Space Quizzes? (Belphie)

When MC started asking the most random questions in the universe while Belphie was trying to nap, the Avatar of Sloth knew that his idiot human was up to something ridiculous.

“Why are you asking me about my favourite soda?” “Answer the question, cow-boy.”

After answering some more ridiculous questions, MC proudly proclaimed that Belphie really was a Pisces.

That… that was it? What the hell was MC looking at? A quiz website? Lame. He was going back to sleep.

Ugh, Belphie’s the lame one here guys. Smh.

—————

Ah Uquiz, you crazy crazy quiz site…

[five-rivers]

Solutions to Nonlinear Equations

For @currentlylurking for the Phic Phight.  :)

.

“Ancients, Vlad.  I’m not rejecting you because I’m a rebellious teenager and you’re an adult, I’m rejecting you because you’re incredibly creepy.”

Vlad sniffed in what he hoped was an aristocratic manner and raised an eyebrow, minutely adjusting his grip on Daniel to keep him pinned to the floor.  

“We’re human-ghost hybrids, Daniel.  I’d hoped that you’d have realized by now that we are meant to be ‘creepy.’”

Daniel squirmed and began to mutter into the carpet. “Clockwork never acts like this, I’m fine with him—”

Vlad pulled back as if burned.  He hadn’t heard that name in—in—

In a long time.  

Years.  

The thought was almost expelled from his head when Daniel managed to elbow him in the jaw hard enough to make him see stars. Before he knew it, Daniel had slipped from his grasp and zoomed away.  

Whatever aspersions Vlad cast on Daniel’s mastery of his ghostly abilities, the boy was fast.  When he put his mind to escaping instead of picking a fight, he managed it more often than not, to Vlad’s great frustration.  Hence Vlad’s usual strategy of needling the younger half-ghost until fighting was the only thing on Daniel’s mind.  

He set down on a nearby roof.  There went his plans for the day.  Which, admittedly, had consisted of distracting Daniel while his ghostly minions set up a nasty surprise for him at the school, hence making him fail his test, which would, in turn, convince Maddie and Jack to let Vlad set Daniel up with a tutor, something he had suggested to them earlier, and—

Well.  Daniel would find them, now, no doubt.  

Ah, well.  

He had more important things on his mind, now.  Such as, how in two worlds did Daniel know Clockwork?  Because Daniel never just said things like that.  He barely knew anything about ghost culture.  He wouldn’t know to bring up obscure, secretive, ghost historical figures.  He wouldn’t know what that particular name would mean to Vlad.  

Tongues of fire flared out of his fingers, bringing a measure of stability to the gyrations of his core and his emotions.  

Daniel knew Clockwork.  And, it seemed, met him with some regularity.  Enough for him to compare his actions to Vlad’s.  

Would that ghost never be satisfied with ruining Vlad’s life?  Was he not satisfied with—

He cut off the thought, shaking his head.  Never mind that.  

What Vlad needed to do was find Clockwork.  Which meant inducing Danny to go to him at a time when Vlad when Vlad could follow.  Which meant determining when he had visited Clockwork in the past.  An undertaking to be sure.  

He closed his eyes and teleported to his lab beneath his mansion.  

“Maddie!” he called out, even before his body had fully reformed.  

The hologram flickered to life with a faint crackled from the projector.  “What is it, sugarpie?” it asked with a smile.

“Review the audio recordings from Fentonworks,” ordered Vlad.  “Search for the term ‘Clockwork.’  Report findings to me.”

“Sure thing, honey!”

Vlad had to review the cheerfulness settings on the Maddie program.  Maddie was upbeat, but not that upbeat.  This was almost sickly sweet.  

He threw himself into a nearby chair.  

Clockwork.  He thought he’d never hear that name again.  Not after he’d been literally and figuratively ghosted by him.  

He telekinetically pulled a book off his shelf. He ran his fingers over the leather tooling on the cover.  The book had been given to him by Clockwork, years ago, when he was still in that hospital.

Clockwork had been the one to first show him the Ghost Zone, and all the wonders in it.  Clockwork had been his friend, his only friend, through that long, agonizing hospital stay. He had been supportive, wonderful, kind. He visited often, though not on a regular schedule.  He’d helped Vlad ride out the waves of misery and anger that so often threatened to overwhelm him.  

Then, without warning, nothing.  

No goodbye.  The last time he left, he had even said something along the lines of ‘see you soon,’ although the memory was frayed from age and Vlad could no longer recall the exact words.  For a long time, Vlad had worried something disastrous had happened to Clockwork. But then he had finally managed to build his own portal, reach the Ghost Zone under his own power, and, according to every search he did, every line of inquiry that bore fruit, Clockwork was just fine.  

Vlad had been furious.  He had been betrayed.  He had spent the better half of a decade trying to plot revenge against Clockwork, before realizing that was akin to plotting revenge against a god and turning his sights to a more manageable target.  

Now…

Now, Vlad just wanted answers.  Both as to the reason behind his abandonment and as to why Clockwork was apparently repeating history with Daniel.  

“Sweetie pie,” said the hologram, with a chime, “audio processing complete.  There are over ninety-nine instances where the word ‘clockwork’ is mentioned.  Would you like to play the selected files?”

“Yes,” said Vlad.  “Include the video portions where available, and the thirty seconds immediately prior to and following the mention.”

He turned his attention to the nearest screen.  He had a lot of videos to watch.  

There was an envelope pinned to it.  It was sealed with wax, impressed with the image of a pocket watch and the initials CW.  Vlad attempted, and failed, to suppress the growl that grew in the back of his throat. Was this a joke to Clockwork?

He tore the envelope from the screen, ripped it open with equal viciousness, and began to read.

.

Three cups sat on the tea service tray next to the teapot.

“Are you expecting someone else,” asked Danny, “or am I going to break one of these?”

Clockwork chuckled as he began to pour the tea.  “The former,” he said.  “Although you may always surprise me with the latter.”

He handed Danny his cup.  Danny inhaled deeply.  It smelled sweet.  “What is it?” he asked.  

“A chamomile blend,” said Clockwork.  “For calm.”

“I think Sam drinks chamomile before she goes to bed,” observed Danny, offhandedly.  “Who’s coming?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Danny made a face.  “Do you have to be mysterious all—”

The front door of Clockwork’s lair slammed open, and Danny jolted forward in alarm – the only people who regularly did that were the Observants, who didn’t much care for Danny – but Clockwork put a steadying hand on his shoulder and rewound his tea into his cup.

“Clockwork!” came the expected yell.  The yeller, however…

“Is that Vlad?” asked Danny, not quite scandalized, but more than a little surprised.  

“Why, yes,” said Clockwork.  

“Did you – Clockwork, did you invite him here?”

“Other than the Observants,” said Clockwork, “no one can enter unless I will it.”  He took a sip of his tea.  

“But,” started Danny.  

Clockwork raised a hand.  “Don’t worry, he’ll find us soon enough.”  He repurposed the hand to pat Danny’s knee.  “And even should he prove to be in a combative mood, I will not allow you to come to harm.  You are safe here, Daniel.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Danny, looking away, towards the door in the sitting room through which Vlad would presumably enter.  

Sure enough, a few seconds later Vlad half-flew half-skidded into Clockwork’s sitting room.  He leveled an accusatory finger at Clockwork.  “You!” he proclaimed, with a great deal of venom.  

“Hello, Vladimir, I’ve poured you some tea.  Why don’t you sit down?  I understand it has been some time.”

“You under-?  No!  I will not sit down!  I will not drink your tea.  Not after you abandoned me for over a decade, just like that bumbling oaf—”

“Hey!” interjected Danny, not only because Vlad had once again insulted his father, but because he could tell that Clockwork, regardless of his stoic façade, was actually quite upset.  

“Don’t interrupt me, Daniel,” snapped Vlad.  “You don’t know what this, this ghost is. What he does.  You don’t know that he gets close to you, makes you think you’re friends, and then drops you without a moment’s notice.  Did you think it was funny to string along a man in dire straits? Did you?”

“I did not abandon you, Vladimir, I—”

Vlad scoffed and went on a tirade that Danny honestly found hard to parse.  But it sounded like Vlad and Clockwork had known each other in the past and then fallen out of contact in a way that aggravated Vlad’s abandonment issues.  Which didn’t seem like Clockwork at all, but Vlad sounded extremely certain and insistent, and Clockwork’s upset was actually finding its way into his voice, now.  Danny didn’t—

With all the force and abruptness of epiphany, Danny realized what was going on here.  

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Danny, putting down his cup. “Vlad, breathe or whatever.  Clockwork, you did tell Vlad that you experience time nonlinearly, right?”

“Of course,” said Clockwork, clearly offended.

“But Vlad, ah, had you gone through natural portals often when you met Clockwork?  Or, like, did you ever see him without him initiating contact?”

“I didn’t have my portal built yet, Daniel, so, no.”

Danny turned to Clockwork.  “Why did you-?  No that doesn’t matter.  Haaauuuhh, Clockwork, do you have-?”

Clockwork waved a hand and a whiteboard appeared.  

“Thanks,” said Danny, picking a marker up from the little shelf on the bottom.  He uncapped it, then recapped it.  “Actually, before that.  Vlad—” he pointed at Vlad, who looked about one second from exploding “—you have some idea of how old Clockwork is, right?  Or at least how old ghosts can get?”

“Yes, Daniel,” said Vlad, managing to overlay his supercilious ‘I know better than you’ attitude over his still obvious anger.

“Okay, great.  So, just to establish, Clockwork has been around at least since, uh, beginning of time?”

“Give or take,” agreed Clockwork.  “Although I have not experienced it all directly.”

“Right,” said Danny.  “Just, already, his perception of time is different from our because of age differences.”

Vlad looked slightly less angry, and slightly closer to curious.  

“But, then, there’s the larger issue,” continued Danny.  This time his uncapping of the marker was decisive.  He drew a flat, straight, horizontal line across the whiteboard.  “This is our timeline.  We deal with time linearly.  We’ve also got, I don’t know, parallel timelines, like this.”  He drew several more lines.  “You following so far?”

“Yes, Daniel, I’ve read my share of science fiction.”

He was probably rolling his eyes.  Curse his solid-colored red eyes.  It made interpreting his looks and figuring out where he was looking during a fight much more difficult.  

“Anyway, Clockwork isn’t on any of these lines. Because he experiences time nonlinearly.”  He drew a squiggly up and down line on the board that resembled the world’s saddest sine wave.  Or cosine wave.  There wasn’t a y-axis on the not-quite-graph, so it wasn’t like anyone could tell the difference.  They were effectively the same.  

And Vlad still made fun of him for failing math. Danny knew plenty about math.  He just didn’t have time to do the work.  Mostly because of Vlad.  

“Now, that, that is Clockwork’s timeline.  It isn’t always in contact with ours.  It’s, like, solutions to a system of equations. Nonlinear equations,” he specified, in case it had been too long since Vlad had encountered basic high-school-level algebra.

“It is somewhat more complicated than that, Daniel,” said Clockwork, exasperated.  “It’s more of—"  

“Yeah, but this gets the idea across more than the whole parade metaphor, doesn’t it?”

“I would say not.  This doesn’t even begin to touch on my abilities.”

“That’s because we’re just talking about your perception of time,” said Danny.  He considered for a moment.  “And also your ability to interact with our timeline.”

“Which includes my ability to perceive multiple timelines.”

“But that’s complicated, and I still don’t get it,” complained Danny.  

“It is less complicated than what you are currently trying to explain.”

“To you maybe, but the whole point of this is that you aren’t seeing things the same way we are.  You disappeared on Vlad, what, a decade ago?”  He looked to Vlad for confirmation.  

“A decade is hardly any time at all,” said Clockwork with exasperation.  He sipped at his tea.  

“It was fifteen years.”

Clockwork made a somewhat dismissive motion with a gloved hand.  “It’s a tiny fraction of your life as a whole.”

“It’s… closer to a third of his current lifetime,” said Danny with a wince.  “Or a fourth?  I don’t know how old you are, dude.”

“I went to college with your parents.”

“I know, and you were already graying then. Your age is weirdly hard to place.”

Vlad gave Danny a look, but his body language was no longer screaming ‘I’m going to beat the snot after you.’  Danny counted that as a win under the current circumstances.  He disliked Vlad, but in a fight with Clockwork… Well, Clockwork could demolish just about anyone.  

Not that Clockwork would.  Just that he could.  

“Daniel—”

“Please, Vladimir.  Just sit down.  Try the tea. I made it for you.  I knew you would be upset, although I could not see exactly why.”  Clockwork was almost pouting, now.  “Fifteen years is such a short time.”

“Clockwork, I’m fifteen.”

“I know,” said Clockwork, patting Danny on the knee. “Your timeline is so small.  And cute.”

Vlad was now distinctly on his back foot, offput and disarmed.  “His timeline is cute?”

“It is.  Don’t worry, yours is almost as cute.”

Vlad opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Danny pushed the whiteboard away.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he said.  “Like I said, different perception of time.”

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel abandoned, Vladimir.  I simply wanted to give you some time to, ah, how should I put this?  Have space?  Find yourself?”

Vlad sat heavily on the couch.  

“You get used to it,” said Danny.  “But, Clockwork, do you think you can talk him into having fewer evil plans?  Because, really.  There are way too many.  Like, one a week.  They’re destroying my grades.  Have you ever seen anyone else who had weekly evil plans?”

“Evil plans, Vladimir?  Really?”

[danielxricciardo]

Hi love the writing! Could you do something angsty around 26 or 35 with max??

Summary: You found out Max cheated on you

Warnings: angst, swearing

Word count: 2.5k

26. “Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?”

35. “What will you do if we break up?”

'Max is looking at you' you read what your best friend Anthony, an engineer at Red Bull Racing, wrote.

And you worked at Red Bull Racing too, you decided with Max Verstappen, your boyfriend, that this is the best way for you to travel with him. You didn't have a complicated job. You dealt with filtering the negative ad on the team and then you gave it to Victoria to deal with the articles as she knew.

'Okay, let him look,' you write on the piece of paper that Anthony wrote quickly on.

You were at a meeting with all the Red Bull Racing employees, to your bad luck. Being in the same room with Max Verstappen was the last thing you wanted at the time.

Sure, your relationship was beautiful, or it had been anyway. He was whatever you wished from a man and more. He looked like a bad boy but he was the cutest and most thoughtful man you knew and he made you feel safe even when you couldn't see him.

His words still resonate in your mind and you had to make a supernatural effort not to cry.

You knew Max Verstappen loved you. He told you that every day and showed you through the gestures he made. He never gave you a reason to doubt him, and you didn't look for scandal either.

But every time you saw her, a lump appeared in your stomach. Without wanting to, you became careful around you, looking for her or Max. When you saw them talking, you looked for any excuse to go near them.

But your fear was unfounded, wasn't it? Max loved you, you were together for two years and you were fine.

But you also looked at her. She had also had a long-term relationship with Daniil Kvyat, a relationship of almost three years and they have a little girl together. There can be nothing between them.

Anthony has told you several times that Max and Kelly have been spending a lot of time together, at least lately, and you said you weren't worried. Why would you be?

But last night all your worries and fears came upon you at once. Anthony told you he saw Max leave the paddock with Kelly and didn't come back for about three hours. He didn't want to pay attention to this thing but when Anthony went to the driver to show him some sketches he noticed a small bruise on the backside of his neck.

"Really?" he tells you laughing. "How old are you to leave hickeys on your skin? Only teenagers still do that."

You felt all the color drained from your face. Hickey? You never left anything like that on his skin.

Anthony probably realized that what he said was not about you.

"Y/N... I'm so sorry..."

"It's ok," you say and smile at him even though you wanted to die at that moment. "I need a little bath, I'll be right back," you say and get up from the chair.

You started crying in the bathroom. You were disappointed, scared, disgusted, and shocked. To learn that someone you trusted unconditionally had been lying, cheating, and had developed an emotional bond with another woman behind your back was not registering in your brain.

Yes, you weren't a model, you didn't look like one, but Max always told you that you were perfect and that no other woman compares to you.

You literally could not wrap your head around what was happening...

You hoped that your darkest thoughts would never come true, but they did. Max and Kelly. Together. Behind your back.

It feels like every nerve in your body has either frozen or left your vessel completely. Your body literally enters a state of shock; adrenaline. You are absolutely stripped. Vulnerability. Disbelief. Disgust. Horror. Anger. Confusion. Shattering, crippling, traumatizing heartbreak.

Trust, honesty, and respect are necessary for a relationship, and Max just shattered all three at once. You have been the victim of an emotional crime. You ask yourself, how could this person fuck me over like this?

I trusted them.

I loved them.

I was loyal to them.

I kept my end of the fucking bargain.

How could you emotionally manipulate me?

What was I lacking?

Am I the problem?

Truly sickening, reality-twisting, mind-fucking stuff. You just couldn't believe that this was happening to you. Infidelity is something you hear about quite often, in books, movies, the media, or to other people, but not to you. This was somebody you loved with all of your heart, who told you he loved you, who had never shown the slightest inclination of dishonesty or moral transgression or disloyalty.

"Y/N, are you okay?" you heard Anthony behind the door, the fear and worry present in his voice.

"I'm fine," you say, though no one would have believed you. "I'll be there in a moment."

You splashed some water on your face, looked in the mirror, and bit your lip. You looked like hell. The eyes were red, the small veins that irrigated the eyeballs were broken, the face was red, in a combination between the violent crying crisis and the anger you had.

What were you going to do? Will you pretend you didn't know anything? Will you tell him you knew? Were you going to break up with him or were you going to wait for him to break up with you to be with Kelly?

You finally came out of the bathroom and Anthony was waiting for you at the door. He hugged you tight and assured you that everything would be fine. But he had no way of knowing that. It was nothing more than his simple hope that his best friend would not lose her fucking mind.

The phone starts ringing. Anthony lets you go and he goes to see who's calling you. He gives you a worried look. You immediately realized that it was Max who was calling you. Tears began to flow down your cheeks again and Anthony took your reaction as an invitation for him to answer the phone.

"Hey, man," he replies, and you don't hear what Max is saying. "No, she went for a coffee and left her phone on the table. Okay, I'll tell her. Okay, bye."

You approach him after he's finished the call to make sure you don't hear Max's voice.

"He said to go to his room."

"I don't want to see him."

"I realized that. Let's go, we'll deal with this problem later."

You went for a walk. The fresh air calmed you down a bit, but you had all kinds of thoughts in your mind.

How many times has this happened? Did you really want to know that? You really wanted to know how many times he kissed her and then he would come to you and tell you that he loves you.

If Anthony hadn't seen the hickey, how many more times did he planned to cheat on you?

Did he love her? That would have hurt you the most, knowing that you failed to give Max the love he needed and had to look for it in the arms and bed of another woman.

"Just know that I understand your feelings. I've been through this myself." Anthony breaks the silence and you look at him. "To be cheated on, it's a feeling of helplessness and zero self-worth. You feel as if you didn't do enough for that person which is why they reached out for someone else sexually or romantically. You blame it on yourself half the time. You dig for answers in your memories to try to figure out where you went wrong, where things started to go in a different direction. You hope that it won't happen again. You hope that the saying "once a cheater, always a cheater" it's just a myth. They broke your trust, how could you ever trust them again, right? You become paranoid when they go out at night or they don't answer your phone calls by the first ring. You find yourself having more down and depressed days than happy days. And a lot of questions will always replay in the back of your mind. Why? Why now? Why with them? How could this be happening to you? No matter how many times you get an answer, it won't be enough. Day after day, it'll get better but worse at the same time."

After two hours you returned to the paddock. You were immediately notified that Max was looking for you everywhere and he was worried he couldn't find you. Ironic, isn't it?

"Y/N!" you hear Max's voice.

"Do you want me to stay with you?" Anthony asks, standing in front of you to block your image of Max.

"No, it's okay. I'll handle it somehow..."

Anthony nods and leaves, staring angrily at Max.

"Hey, I was looking for you everywhere. Are you okay? Your eyes are a little red." he asks and if you didn't know better you'd think he cared.

"Let's go somewhere private."

You went to his room. You sat on his bed and thought about what you could say. You were thinking about what Anthony told you when you walked together.

Max hands you a dose of Red Bull and you take it, feeling your throat very dry.

"We need to talk," you tell him and you feel your eyes start to sting. It was not yet time to start crying.

"Okay? Is something wrong?"

"Is it true what Anthony told me?" you ask and you see that Max doesn't know what you mean; how would he know? "Is it true that you and Kelly spent some time together?"

His face went blank for a moment as he tried to understand.

"What you mean?"

You reach out your trembling hand to the collar of his polo shirt to lower it where Anthony told you it was the mark.

And Anthony was right. There was, in front of you, the hickey Kelly made on him.

Max didn't expect that. He looks at you with wide eyes and you hear his heart start beating harder. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He looked away from you, numb. You discovered his secret. You didn't know if he was afraid of your reaction or sorry you found out his little secret.

"I didn't intend to hurt you," he says, and you realize he's telling the truth.

He had a guttural voice.

You smile at them. A broken smile that hid the primordial desire to cry and hit him with all your best.

"I don't care about your intentions. They're irrelevant. You didn't intend to hurt me? Well, you didn't intentionally try to keep me from harm either."

You don't know where you had the strength to look into his eyes and not cry. Max looks crushed. Because you found out? Because you're breaking up? Because he has to put an end to the affair with Kelly?

"How long was it actually going on before I found out?"

You see Max trying to think of an answer that doesn't affect you so much or destroy you at all.

"For less than a month," he answers.

One month? Where were you a month ago? In Spain. Did something happen there? Did you notice anything strange about him? To his behavior? No. You didn't notice anything.

Was he really that good at hiding his mistakes?

That, of course, if he considers the relationship with Kelly a mistake.

"Did you ever think of me when you were with her?"

He did not answer. You didn't even know if you wanted to know the answer to that. What would it be like to answer that he never thought of you and that his mind was soaked in serotonin that only Kelly could think of those moments?

"I never stopped loving you."

"I don't believe you loved me while you were cheating on me. Love and betrayal are incompatible. I don't feel safe with that kind of 'love.'"

"So? You're breaking up with me?" Max asks.

Although you still had so much to say, you no longer had the power. You were so mentally and physically exhausted that you just wanted to be alone and cry.

"There's nothing else to do, is there?" you say and leave his room.

Anthony was waiting for you. He noticed that you had no tears on your face and frowned.

"What happened? Did you guys make up?"

You hug Anthony hard and cry. At that moment you gave up being strong. You gave up pretending, even in front of you, that you were fine.

Fuck it, you weren't fine. You were far from fine.

You looked back at Christian Horner, who was presenting something on the video projector. You lost the whole meeting with the crew. You had no idea what was being said.

Honestly, you don't even care what they said. You only worked there because you were Max Verstappen's girlfriend. But for eighteen hours, this was no longer true. So what's stopping you from going to Christian and telling him you're resigning? What keeps you from going home and forgetting about Max, forgetting the last two years of your life and starting over?

"That's it for today, thank you very much, friends, and let's get back to work, yeah?"

Everyone gets up from their seats. Anthony draws your attention and beckons you to look at the garage door.

You could faint then and there. No one and nothing ever prepared you for the emotions you were experiencing then. Kelly Piquet was at the garage door, waiting for the meeting to end. She was staring at Max, but he was just looking at you.

"Can we talk a little?"

You nod to Anthony that you're fine and he can leave. You look at Max and you see that he doesn't look very good. He had dark circles and you're sure he didn't sleep last night either, just like you.

“Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?” he asks, looking down at his shoes.

"Yes," you answer categorically, looking at his face, waiting for him to raise his head so you can look him in the eye.

“What will you do if we break up? You will leave here or-” you interrupt him.

"Not 'if I break up with you,' we've already gotten over it," you say and Max looks at you with wide eyes. "We already broke up last night. I'm still here because I haven't had a chance to talk to Christian yet to tell him I'm resigning."

"Are you leaving?"

"I have nothing to do here. I came to Red Bull Racing for you."

A tear runs down Max's cheek.

"What can I tell you to stay?"

"There's nothing left to say. Now go," you say and you feel a lump in your throat. "She's waiting for you."

Max turns to the garage door to see who you're talking about.

"I gave her a text message last night and told her it was all a mistake between us."

You smile at him. "Goodbye, Max," you say then you shout for Christian.

[shirbertshitposts]

10 Shirbert Moments from Anne of Green Gables series I think about a lot

In honor of Valentines Day I thought I would post a list of some of my favorite Anne and Gilbert moments. It was hard to narrow it to just ten as I have been going through all nine books and trying to queue posts about all their iconic moments through the series; However I decided to pick the ones that I remember even when I haven’t read the books in a while. I didn’t have the heart to rank them properly so they’re just listed in chronological order.

1. His future must be worthy of its goddess

In the twilight Anne sauntered down to the Dryad’s Bubble and saw Gilbert Blythe coming down through the dusky Haunted Wood. She had a sudden realization that Gilbert was a schoolboy no longer. And how manly he looked—the tall, frank-faced fellow, with the clear, straightforward eyes and the broad shoulders. Anne thought Gilbert was a very handsome lad, even though he didn’t look at all like her ideal man. She and Diana had long ago decided what kind of a man they admired and their tastes seemed exactly similar. He must be very tall and distinguished looking, with melancholy, inscrutable eyes, and a melting, sympathetic voice. There was nothing either melancholy or inscrutable in Gilbert’s physiognomy, but of course that didn’t matter in friendship!

Gilbert stretched himself out on the ferns beside the Bubble and looked approvingly at Anne. If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to Anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul. Gilbert was as yet little more than a boy; but a boy has his dreams as have others, and in Gilbert’s future there was always a girl with big, limpid gray eyes, and a face as fine and delicate as a flower. He had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess. Even in quiet Avonlea there were temptations to be met and faced. White Sands youth were a rather “fast” set, and Gilbert was popular wherever he went. But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne’s friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl, whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them. In Gilbert’s eyes Anne’s greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the Avonlea girls—the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor. Anne held herself apart from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations.

-- Chapter XIX, Anne of Avonlea

2. For the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze

“What are you thinking of, Anne?” asked Gilbert, coming down the walk. He had left his horse and buggy out at the road.

“Of Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving,” answered Anne dreamily. “Isn’t it beautiful to think how everything has turned out . . . how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been NO separation or misunderstanding . . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?”

For a moment Anne’s heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before. The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.

Gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne’s remembered blush. Four years of earnest, happy work . . . and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won.

-- Chapter XXX, Anne of Avonlea

3. I just want YOU

“I have a dream,” he said slowly. “I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends—and YOU!”

Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her.

“I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?”

Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer.

They lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in Eden must have been, crept over it. There was so much to talk over and recall—things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood.

“I thought you loved Christine Stuart,” Anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to suppose that she loved Roy Gardner.

Gilbert laughed boyishly.

“Christine was engaged to somebody in her home town. I knew it and she knew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me his sister was coming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if I would look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. So I did. And then I liked Christine for her own sake. She is one of the nicest girls I’ve ever known. I knew college gossip credited us with being in love with each other. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else—there never could be anybody else for me but you. I’ve loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school.”

“I don’t see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a little fool,” said Anne.

“Well, I tried to stop,” said Gilbert frankly, “not because I thought you what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there was no chance for me after Gardner came on the scene. But I couldn’t—and I can’t tell you, either, what it’s meant to me these two years to believe you were going to marry him, and be told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on the point of being announced. I believed it until one blessed day when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter from Phil Gordon—Phil Blake, rather—in which she told me there was really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to ‘try again.’ Well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that.”

Anne laughed—then shivered.

“I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew—I KNEW then—and I thought it was too late.”

“But it wasn’t, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn’t it? Let’s resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us.”

“It’s the birthday of our happiness,” said Anne softly. “I’ve always loved this old garden of Hester Gray’s, and now it will be dearer than ever.”

“But I’ll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne,” said Gilbert sadly. “It will be three years before I’ll finish my medical course. And even then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls.”

Anne laughed.

“I don’t want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU. You see I’m quite as shameless as Phil about it. Sunbursts and marble halls may be all very well, but there is more ‘scope for imagination’ without them. And as for the waiting, that doesn’t matter. We’ll just be happy, waiting and working for each other—and dreaming. Oh, dreams will be very sweet now.”

Gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her. Then they walked home together in the dusk, crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of love, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hope and memory blew.

-- Chapter XLI, Anne of the Island

4. Gilbert, I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you.

"Gilbert darling, don't let's ever be afraid of things. It's such dreadful slavery. Let's be daring and adventurous and expectant. Let's dance to meet life and all it can bring to us, even if it brings scads of trouble and typhoid and twins!"

Today has been a day dropped out of June into April. The snow is all gone and the fawn meadows and golden hills just sing of spring. I know I heard Pan piping in the little green hollow in my maple bush and my Storm King was bannered with the airiest of purple hazes. We've had a great deal of rain lately and I've loved sitting in my tower in the still, wet hours of the spring twilights. But tonight is a gusty, hurrying night . . . even the clouds racing over the sky are in a hurry and the moonlight that gushes out between them is in a hurry to flood the world.

"Suppose, Gilbert, we were walking hand in hand down one of the long roads in Avonlea tonight!"

Gilbert, I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you. You don't think it's irreverent, do you? But then, you're not a minister."

-- Chapter 9, Anne of Windy Poplars

5. Suitable Places

"(Are you sure you kiss me in suitable places, Gilbert? I'm afraid Mrs. Gibson would think the nape of the neck, for instance, most unsuitable.)”

-- Chapter 12, Anne of Windy Poplars

6. He narrowly escaped bursting with pride

"Anne, this is Captain Boyd. Captain Boyd, my wife."

It was the first time Gilbert had said "my wife" to anybody but Anne, and he narrowly escaped bursting with the pride of it. The old captain held out a sinewy hand to Anne; they smiled at each other and were friends from that moment. Kindred spirit flashed recognition to kindred spirit.

-- Chapter 6, Anne’s House of Dreams

7. Queen of my heart and life and home

"Gilbert, would you like my hair better if it were like Leslie's?" she asked wistfully.

"I wouldn't have your hair any color but just what it is for the world," said Gilbert, with one or two convincing accompaniments.

You wouldn't be ANNE if you had golden hair—or hair of any color but"—

"Red," said Anne, with gloomy satisfaction.

"Yes, red—to give warmth to that milk-white skin and those shining gray-green eyes of yours. Golden hair wouldn't suit you at all Queen Anne—MY Queen Anne—queen of my heart and life and home."

"Then you may admire Leslie's all you like," said Anne magnanimously.”

-Chapter 12, Anne’s House of Dreams

8.  Annest of Annes

But the best of all was when Gilbert came to her, as she stood at her window, watching a fog creeping in from the sea, over the moonlit dunes and the harbour, right into the long narrow valley upon which Ingleside looked down and in which nestled the village of Glen St. Mary.

"To come back at the end of a hard day and find you! Are you happy, Annest of Annes?"

"Happy!" Anne bent to sniff a vaseful of apple blossoms Jem had set on her dressing-table. She felt surrounded and encompassed by love. "Gilbert dear, it's been lovely to be Anne of Green Gables again for a week, but it's a hundred times lovelier to come back and be Anne of Ingleside."

-- Chapter 3, Anne of Ingleside

9. I couldn’t live without you

Anne felt like a released bird . . . she was flying again. Gilbert's arms were around her . . . his eyes were looking into hers in the moonlight.

"You do love me, Gilbert? I'm not just a habit with you? You haven't said you loved me for so long."

"My dear, dear love! I didn't think you needed words to know that. I couldn't live without you. Always you give me strength. There's a verse somewhere in the Bible that is meant for you . . . 'She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.'"

Life which had seemed so grey and foolish a few moments before was golden and rose and splendidly rainbowed again. The diamond pendant slipped to the floor, unheeded for the moment. It was beautiful . . . but there were so many things lovelier . . . confidence and peace and delightful work . . . laughter and kindness . . . that old safe feeling of a sure love.

"Oh, if we could keep this moment for ever, Gilbert!"

"We're going to have some moments. It's time we had a second honeymoon. Anne, there's going to be a big medical congress in London next February. We're going to it . . . and after it we'll see a bit of the Old World. There's a holiday coming to us. We'll be nothing but lovers again . . . it will be just like being married over again. You haven't been like yourself for a long time. ("So he had noticed.") You're tired and overworked . . . you need a change. ("You too, dearest. I've been so horribly blind.") I'm not going to have it cast up to me that doctors' wives never get a pill. We'll come back rested and fresh, with our sense of humour completely restored. Well, try your pendant on and let's get to bed. I'm half dead for sleep . . . haven't had a decent night's sleep for weeks, what with twins and worry over Mrs. Garrow."

--Chapter 41, Anne of Ingleside

10. Old love light

DR. BLYTHE:- “The old, old love light that was kindled so many years ago in Avonlea ... and burns yet, Anne ... at least for me.” 

ANNE:- “And for me, too. And will burn forever, Gilbert.” 

-- Page 189, The Blythes Are Quoted

Feel free to respond to this post with any of your favorite shirbert moments that I missed!

[serenasoutherlyns]

Not a Summer Crush Part Seven

a/n: It's heeeeere! The night before my classes start for the fall. There's a timeskip from the previous part-- Caroline, Alex, and Casey have all been together for about a month and it's the transition between fall and summer. This one features fighting and humor and lots of Jack McCoy. Any and all feedback makes my world!

Part Seven

The weeks passed in late nights spent in the same office, in morning lattes and afternoon runs (that often ended in the kinds of showers that don’t save water, with the almost frantic pulling off of clingy clothing, with breathy “god yes”-es and rushing to the door when either of you heard Alex’s key in the lock). Jack McCoy noted with pride how efficient it appeared your bureau had become since the summer started.

It was important to maintain a good amount of discretion. As progressive as the world may be becoming, you knew that the DA’s office had to keep up appearances; that it wouldn’t be good for you, and Jack (and, by extension, you again) for the media to get wind of your relationship. Besides, you wanted to keep it personal, special.

But oh. The thrill of the honeymoon phase is so irresistible.

A Friday night, one where the air began to have the kind of bite that previewed the coming fall, found you and Alex together in a candlelit restaurant waiting for Casey to join you. You had some sense, choosing a place not normally frequented by the Hogan Place set, in the opposite direction from your apartment. You set your glass of wine beside Alex’s and took her hand in yours, above the table this time. You couldn't resist leaning in, kissing her softly.

���Caroline,” she said as you pulled away, smiling at you with the same look you’d first seen months ago, that you hadn’t known was what it was until you’d seen it over and over as she pulled you tighter into her arms.

“Alex,” you said, enticingly, all but batting your eyelashes. She ran her fingers along yours in apology. “I know,” you said, placing your hands back on the table, leaning back against the booth seat. “We could always meet Casey when she gets to your place,” you said, looking at your phone. “Except she’s almost here.”

Alex laughed lightly. “You’re insatiable,” she scolded you, teasingly. You shrugged, knowing it was accurate. “And I’m hungry.” She picked up her menu.

Across the room, around the corner, sitting at a single table, Jack McCoy returned his focus to his book, trying to convince himself he hadn’t seen what he thought he did.

---

Jack was on high alert at the office. He had been too far away, he couldn’t be sure. And it was such an out of the way place-- he went there when he didn’t want every law student and defense attorney on the island to vie for a piece of his ear. So it couldn’t’ve been them, Jack thought. Who am I kidding? That’s exactly the kind of place they’d go. After all-- Jack knew from affairs.

He wouldn’t have expected this of Alex Cabot, knowing how in love she and Casey were. Though, now he considered the possibility, the two of you seemed to gravitate towards one another in a characteristic way. He remembered seeing her hand linger on your shoulder a beat too long in the courthouse hallway.

Who knows, he’d always expected Mike and Connie would go for it one day, and they still hadn’t. When Erika Keller and Anna Mikhailova had filed their disclosure he could’ve sworn he’d needed to get his eyes checked, having heard the way the two of them could argue. Maybe he wasn’t the best judge of things. Because I’m looking for myself in other people. He leaned in his chair. He’d do the introspection later. For now, he’d do what he could to keep one of his bureau chiefs out of a public scandal. Besides, they were too far away. It could’ve been anybody’s curls bouncing in laughter, could’ve been anyone’s impeccable posture. He hoped.

He made a point that Monday around noon to personally stop by the junior office on your floor, but found only Nick Anderson (who, he remembered, he needed to talk to about a possible change of bureaus) with his head buried in a journal.

“Mr. McCoy,” he said as soon as he realized he wasn’t alone, snapping the book shut harder than he needed to. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, Nick,” Jack said, a little disappointed that he’d roused the guy from what was clearly riveting reading. “I was just looking for Caroline.”

Anderson’s face fell. Evidently, he was used to that line of inquiry. Poor guy. McCoy remembered the days when he’d given the least helpful junior ADAs piles of nothing to keep them out of his hair. No obvious changes, Jack noticed as he looked around your side of the office. No notes or photos or out-of-the-ordinary gifts. Though, someone needs to show this woman the value of an organized space, he thought. It’d be hard to notice anything among the pile of papers.

“Mr. McCoy?” he heard Anderson say.

“Yeah?” he replied, somewhat irritated.

“Oh um,” he said, what little confidence he had faltering. “I just said she was in Ms. Cabot’s office, sir.”

Jack’s stomach dropped. That may as well be “step one” in the old Jack McCoy playbook, get her in your space as often as possible. Oh come on, Jack. She’s her boss. They’re probably going over witness statements. Right. And how many witness statements did Sally and I review together while I was still going home to Ellen? He swallowed. “Thank you. And you don’t need to ‘sir’ me anymore. You’ve earned your desk.”

“Yes s-- got it, Mr. McCoy.” Anderson returned to his book. Jack continued down the hall.

---

“You really think she’s being honest?” Alex’s question was audible through her slightly-open door.

“She’s our witness!” you said, matching her tone. Somehow, the mood in the office was light even in your disagreement.

“Witnesses lie,” Jack said, surprising the both of you as he nudged his way in the room.

“When it’s in their best interest,” you said, acknowledging him with a nod in his direction. Jack liked how you didn’t let etiquette get in the way of your arguments. “Alex,” you said, pointing your gaze at her. I know that look. “What good does it do her to lie about who she was with?”

Alex fired right back at you, not bringing McCoy into the conversation. “She avoids embarrassment? Guilt? Fear? I’m not putting her on the stand unless we can verify her testimony.”

“Then we’re looking at an acquittal,” you said dryly.

“Because I won’t suborn perjury? O ye of little faith,” Alex responded. Jack caught a playful lilt in her voice. He was liking this less and less with each piece of evidence he uncovered.

“Do you know for certain she’s lying?” Jack said, breaking the intensity in the room.

“No, but--” Alex said.

“Exactly--” you said at the same time.

“Are you certain she’s telling the truth?” He asked. “This is People v Buckman?” he clarified. Alex nodded. You pushed an offending curl out of your eyes. “I would probably put her on the stand,” you smirked, “and when defense -it’s Elsie Campbell, right?- I’d have no recourse when defense tears her story to pieces.” You shrugged, never minding being the first to concede defeat.

“I’ll see if Detective Rollins is up for a coffee break,” you said, grabbing your phone and attache, but, Jack noticed, leaving your cardigan hanging on the extra hook. “Sometimes I wish I’d stayed in California,” you said, “reciprocal discovery would be pretty sweet.”

“Ouch,” Alex said as you walked out of the office. You waved a hand over your shoulder.

“Did you need something, Jack?” Alex asked, glad she’d known him long enough to be casual.

“Nothing,” he lied, and when she looked puzzled, said, “I was actually checking on the Buckman case.”

“I’m in no need of supervision,” Alex said under her breath. “Anything else I can clarify for you?”

Tell me I’m wrong about this, he thought. “No,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve got it under control.”

---

Of course, if Jack McCoy had been a more athletically inclined man, he may have run into you and Casey in the park two days before the restaurant, cooling down from the 5 and a half miles you’d done. He may have seen you tug on the hem of Casey’s tank top, seen her whisper something in your ear that made you blush and laugh, he may have caught the split second her lips met your jawline, seen the two of you heading off for the subway together.

And if he’d seen that first he may have tried to convince himself that it was another red ponytail and another person’s graceful lines. That there were so many people who jogged in that park, that it couldn't have been you.

He would’ve made a point to stop by the juniors’ office, maybe earlier in the day. Nick Anderson would’ve told him you were in Casey’s office and his stomach would’ve dropped. That may as well be “step one” in the old Jack McCoy playbook, get her in your space as often as possible. Oh come on, Jack. She’s her boss. They’re probably preparing for an admissibility hearing. He’d remind himself to schedule a meeting with Anderson for the end of the week.

He’d continue down the hall to find you and Casey sitting together, wordlessly handing one another documents highlighted in different colors. He’d remember the last time he was that in sync with an assistant and an undeniable flutter of recognition would’ve hit him.

But he hadn’t been in the park.

---

Your phone buzzed on the counter. You dried your hands quickly on the dishtowel, you turned off the tap. In the living room, Ashley was gathering the toys and books scattered about. Ramin was late at the office.

1 new message from: Alex to: you, Casey:

Alex: I just had quite the meeting with Jack.

---

“You wanted to see me, Jack?” Alex said, entering his office after most of the lawyers had gone home or

retreated to their own offices for the night.

“Actually, I’d really rather I didn’t need to,” he said. Alex’s concern showed on her face.

“Is this about the Buckman case? I know it’s going to be extra time to look into her statement,

but I really think this could be a break in the case, if she’s telling the truth or lying, so I thought it was justified. I could probably still make the argument without her, but it feels worth it--”

“No, the case is fine. Besides, it’s your case. I-- Alex we need to talk about… it’s maybe a more personal issue,” Jack said, shifting his hands’ position on the desk in front of him.

Alex’s eyes widened. “Are you speaking as my boss or as my friend?” Jack melted, remembering that they were friends, and that he could approach the topic as a friend. Though, usually, he wouldn’t have to confront a friend about their romantic life. Or if he did, it wouldn’t have professional repercussions. Electoral repercussions, he heard a younger, more emotional version of himself say to Adam Schiff 20 years ago. Sorry, Adam.

“Both, I hope, now that you mention it.”

Alex paused a moment, considering what to say. She had an idea what Jack was getting at, but no idea how he had come to that conclusion. He probably has some kind of sixth sense, she thought. “Start as my boss.”

Jack took a deep breath. “OK. I’ll tell you something Adam Schiff told me when I was in your position,”

Alex felt the need to stop him, to find out exactly what he thought he knew. “Wait. Before you reprimand me. What position am I in? What do you think I’m doing?”

“Jesus, Alex. What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. She didn’t answer him. “You’re having an affair with Caroline Haley.” He wasn’t asking her a question, and the disappointment in his voice was wounding. Alex took a deep breath. “You’re not going to deny it?”

“What makes you think we’re having an affair?” She was determined to out-wit him, get him to show her all his evidence before letting go of anything he was unaware of. Under New York law it is the prosecution’s responsibility to disclose any exculpatory evidence, she thought. And a lawyer who represents herself still has a fool for a client.

Jack looked at her blankly. Was she really going to make him spell it out? Well, he’d missed presenting cases. “I’ve noticed that she spends a lot more time in your office than her own,” he started. Alex’s poker face remained unchanged. “Your conversational style is, quite, amiable, ah,”

She couldn’t suppress a smile, then, biting back a laugh. “My apologies,” she said. “All you have as proof of this alleged affair is friendly conversation and spending time together?”

Jack tried to play into her humor. “I’ll remind you Ms. Novak Cabot,” he said, using her married name to see if it got a reaction (no luck), “that adultery is still a class B misdemeanor in the state of New York.”

Alex snatched that opportunity. He opened the door, your honor. “And how many three-month stays do you owe the good people of New York, Mr. McCoy?” He looked caught-out. The upper hand was hers. “Are you sure you’re not just seeing your old habits?”

“You know, it’s funny you should say that. Because after this coming election, I was going to ask you to be my EADA. But you know I can’t do that if there is even the slightest appearance of impropriety.”

“So this is about election results? You and I both know my patience for politics is--”

“Limited, yes. But don’t tell me you’re not the slightest bit interested.”

“I’d have to think about it, Jack,” she said honestly. It seemed to surprise him, which didn’t surprise her. He seemed to forget, often, that she’d arguably done much more important work (and he seemed to forget that Tracey Kibre had turned down the same position more than once, that some people enjoyed seeing their partners and the insides of their apartments every once in a while). “But that’s not why you wanted to talk to me, and you’ve yet to convince me that you have any idea about any affair.”

“Where were you last Friday evening?” Jack asked her, in full cross-examination confidence.

Alex flinched, her first misstep since she’d come in. She wasn’t going to out-right lie to him if disguising the truth would do. However he knew this (if he knew anything), she had no way of knowing how much he knew. “I had dinner with Caroline at a restaurant near her apartment in Brooklyn.”

“A working dinner?”

“I can’t be friends with my colleague?”

“Trilogy isn’t a particularly platonic place as far as I know,”

“You spied on me outside of work?”

“I happened to be there,” Jack said. Alex rolled her shoulders back, trying to let go of some of the anger she had at what felt like an invasion of her privacy, even if it had been public. “I saw her kiss you, Alex. I know.” Alex didn’t answer him. Jack, uncomfortable with the silence, said “I really do understand. I sympathize with what you’re going through, I know it isn’t easy.”

Her frustration gathered itself in her cold fingertips that she realized were gripping the arms of her chair, hard. “Actually, you don’t understand,” she said, quietly, as politely as she could. “You have an incomplete picture of the nature of our relationship.” Jack opened his mouth to argue. “I won’t say any more,” Alex said, certain, “except that Caroline has done absolutely nothing wrong, and if you go after her about any of this, you will have my resignation.” Jack nodded.

“You understand how something like this could look to the public? You understand that your position is at stake?”

“I understand.”

“I mean, just the power dynamic alone, disregarding the infidelity, and I hate to say it, but you know how rampant homophobia still is.” She clenched her jaw, but she didn’t look guilty.

“I know. Now, I’d like you to be my friend for a moment,” she said. “Please.”

He smiled weakly.

“As your friend, I’d tell you not to cheat on your wife,” Jack said. Alex looked serene.

“I won’t,” she said, rising from her seat. “Goodnight, Jack.” She left faster than he could return the sentiment. He’d hoped he had more comforting things to say. And he wanted to know what on earth she’d meant by “the nature” of their relationship. He trusted she’d take extra care now that she knew he knew. It was not going to be a fun secret to keep.

---

She didn’t tell you what the meeting was about, so you knew it couldn’t have gone well. Quite the meeting. You hoped it wasn’t what you thought it was. You said you’d be there soon. You moved through the apartment quickly, leaving the last of the dishes in the sink, snagging your keys off the hook, tossing them along with your phone into your backpack.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Ashley asked. You knew he’d been looking forward to catching up on episodes of The Bachelor, and you did hate to disappoint him. You looked up from tying your shoes.

“Alex and Casey’s,” you said. His shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you.” He rolled his eyes. “What?” you asked. “You can watch without me, you know, I don’t mind.”

“I don’t care about the show,” he said, returning to his tidying.

You stood up, crossing your arms. “Something you want to say?” He shrugged.

“No, no. Go have fun,” he said.

“I don’t think it’s going to be a whole lot of fun,” you said, trying to keep the worry buried. “Alex texted, she said that Jack had called her into his office this evening over something.”

“That surprises you?” Ashley said, his voice high-pitched.

You looked at him with your eyes wide. “I’m sorry?” you said, resisting the urge to raise your voice.

“What did you think was going to happen, Caroline?” he said, with a patronizing look that made your stomach turn.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” you said. Two could play at passive aggression.

Ashley laughed bitterly. “I mean, did you not think twice before risking your job, everything you’ve worked towards to be what, the third wheel in a relationship that existed far before you came across it?”

“Ashley,” you warned him.

“I thought you were trying to work on the self-sabotage, I mean, you’ve never even been in a relationship before,”

“That’s not exactly true,” you said. You were starting to feel nauseous. He knew you well enough to know that he was pushing right on all your insecurities.

“That lasted more than a couple months, then, which is hardly anything.”

“I think we’ve gone over that a couple times-- Just because you’re so morally invested in monogamy doesn’t mean it’s for everyone--”

“You really want to be the girl who sleeps with the boss? No, sorry, the girl who sleeps with both of the bosses?”

“It’s-- wow. Tell me how you really feel.”

It was quiet for a moment as the two of you dared the other person to talk first.

“I just don’t think you’re making the best decision,” he said.

“I thought you were happy for me,” you replied, and walked out the door.

---

You didn’t usually ride your bike after dark. It felt right, though, as you went, releasing your nervous (and sad, and angry) energy out through the pedals. Your arms came up in goosebumps, from the chill in the air or the trepidation in your spine. It started to rain.

---

You and Alex arrived almost simultaneously. She was accepting a cup of tea that Casey was offering her when you came in. You were a walking cliché with your hair stuck to the side of your face, shivering. “Hi,” you said, shakily. You hadn’t quite been crying. The insecure part of you felt small, out of place, intrusive: they had this cozy, tidy, warm apartment, mugs of hot tea in their hands; and you were shattering it with the chaos that followed in the wake of your personal life. You were being so selfish, so inconsiderate, bringing your own emotional baggage with you despite Alex being the one having a hard time. For a split second you thought about leaving with no explanation, dashing out almost as soon as you shut the door. Casey held up a mug for you. It was one of a matching set of three.

“Jack thinks we’re having an affair,” Alex said, matter-of-fact, as you slipped out of your shoes and made your way to the counter Casey was leaning against. Alex was pacing, slowly, how she often did when she was figuring something out. You took a sip of your tea, grateful for the warmth, then set it on the counter and rested your head on Casey’s shoulder. She jumped and you laughed, the relief spreading through you. She squirmed as you pressed closer, letting out a squeak at the feeling. You let her go, listening to the quiet creaking of the floor.

“Which us?” you asked, matching the seriousness of the subject again. “All of us?”

“Just you and I,” Alex said.

“How did he come to that conclusion?” Casey asked, knowing there were equal cases to be made for any combination.

Alex stopped moving, pushing herself up to sit on the counter opposite to you. “To begin, he was apparently at Trilogy last Friday night.” The goosebumps threatened to make a repeat appearance. This was your fault.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, your eyes lost in your teacup. “I was reckless.” Out of the corner of your eye, you felt Apollo the duck stare at you accusingly with the stone cold eyes he didn’t have.

“Don’t be sorry. I was there too,” Alex said, meeting your gaze as you looked up. “He didn’t stick around long enough to see Casey.”

“What did you end up telling him?” Casey asked, letting herself be the problem-solver for the night.

“Very little,” she said. “He doesn’t have the complete story. That he should hold off on any judgements unless and until he did.”

“Did it work?” you asked.

“Well enough, I think. You don’t need to worry about your job. I threatened him with my resignation if he said a word to you about it.” Your heart beat faster. Sacrifices for your sake, or the offer of them, made you uneasy.

“You don’t have to put your career on the line for me,” you said, the same shaky tone edging into your voice again. Alex blinked at you, like it was no big deal, like it was the obvious choice. Casey traced circles on your shoulder blade.

“Nobody’s career is at risk, Caroline,” Casey said. “Honestly, imagine the kind of headlines that would break if Jack McCoy fired someone for adultery.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Alex said, “Jack’s disapproval right now, or how he might react if we just told him what’s going on. He made it clear his objection had more to do with poll numbers than morality.” Ashley’s words echoed in your head. You really want to be the girl who sleeps with the boss-- both of the bosses? Your fear must have been more obvious than you intended. “What’s wrong?” Alex asked you.

You swallowed. “It’s nothing,” you said, stopping yourself from spilling every anxious thought that came to you. “I’m fine. It’ll be fine,” you said, a real smile making its way out of you. You held your hand out for Alex’s and squeezed. She slid off the counter, letting herself be pulled in, letting whatever you weren’t saying stay unsaid for that moment. She also jumped when she first felt your wet clothes against her skin.

“Now, let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” she said. Your mouth was open in amusement as she started off down the hall. You began to follow but Casey stopped you briefly, hooking her ring finger into your belt loop.

“Whatever he said, it isn’t true,” she said, starting to run her warm hands underneath your shirt.

“How did you,” you said, feeling seen. “I didn’t say anything about it.”

“Give me some credit,” she said then kissed you gently, her body warming yours. “I’m very perceptive.” She gripped the bunched-up body of your t-shirt and you slipped your head through the top. Casey placed her palms against your ribs, holding you steady.

“Thank you,” you said, deep and low, as you kissed her again. The two of you, now almost equally damp, joined Alex. Six hands moved slowly, purposefully. Nothing felt desperate, fleeting. Only warmth filled you.

---

taglist: (I'm tagging a couple of my moots who aren’t on the taglist, let me know if you’d prefer I didn’t!)

@addictedtodinosaurs @nocreditinthestraightworld @cmmndrwidw @hi-i-1 @lesbianologist @readerhermit @@alexlivdoncas @laezzzi @imaginaryoperagloves (thank you for your help!!) @swimmingstudentchaos891

[musicallisto]

⚔ — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥; (tyrion lannister x f!reader)

@multifandomfix​​ requested: Hey, for your start of the year event, could I get #44 with Tyrion Lannister, please? Thanks in advance if you end up choosing it. I hope 2021 will be a great year for you. 😊

song: bazzi - beautiful | 𝄞

summary: How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

author notes: I ain’t never seen a fluffy one-shot written by me, always half of it gotta be depressing

word count: 2.7k (what the HELL)

warnings: language + the typical stuff that’s commonplace in GoT

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 younger, young enough to hear her speak freely around you, you’d often heard the illustrious Cersei Lannister, blessed may her reign be, mutter her implacable adage through slit eyes and arrogant teeth; in Westeros, when one played the game of thrones, they were either crowned or buried. Some win and some die, she’d state with a smug grin, ignoring Jaime rolling his eyes right by her. You would always nod in silence; partly because you, lesser Lady of King’s Landing, certainly did not dare to contradict your most redoubtable playmate; but also because, deep down, you believed in her truths. You’d seen it when your father came back from his battles, commanding the Crown’s armies across the Southern seas, or when you heard the whispers at Court of yet another fallen Lord who believed he could play with fire like the Targaryens; there was little more than victors and vanquished, and you, as a lady-in-waiting to the future Queen, could sleep easy at night knowing you were on the right side of the world.

Yet when the rebellion led by your father’s army of mutineers was crushed by the King’s forces, when your brothers all fled into exile across the continent; when your title, name, and lands became those of a traitor to the Crown; you understood that in the game of thrones, death was the only blessing the powerful bestowed when they were clement; for there was far crueler and harrowing a punishment than torture: humiliation and servitude.

King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.

“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”

That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...

You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.

The only one who knew was Tyrion.

He always knew everything.

Even more so when it was about you.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...

“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.

Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.

But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.

Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.

The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.

The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...

“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.

You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...

“I don’t know.”

You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”

“I’m certain he is f—”

“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.

You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.

“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?

“No, he does not.”

There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.

“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”

“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”

His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.

“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”

Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.

“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”

And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.

The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”

Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.

“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”

“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”

“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”

Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.

“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”

You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...

“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”

His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.

“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”

His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.

“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”

You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.

“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Ah, to hell with it.”

Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”

And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.

“I was wrong.”

An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.

“All these years...”

“Yes.”

“And all those girls I had to see you with...”

“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”

“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...

And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.

Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.

When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.

“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?

“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”

“Tell me. Over and over.”

There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.

He told you all night.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee ​ @softeninglooks ​(all my writing)

[arielana]

Yeah, I don’t know what this is. It came from the tiny RNM teaser in TV insider - I was grumpy that basically all the info we got was about Liz’s lab partners abs (not that grumpy, but you know).

Anyway, I wrote this, about Liz and Michael bonding. Just really silly. 

A warning that there is drinking.

____

“Michael!”

“Ortecho, seriously why are you calling me at this hour?”

“I need you to take some time off. Come to California.”

“Sure thing, I’ll pack my little overnight bag and swing right by. I’ve been dying to do some sightseeing.”

“Yeah yeah, funny. I don’t have time for all that. Look I’ve discovered something, here in the lab, that might be relevant to your interests. I can’t get a sample out, but if an old friend from Roswell comes to visit I could give them a tour of the lab. So, just get your ass over here.”

***

That had been two days ago. Michael had some work he’d promised Sanders to finish first and he refused to fly (the thought of airport security freaked him out) so he’d set off in his truck after finishing up at Sanders the next day. He’d driven through the night, arrived very early in the morning and checked into a motel Liz had recommended that was close to her work.

After getting some sleep and showering he was now standing in the fancy lobby of the Genoryx building, feeling slightly overwhelmed but doing his best not to show it. His cowboy swagger usually worked in most places so he figured it would do ok here as well. 

Just to test it, he leaned slightly against the counter and threw the receptionist who had told him Liz would be right down a little smile. Judging by the way she blushed, he wouldn’t do too bad here either if he felt like it. Not that he did feel like it. There was really only one person’s company he wanted and since that wasn’t available to him currently, he focused on other things.

“Mikey!”

Liz came bouncing down the stairs, running straight up and jumping into his arms to hug him.

She had a certain energy that always put Michael in a better mood, even the times when she annoyed him. There was never any bullshit with her. 

“Hey Ortecho,” he grinned. “Good to see you.” 

“Good to see you too. Would have been even better if you got here sooner,” she bumped her shoulder lightly into his when he put her down, “but it’s great that you’re here.”

Before Michael could ask what all the fuss was about, he noticed a guy had followed Liz and was now hanging back, waiting to be introduced.

Noticing Michael’s look, Liz spun around, waving the guy forward. 

“Heath, come meet Michael. Michael, meet Heath. He’s my colleague from the lab. We do all our work together.”

Michael thought he picked up a little something in the way Heath looked when Liz said “colleague”, but he wasn’t sure. He was a good looking guy, tall, athletic, not the stereotypical scientist. Not that Michael cared much for stereotypes, so he shouldn’t apply them to others either, he reminded himself. 

“So, we’re just about to go out for lunch,” Liz said. “Do you mind if Heath joins us?”

“Of course not.” 

Michael was pleasantly surprised by how fun and relaxed lunch was. Small talk had never really been his thing, but science small talk was a whole other thing he realised. That’s why he had enjoyed hanging out with Liz back in Roswell, and Heath, despite looking more like an actor or model, turned out to absolutely be able to hold his own in the discussion.

After lunch things didn’t go quite as Liz had planned though. Her boss was apparently giving some other people a tour that afternoon and even if he kindly offered Michael to join them as well, Liz quickly switched gears.

“Actually Michael was yawning his way through lunch,” she ignored Michael’s little huff. “He pretends he’s fine but he’s had a long drive. He’s staying for a couple of days anyway, there’s no rush.”

She grabbed Michael’s arm firmly and dragged him towards the exit. 

“Really Liz, I was planning on going back home tomorrow,” Michael complained, without putting any real force behind it. “This isn't really my scene.”

“Oh knock it off, Michael. You were practically beaming at lunch, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself. And look, it’s just one more day. Tomorrow’s Friday so there’ll be less people around. We’ll do a tour in the afternoon. I’ll make up something to keep Heath busy, won’t be a problem.”

“So for today,” she continued, “how about you get some more sleep, and then we can go out tonight, eat something, have a few drinks. Maybe some dancing,” she winked at him.

“Drinks yes, dancing no, but sure, I don¨t mind checking out the bars here.” Michael gave Liz a considering look. “So tell me, is Heath coming?”

“What, no, why would he?”

Aha, judging by the brief flush of red on her cheeks, there was definitely something going on there, Michael noticed. Maybe something to explore later. He could be a good brother and try to get some more information. Max was certainly asking enough questions about him and Alex, looking at Michael with those big puppy eyes, acting hurt when Michael snapped at him. This could be payback (helping Max out, Michael corrected himself).

**

Dinner continued in the same way as lunch, with them geeking out about new research and theories (careful to steer clear of any alien references while in public) covering everything from global warming to medical advances.

Afterwards they continued on to a bar and after a couple of drinks Michael figured Liz had let down her guard enough for him to do some digging.

“So, Ortecho… tell me about Heath?”

“What?” Liz said with feigned innocence.

“Just wondering, I mean he’s really fit, dark hair, smart, funny, exactly what I look for, in both men and women,” he winked at her.

“Michael!” Liz sounded scandalized

“Unless he’s taken, of course”

Liz twisted uncomfortably in her seat. “It feels weird talking to you about this.”

“Why?” Michael smirked at her, raising his eyebrows. He enjoyed this. He never really got to have a bro moment with anyone growing up. Too busy not letting anyone come too close. But Liz, she got it, she was the same as him in so many ways. 

“Hey. no judgement here. Tell me, is he really as jacked as he looks?”

Liz sighed deeply, before giving up and leaning back with a dreamy expression on her face.

“He really is. Seriously, his abs are amazing. Not that that kind of thing is really important to me of course,” she hurried to add, “but it’s just- nice.”

“So, Valenti,” Michael pulled a face,” Diego, this Heath guy. I see you also prefer dark hair but other than that I really don’t see that many similarities to Max?”

“You know,” Liz took a sip from her drink, clearly deflecting, “from the stories I heard about you before, you know, everything,” she waved her hands vaguely, “I was under the impression it was mainly blondes that you were dragging home from the Pony?”

Michael shrugged. “That was just sex. But then again,” he added consideringly, “I’ve only ever been in two relationships. So they were both dark haired, but that’s not enough to draw a conclusion based on statistics, maybe it’s just coincidence.”

 Liz's gaze sharpened. “Relationships, huh?”

It was Michael's turn to try to deflect. ’Hey, see if you can flag down the waitress, I need another beer.”

“In a minute.” Liz tilted her head questioningly, “I wasn’t aware you considered what you had with Alex an actual relationship?”

Michael hesitated. He knew Liz could probably read him like an open book right now, but he also knew that if he said he didn't want to get into it she’d respect that and let it go. For now at least.

But he’d said more than once that he was tired of keeping secrets. Liz was a friend and it would actually be nice to talk to someone.

“If we’re really going to talk about this I’m going to need another drink.”

“Me too,” Liz thought about it for a second. “Tequila?”

“Tequila.”

**

An hour later they were both just giggly messes.

Michael had shared his and Alex's story over the years, Liz had opened up about the shock of seeing Max again and they had bonded over how no amount of distance or years really made the feelings go away. It had been very emotional once the tequila kicked in. They had both shed some tears and comforted each other. 

At this point in the evening however, they had gone full circle and were back to discussing abs again and both blushing.

“Maybe we should just tell them,” Liz said.

“Yeah, they’d hate that. You’re safe here, but I have to go back. If Alex doesn’t get to me first and give me the ‘Guerin, you’re such a disappointment’ look, Max will give me a lecture about ‘upholding personal boundaries, Michael’. Both a total pain in the ass.”

“Ok, let’s take a selfie and send as well then. If they see our sweet faces they can’t be mad.”

“Ortecho, I think you dropped your logic somewhere on the way here.”

“Come on, you said the two of you are at a stalemate right? Since Alex broke up with Forrest?”

Michael made a face.

“This will give things a nudge,” Liz said. “Plus it’s sent from my phone so you can deny all knowledge of it.”

“Have you met Alex?”

Liz just waved her phone at him. Michael swallowed.

He wasn’t drunk enough not to know that this maybe wasn't the smartest idea, but it was kind of tempting anyway. Just to see how Alex would react.

“Yay,” Liz pulled him in for a selfie, instructing him to make his best puppy eyes before adding the text to the picture and pressing send.

Just so you know, you both have really good abs as well. We love your abs very much. Xoxo, Liz and Mikey

It took no time at all before both their phones started buzzing with an incoming call.

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 277 “Operation ‘Protect Yuusaku’s Virginity’”

Sorry, I’m obviously late with the ramblings but the scanlations were out late and, due to work, I didn’t have any free time once they were out. Anyway here’s there are the new ramblings and...

...yeah Kaeko’s attempt at stealing Sugimoto’s virginity gets a special place in the GK horror scenes... but let’s got with order.

We start with Tsurumi sitting on a chair in the Imperial Japanese Army 1st division Headquarters pretending he had no idea the Ainu gold ever existed in front of Lieutenant General Okuda Hidenobu, Commander of the 1st division. The latter wants Tsurumi to find the gold for the Central Government as Tsurumi’s information-gathering ability is highly regarded.

Just this should make Okuda realize Tsurumi is lying when he pretends not to know about the Ainu gold but whatever, Okuda is clearly not the sharpest pencil in the box.

Anyway Tsurumi asks Okuda if this means he should report to him instead than to his superiors. Okuda waves off his concerns saying Hanasawa is in his debt so of course he wouldn’t mind if Tsurumi were to report to an officer that’s not him… especially if he never discovers about it because I honestly doubt Okuda is planning to warn Hanazawa about this.

Whatever.

Okuda, who evidently has no idea that everything he’ll say to Tsurumi will be used against him and for Tsurumi’s advantage, better explains him the whole entity of the problem.

We learn that inside the Army people from Satsuma domain and people from Choushuu domain, are held in high esteem and considered the only true military men, likely due to them being the winners in the Boshin war and Meiji restoration. However, despite their past alliance, they basically can’t stand to each other and are always struggling one against the other.

Hanazawa is from Satsuma so, of course, he doesn’t want a scandal to befall to his family for fear of consequences from people from Choushuu.

He asked Okuda’s help because Okuda is from the Kokura domain and so he looked like an impartial and safe choice, proving Hanazawa’s understanding of men is quite terrible because Okuda fully plans to take advantage of what he knows about Hanazawa and, as we’ll learn later from Tsurumi, he’s likely on the Choushuu side. Really, Hanazawa can’t even pick up his allies. -_-

Okuda is no better.

He knows Tsurumi is from Niigata, from a highly-esteemed family of former samurai from the Echigo-Nagaoka Domain which had an awful time during the battle of Hokuetsu (one of the last battles of the Boshin war) against the imperial forces composed mostly by people of Satsuma and Choushuu so he thinks Tsurumi would be willing to help to put an end to the control those factions have over the army because he should have a grudge against them.

We see that Tsurumi’s face darkens, which might mean that yes, Tsurumi has no sympathy for them, but Tsurumi is the sort of man who doesn’t merely follow his feelings, but remains calm and plans the doom of his adversaries quietly. The Akō vendetta probably felt like an amateur work to Tsurumi.

In fact, instead than asking more about the Ainu gold he’s supposed to find, Tsurumi asks more about the scandal in which Hanazawa is involved, planning to use it as ammunition in his own personal plans.

Then, as he leaves the place with his men, he shows his true colours.

He didn’t buy at all Okuda’s words that he’s “impartial” believing he’s actually on Choushuu side and afraid if Hanazawa were to get the gold, it would strengthen the Satsuma position. Tsurumi, who’s much more intelligent than Okuda or Hanazawa, finds all this a pathetic face, admitting he’s sick of Central.

He also confesses that yes, he knew about the Ainu gold already from his time in Russia (it’s unsure if from his time in Russia as Hasegawa or from his time in Russia with Tsukishima), and that Okuda’s words merely corroborated the info Tsurumi had about it… which is interesting because it confirms Okuda learnt about the Ainu gold from a source that’s not Tsurumi.

Then Tsurumi informs his men they’ll pay a visit to Yuusaku and Kikuta because evidently Okuda had told him also who he had tasked with protecting Yuusaku’s virginity.

Meanwhile Kikuta informs Sugimoto Kaeko wants to meet Yuusaku again at the Imperial Hodel.

Sugimoto worries about what will happen should Kaeko find out he’s a fake.

Kikuta thinks he’s worrying for himself and tells him he’ll just have to return the uniform and go on his way… although as he says so we don’t see Kikuta’s face.

Sugimoto is actually worried about Kaeko as if she were to figure out, this would mean she would know something dirty about the Army (read= Hanazawa).

Kikuta gives him a sideway look, his face slightly shadowed as he tells him he has a plan B Sugimoto doesn’t need to know.

It’s interesting how Kikuta never asked Sugimoto his name. Of course the Doylistic explanation is that so he won’t recognize him when he’ll heard his surname from Tsurumi during the gold hunt but I wonder if the Watsonian explanation is this was to protect Sugimoto. Sugimoto too by now know things he would be better not knowing. If they were to tell Kikuta to kill him he could let him escape and then cover up for him by saying he didn’t even know his name so he can’t track him. Alternatively it can be to protect himself, as he might be trying not to get too close to Sugimoto.

Meanwhile at the Army Academy Mrs. Suzuki accidentally asking Yuusaku if Kikuta had relied to him the message, informs him that today was the day in which ‘the matter at the imperial hotel’ (帝国ホテルの件 Teikoku hotel no kudan) was scheduled. To make matter worse a man immediately scolds her as she wasn’t supposed to talk with Yuusaku about it. In the end they’ve to confess that they were told to pass all the letters and telegrams for Yuusaku to Kikuta which prompts Yuusaku to decide to go ask him directly.

A moment later Tsurumi drops at the place and he’s told that Yuusaku just left and the same guy who has scolded Mrs. Suzuki for informing Yuusaku about the meeting has no problems telling Tsuurmi about were Yuusaku went.

So we jump at the Imperial Hotel where Sugimoto expects to have another luxurious dinner with Kaeko and, instead Kaeko’s maid drops the beef stew all over him.

Using as excuse that Yuusaku has to absolutely change himself Kaeko pushes Sugimoto upstairs, claiming she booked a room there. As they walk they’re spotted by Tsukishima who informs Tsurumi while a worried Kikuta follows the action with his binoculars.

Once in the room a panting Kaeko urges ‘Yuusaku’ to rip off his clothes and strip naked in the bathroom.

While a naïve Sugimoto worries about how pretty the room is, Kaeko drags him in the bathroom and tells him to wash up.

Sugimoto finds a little odd how the bathtub is already filled but strips naked anyway.

Meanwhile big bad wolf Kaeko, with an expression that would make Jack Nicholson in “The Shining” proud, tries to get into the room. To Sugimoto’s credit he doesn’t scream like a banshee as Wendy Torrance did but tries to close her out of the bathroom.

Kaeko asks him to not bring her shame as a woman. Sugimoto weakly defends his own virginity by claiming she doesn’t know him well. Kaeko claims she doesn’t mind as he looks handsome and steals his clothes from under the door before threatening to let ‘Yuusaku’s’ situation be known to other people if he were to refuse her.

Sugimoto worries as he knows he has been called in as a stand in to avoid this kind of situation.

Meanwhile outside Tsurumi asks to Kaeko’s maid, Hamako, if she has seen a candidate officer. She denies it as she’s clearly there to stop everyone from interrupting but Tsurumi hears Kaeko calling Yuusaku.

Tsurumi says out loud to his men that Kikuta was ordered to break off the engagement so he doesn’t understand why Yuusaku and Kaeko are in a room by themselves.

I wonder if Tsurumi came there because he was hoping to be the one to save Yuusaku’s virginity so as to put Hanazawa in debt… or if he’s saying this out loud so as to let the maid know about Kikuta’s involvement. We’ll see.

Usami instead tells Ogata this will be the first time he’ll get to meet his little brother, a man worthy of waving the regimental flag.

Usami again calls Ogata just Hyakunosuke, as if the two of them were friends… or if he just were looking down on him taking confidence when he shouldn’t, as Ogata in past chapters always called Usami by surname.

Whatever, this means that Usami, and by default Tsukishima and Tsurumi, are informed of Ogata’s parentage. Does the whole 7th know? Maybe. If that’s the case I wonder who told them.

Back to Sugimoto he asks Kaeko if this is all because Yuusaku’s mother wants to keep him away from the army. Kaeko explains Yuusaku’s mother worked as a nurse at a special military hospital in Hiroshima during the Sino-Japanese war. This experience pushed her to decide her son shouldn’t take part to the war. Kaeko adds Yuusaku should show consideration for his mother’s feelings.

Sugimoto says this is something Yuusaku should decide by himself as it’s his own life, basically betraying the fact he’s not Yuusaku. Kaeko is confused while Sugimoto tells her to ask Yuusaku which he wants to chose before signalling to Kikuta there are problems.

In that same moment Tsurumi and his men barges in the room claiming they’re there to protect Yuusaklu’s virginity.

I wonder if Tsurumi is practising for when he’ll have to ‘rescue’ Koito.

As for Kaeko, she thinks Tsurumi is working for Hanazawa and tells him if he doesn’t get out she’ll tattle everything to the Army. At this Tsurumi threatens to kill her and Sugimoto, thinking killing Kaeko is Kikuta’s ‘plan B’, decides to barge out completely naked, threatening to kill them all.

Ogata, who has no idea the naked man with murdering intentions is not Yuusaku, grins, likely thinking ‘Yuusaku’ is rather far from pure.

Likely he believes Yuusaku’s state means he was about to sleep with Kaeko, and Sugimoto’s statement about murdering people might have caused Ogata to think the ‘oh so perfect’ Yuusaku, is actually not perfect at all.

I feel bad for him because, when he’ll discover Yuusaku isn’t the guy in front of him, he’ll be in for a disappointment.

Anyway this chapter ends here.

This chapter gives us some interesting info about the Army, Tsurumi and how Ogata’s status of bastard son was known to Tsurumi’s inner circle and, possibly, to the rest of the 7th. It fleshes more the Hanazawa family, although I’ve to say I noticed when Noda has to talk about Hanazawa or his wife he recycles always the same image.

Well, I guess that’s all. Sorry if it’s late and kind of jumbled but the whole timing and work didn’t help me at all.

[violetrose-art]

Corpse Bride Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. I might add more later on, so watch out

-Victor and Victoria were born and raised in a small English village close to the Atlantic Ocean called Burtonsville

-Victor’s full name is Victor Ichabod Van Dort

-When he was about four years old, Victor found Scraps as a mixed-breed puppy in an alleyway. Nell and William refused at first, but William saw how his son quickly became attached to the dog, so he let him stay. Sadly, when Victor turned eight, Scraps was brutally mauled and tragically killed while trying to defend his beloved owner from a bigger, nastier dog

-Victor’s favorite toy as a child was a stuffed horse he called Usher. He begged his mother to let him keep Usher until he was fourteen

-Victor learned to play the piano when he was about five years old. He was a fast learner and he picked up on it very quickly, and his tutor was greatly impressed by his skill. His favorite musicians are Mozart and Beethoven

-Victor works as an artist to draw many types of butterflies for the Lepidoptera Community, as well as a professional pianist. Originally, his father wanted him to work as a fish merchant and take over the family business, but Victor politely told him “no thanks” because he wanted to follow his own dreams. William was disappointed, but deep down he wanted his son to be happy. So he usually encouraged him, especially when Nell wasn’t around

-Outside from his butterfly works, Victor does paintings during his free time at home. The color theory that he studied was written by Eugene De La Croix·         Victor has been drawing since he was a child. His favorite things to draw are animals, butterflies, and other insects. He also does landscapes and people sometimes. He also likes to write sometimes, mostly a few poems and a couple musical compositions. Nothing he took too seriously, though. He also likes to sing when he thinks he’s alone

-In his childhood, Victor used to have a somewhat regular playmate named Humphrey. They were almost friends, but when William’s business became very successful and Victor’s family became rich when Victor was about eleven, Humphrey stopped coming over and the two boys haven’t seen each other since

-When he was a boy, he learned how to speak French because his mother thought it was “high-class” to be bilingual. Victor was diligent in his studies and thus has a good knowledge of spoken and written French. He may not be perfectly fluent, but he can carry on a decent conversation

-Victor is severely allergic to walnuts and poison oak

-Victor had a cousin named Mary whom he was very fond of, but she passed away when she was seventeen and he was six. She got lost in the woods and was attacked and devoured by a pack of wolves

-Victor doesn’t drink anything more than the occasional glass of champagne or wine. The reason? Mayhew once got him drunk and it turns out Victor is a CHATTY drunk. As in, he’ll tell you his life story at the slightest provocation. Victor was so embarrassed when he sobered up that he nearly swore off all alcohol forever. It’s very unlikely he’ll ever knowingly get wasted again·         After he and Victoria were finally married, Victor gained confidence and he stood up against Victoria's parents earning him some respect

-Victor HATES smoking. He was secretly offered a cigarette from Mayhew when he was fourteen and after the first inhale, he was coughing and gagging so much that he nearly threw up

-Victor is the tallest member of the Van Dort family, making him stand out quite a bit during family reunions

-He may not be a sporty person, but Victor enjoys cycling. He also loves a good game of chess

-Victor adores reading. His favorite writers are William Blake, Charles Baudelaire, Lewis Carroll, Edgar Allan Poe, and William Shakespeare

His favorite books are “Les Miserables”, “Dracula”, “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “The Fall of the House of Usher” and other works by E.A. Poe. The play/book that he hates the most is “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” because he strongly dislikes this style of a love triangle in the plot line. He also has a fascination with penny dreadful. Yes, he knows the serial stories are really nothing but lowest common denominator trash, but he loves them anyway. He got hooked on them as a teenager thanks to Mayhew’s nephew, and he used to keep a secret stash under his mattress

-When she still rather young, Victor noticed that his daughter, Emily, became very interested in music, so he taught her how to play the piano as well as the violin

-Victoria was the one who taught her son, Edward, how to read and they bond over books and stories they both enjoy

-The worst day of Victor’s life happened about three weeks after Scraps died. Victor’s parents had some business friends over for tea, and forced a still-grieving Victor to come down and be social. Poor Victor made a bad impression, being quieter and clumsier than normal, culminating in knocking over one man, tripping his wife, and insulting said wife’s coat in apologizing. Nell, humiliated and enraged, turned on her son once the guests were off, screaming at him about what an embarrassment he was while they were still standing on the front steps. Victor was so horrified, embarrassed, and depressed that he came too close to taking his own life. He got his hands on his father’s straight-razor, snuck into the bathroom, and actually had it to his neck when a noise from outside the bathroom spooked him and he dropped the razor and ran back to his room as fast as he could. Fortunately, the distraction gave him time to realize suicide wouldn’t fix anything, and he made a promise to himself never to stoop that low again. His parents also apologized the next day, which helped a lot. Victor avoids telling anyone about it unless he feels he has to, certain they’ll think less of him for it

-Victor was born June 9th, 1867

-Victoria’s full name is Victoria Elizabeth Everglot

-When she was very little, Victoria had always wanted a pet (like a cat or a small dog) but her mother said that having a pet in the house was uncivilized and improper and that all animals were filthy and uncouth creatures

-Victoria’s favorite hobby is sewing and knitting. She often designs most of her husband’s clothes and others in her spare time

-As a child, Victoria tried to be closer to her parents, but often found the family maid Hildegarde as more of a mother figure

-Victoria loves to read in her spare time… even though most people call it scandalous for a woman to do such a thing. Her mother even said reading was too passionate for a young lady. At a young age, Hildegarde, taught Victoria how to read (something her parents never found out about)

-Her favorite books are “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland”, “A Christmas Carol”, and any classic fairy tale. And her favorite writers are Charles Dickens, Lewis Carroll, Charles Perrault, Hans Christian Andersen, and the Brothers Grimm

-Victoria’s favorite toy as a child was a china doll she called Miss Liddie. By the time she was about eleven, she had grown out of it. Even though she knows she’s too old for toys now, she still misses Miss Liddie

-Victoria isn’t allergic to anything, but she does tend to sneeze if dust is in the air

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was nearly trampled by a horse-drawn carriage, which made her develop a slight fear of horses

-Victoria likes to sing whenever she thinks she’s alone. She doesn’t believe it, but she has a surprisingly lovely singing voice

-When she was a little girl, Victoria was entranced by the piano in her house and she immediately wanted to learn how to play but her mother had told her daughter many times that music was improper and too passionate for a young lady. But Victor always tells his wife that music is a wonderful way to express oneself and that he would be more than happy to teach her how to play

-Victoria used to have a regular playmate named Gwyneth in her girlhood. They were good friends, but when Victoria reached her pre-teen years, Gwyneth stopped coming over to play for some reason and she never heard from her since

-Victoria is the most beautiful member of the Everglot family

-When she was in her early teens, Victoria secretly dreamed of becoming a writer someday

-Victoria was born February 3rd, 1868

-Victor and Victoria had two children. Their names are Emily Alice Van Dort (age 15) and Edward Daniel Van Dort (age 10)

-When Victor and Victoria were married, they moved out of their parents houses and bought a beautiful two story house that sat at the edge of a large meadow that was right next to the forest… plus, the house was a good mile or so away from Burtonsville

-The Corpse Bride’s full name is Emily Charlotte Cartwell

-Emily was born into a wealthy family. Her parents, Lord and Lady Cartwell, couldn’t say ‘no’ to their daughter and they practically gave her everything she asked for, so she became incredibly spoiled, selfish, and incredibly naïve·         Emily was a hopeless romantic, often spending time reading romance novels and daydreaming about her wedding when she was alive

-When she was alive, Emily was blonde

-When she made it to Heaven, Emily was finally reunited with her mother and father

-When their daughter disappeared, Lord and Lady Cartwell were so sad and depressed that they wasted away and passed away in their sleep

-Before ascending, Emily considered Bonejangles to be one of her best friends. They used to sing and dance together all the time. He even taught her how to play the piano

-When she was alive, Emily knew how to ride horses. She even had a pet white mare she called Aphrodite

-Emily Cartwell died at age eighteen

-Lord Barkis’s full name is Barkis Finbar Campbell Bittern

-Emily met Lord Barkis while she was on an outing with her parents. Her parents had their backs turned while Emily was talking with Barkis. After only a few minutes of talking, she was instantly smitten with him and she accepted his immediate proposal of marriage… and her mother and father were not happy about it at all. Emily and her father had a huge fight and she decided to elope with Barkis… but for her, it didn’t go as planned

-Barkis told her that if they were going to be together, they would need money. Emily wasn’t sure, but in the end, she agreed

-On the night she was running away, Emily stole not only her mother’s wedding dress, veil, gloves, and best shoes, but she also stole the jewels from her mother’s jewelry box and a large bag of gold from her father’s office

-As Emily was waiting for her fiancé that night, Barkis snuck up behind her, stabbed her, knocked her out cold, took all of her money and jewels, and buried her alive. She woke up in a shallow grave and tried to claw her way out before suffocating to death. That's why her hand was sticking out of the ground

-Barkis was married six times in his life. He and his first wife were married out of love until he found her cheating on him and killed her. The second was an elderly widow for her money. The third one got away before he could even hurt her, but she drowned herself in a deep, rushing river. The fourth was a drunken lonely woman who “accidentally” fell out of a two story window. The fifth being Emily and the sixth being Victoria

-In the Land of The Dead, Barkis was brutally beaten and ripped apart before he was imprisoned in an iron coffin chained seven feet underground with other criminals like him for all eternity

-After he ran away, Barkis studied linguistics in French, Latin, German, and Russian in order to impress others… or use different fake accents to fool them with

-Barkis’s original first name was Bradford and he had a rough upbringing. His father was a violent alcoholic and his mother was a reckless prostitute and they both abused Bradford as a child until he ran away from home at age sixteen and changed his name to Lord Barkis

-Barkis has a twin sister who had a son named Hector. Hector greatly looked up to his uncle and when he heard about what happened to Barkis, he was taken aback, but he also felt he could use that to his advantage. When he turned 30, Hector came to Burtonsville to exact revenge on the Van Dort family… but he also developed a vile infatuation with Emily. Whenever he tries to woo the young girl (which always fails since Emily finds him repulsive and cruel), Victor gladly steps in the way every time and he always sternly tells Hector to stay away from his daughter

-Mrs. Van Dort’s full name is Eleanor Minerva Fitzackley Van Dort

-Nell came from a lower class family. She lived with her father, mother, and three sisters. However, Nell wasn’t happy with her place in society and she wanted to became something more

-Nell and William first met when she was caught in the rain one stormy day and he offered her a ride home in his fish merchant carriage. She declined at first, but quickly gave in when it started to bucket down. As they rode together, they started chatting and soon became very interested in one another

-Nell and William made their way back to the village just in time to witness Emily's soul disappear into the night as a swarm of blue butterflies

-When she learned about Mayhew’s death, Nell quietly wept in her room about it. She might be overbearing, but deep down, she truly does care for the ones closest to her. She also adores her husband and son, even if she does find them a bit irritating. She just has a hard time showing her emotions

-Mr. Van Dort’s full name is William Oscar Van Dort

-William loves talk about fish and his business, he always tries to weasel in the topic whenever possible to his wife and son's annoyance

-William used to take Victor on fishing trips when he was younger, which practically bored Victor to death

-While he tends to be the more passive one in their relationship, William does put his foot down when the situation calls for it

-It may not seem like it, but William adores Victor and he tries to do whatever he can to be there for his son

-When Victor turned sixteen, William gave him a silver pocket watch with a design of a fish on the front and his initials

-Lady Everglot’s full name is Maudeline Hortense Glottberg Everglot

-Maudeline and Finis didn’t plan on having a child in the first place and Victoria came as more of a surprise

-Maudeline had a sister named Marie who loved playing the piano. They didn’t get along in their youth and they drifted apart as they grew up. Maudeline wasn’t even invited to Marie’s wedding to Lord Frederick Cartwell

-When Marie died, she left her piano to her sister, but Maudeline never touched it. She felt it brought back too many memories and forbade Victoria from going near it was well

-Lord Eveglot’s full name is Finis Augustus Everglot

-While he was disappointed in not having a son, Finis deeply cares for his daughter. He just doesn’t know how to show it

-Even though they’re not good at sharing their feelings, Maudeline and Finis do care for each other to some extent

-Hildegarde has lots of grandchildren and she visited their home in the countryside as often as she could before she passed away

-When he was alive, Bonejangles was a freelance jazz musician from America and his original name was Dexter. He was finishing a gig in England when he died in a horrible carriage accident (he was run over), which also caused him to lose his eyeball

-General Bonesapart and General Wellington were actually General Napoleon Bonaparte and English General Wellington, two real historical figures. However, even though they hated each other at first, they became real pals eventually

-Although they don't say it out loud, people in Burtonsville make fun of Maudeline's hair cut, calling her names like "Rump Head" or "Hairmungus"

-Elder Gutknecht is one of the many Afterlife Lords, responsible for managing the dead after they pass. Among them include God, the Devil, King Vince, Hades, Hel, Osiris, Odin, Freya, and, the Hindu God Yama

-The Underworld is actually thousands of miles underground and due to the magic surrounding it. Mortals can't access it unless they die themselves

-After his death, Mayhew kicked the habit of smoking altogether and is very glad he did

-Elder Gutknecht has a fearsome Hellhound by the name of Infernius, his fierce and ever loyal pet. He guards the entrance to the Land of the Dead and can breathe fire that heats up to 900 degrees

-The fellow who was cut cleanly in half was an English gentleman by the name of Herman, who lived in Burtonsville years before. He ended up meeting his death due to an accident involving a rather large guillotine

-Generals Bonesapart and Wellington are the leaders of army of the Land of the Dead, but are only called into combat in times of great peril

-The people of Burtonsville sometimes call Lord Everglot “Everglut” behind his back

-Victoria has a cousin by the name of Dolores. Dolores is something of a freeloading con artist who moved to America when she left home. She considers herself a very attractive woman, but she just wears too much makeup and rather revealing clothes and is actually rather sleazy in reality. She also smokes, which Victoria and the rest of the Everglots are strongly against

-When he was alive, Elder Gutknecht used to be a wise sage that helped people in their time of need. He passed away when he reached the age of 102

-The Everglots were a family of nobles with a significant amount of money, but due to a bit of excessive gambling (by Dolores), they lost almost everything

-Almost every member of the Everglot family is rather ugly due to bad genetics. Victoria considers herself very, VERY lucky to have not inherited such genes (she unknowingly received her natural beauty from her late Aunt Marie)

-Pastor Galswells was raised in a strict environment. He was taught that kindness was weakness and to be stern and firm with everyone. He passed away shortly after the official wedding of Victor and Victoria and a new pastor took his place. His name is Pastor Ivan Blackthorp and he’s much kinder and friendlier than Galswells ever was

-The reason Victor named his dog Scraps was because he only ate table scraps

-The people of Burtonsville have a secret inside joke about the squatty walk Finis Everglot does where they assume that he would jump like a toad and snatch up a fly at any moment

-Burtonsville is well known for its raven population and there's an old legend saying they're messengers to the Land of the Dead

-For some weird reason, William Van Dort is known to mutter the words "Fishy, fishy, fish" in his sleep and it honestly creeps Nell out

-Paul, the decapitated head waiter, was actually a French man who served Marie Antoinette during her reign. Unfortunately, he was unjustly executed by association with the queen when the French Revolution broke out and he was never able to find his body after he died

-Several people have assumed Maudeline's hair is an actual wig and she's bald under it… only to be mistaken, resulting in a whooping

-Lord Barkis was a master of disguise in life and was never caught by the police as a result

-The Underworld has a prison known as the Iron Tomb and it holds some pretty infamous inmates who include Bluebeard, Caligula, Henry VIII, Mary I of England, and many more

-The Town of Burtonsville was actually built on an ancient burial ground, which is possibly why the Land of the Dead is connected to it

-After her death, Emily was made the official guardian angel of the Van Dort family

This is all I've got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Twelve ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 3433

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity if you prefer!**

A/n Sorry for the delay! Thanks for your patience and for reading :) Also, I’m so glad you liked the cuteness of the last chapter <3

I wake to an insistent pounding on my door.

I grumble against the noise and the sunlight, pulling the thick duvet over my head.

“Cosima,” a voice sings from behind the wood. “Rise and shine, it is well past lunchtime.”

I crack open an eye. The sun shimmers aggressively, forcing me into a state of awareness. Too early. But Rumil’s wake-up calls and knocking are insistent, so I haul myself out of bed and dress quickly, running a washcloth over my face and a brush over my teeth. When I’m decent, I swing open the door to fix Rumil with what I hope is a withering glare.

He grins brightly. “You look tired.”

“Wow, thank you,” I deadpan, opening the door wider to allow him in. He jaunts to the chaise lounge and reclines on the pillows, evidently in the mood to borrow the luxury of my guest room.

I offer him a glass of lemon water and pour one for myself, then sit on the couch opposite him.

He gives me a sly look. “You know, Haldir came into our room quite early this morning.”

I freeze mid-sip.

Rumil nods gleefully. “Woke me up—quite rude, if you ask me. Though I do have to wonder, what kept him out so late? Surely he was exhausted from his long day at the borders.”

I take a deep breath, trying to relax the tension that has shot its way into my shoulders. Rumil just likes to tease. You didn’t do anything wrong or scandalous — not even anything of interest.

He continues. “And then I come to visit my friend out of the goodness of my heart and find her sound asleep at two in the afternoon. She greets me at the door with such dark circles under her eyes — did she sleep at all? What was so interesting that kept both my brother and my good friend awake into the early hours of the morning?”

I roll my eyes, trying to seem nonchalant about it. After all, there’s no reason to feel cornered like Rumil is so obviously trying to achieve. “I couldn’t sleep. I was on my way to the gardens when I ran into Haldir and he ended up coming with me.”

“To the gardens?”

“Yes.”

“Late at night?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, Rumil,” I huff.

He looks positively delighted. “And what did you do to pass all that time in the gardens late at night by yourselves?”

I squirm under his gaze then force myself to stop. It looks suspicious. “We talked a little. And then stargazed. At some point I fell asleep, he woke me up and walked me back to my room. The end.”

“The end,” Rumil echoes dubiously.

“Yes,” I insist, just about done with this conversation. It’s ridiculous — we did nothing to warrant this questioning. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask your brother.”

“I did.” My eyes blow wide in disbelief. Somehow, Rumil looks even more smug than he did a second ago. “He quite forcefully told me to leave him and you alone. Such a strong reaction over a little thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

I fight the urge to groan loudly and instead take a sip of my water. I cross one leg over the other. “Is there something you would like to say or are you just here to interrogate me?”

He shrugs, looking completely unapologetic. “No, I think I am done for now. I’ll let you know if that changes, though.”

“Please do,” I snark.

He stands, placing his glass on the table. “I did actually come here for a larger purpose. Orophin and Lavandil went riding and missed lunch, so we’re having an impromptu picnic in one of the towers. It has some lovely views. Would you join us?”

The emptiness in my stomach begs me to agree, but the word ‘tower’ gives me pause. Rumil guesses the direction of my thoughts and huffs. “The tower is encased in stone, it is perfectly safe. You would have to jump onto the barrier and lean over to be in danger of falling off.”

I consider his words. That doesn’t sound too bad, and I am hungry. “Alright,” I agree. “But I’m inviting Alex.”

Rumil makes a noise of general acceptance and gives me directions to the tower. Before leaving, he snatches one of the thicker quilts from a storage basket. “Cost of attendance is the blanket we use to sit on. See you there!” With a cheeky wink, he disappears, leaving me feeling whiplash from the quick turns in our conversation.

Before leaving to find Alex, I pull a few pillows from the seating area. They’ll make for some extra cushion on the hard stone. And, since Rumil annoyed me, he will not be getting one.

Ha.

At my knock, Alex throws his door open, greeting me with a wide smile. “Hello, Cosima.”

Well, that’s not what I was expecting. I blink and step into his room, careful not to tread on one of the many books and scrolls scattered around the floor. “Uh, you’re more chipper than I thought you would be after yesterday. How are you doing?”

He shrugs, throwing his hands into his pockets. “I mean, it didn’t feel great to find out that Elrond can’t help us, but I am holding out hope for Lady Galadriel. In the meantime, though, I’ve borrowed some materials from the library to see if there’s anything I can learn to help in getting us home. Most of them are in that Elvish language—Sindarin—so I’m having to learn the basics of the language first. Baranor offered to help — we’re meeting this evening after he’s done with his shift in the healing wards. Want to read the English ones with me and then come along? I’m sure he’d be fine with teaching you, too.”

“Um…” I trail off, feeling guilty. I’m attending a picnic with my friends while Alex is pouring over resources and learning the language of this land — he’s doing something helpful to try and get us home.

But if I’m being honest, I don’t want to do research right now. It’s not like there’s likely to be anything we could do, anyway. The best option is to just wait for Lothlórien and see what Lady Galadriel says. I clutch the bulky cushions tighter in my arms. “Can I take a rain check? A few of us are going to the tower to have a late lunch. That’s actually why I came here. Want to come?”

Alex looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You don’t want to see if there’s something in these books to help us?”

I shift my weight uneasily. “Not now…I haven’t eaten yet, and I already said I would go to the picnic. And I mean, come on, how likely is it that there’s something in those books Elrond isn’t aware of? It’s his library.”

“It has forty-two thousand volumes.”

“He’s lived a long time,” I defend weakly.

Alex’s eyes tighten into a glare.

“Look,” I try, “I’m gonna go eat, but what if I joined you and Baranor this evening? It’s smart to learn the language. And then maybe later I can help you look through these books.”

He sighs and shrugs his shoulders, looking frustrated but resigned. “Yeah, that’s fine. We’re meeting at five-thirty on the second floor of the library.”

“Okay,” I exhale, relived to have avoided a larger argument “I’ll be there. You sure you don’t want to come eat?”

He shakes his head, crouching to the ground to pick up a particularly withered scroll. “No, I ate in the dining hall. See you tonight.”

“See you,” I mumble, backing out of the room. I feel bad for not helping him, but hopefully joining him and Baranor tonight will smooth things over.

Following Rumil’s directions are relatively easy and, before I know it, I’m navigating the hallways to one of the towers built into Elrond’s home.

“Cosima!”

I stop in my tracks and turn at Haldir’s call. He jogs to catch up to me, having just entered the long hallway, and greets me with a pleasant smile. As always, he looks perfectly rested and put together — not a strand of hair out of place. Today he wears a tunic of deep grey, his clear blue eyes standing out in stark contrast.  

“Hi!” I wait for him to fall into step beside me. Unbidden, Rumil’s gleeful teasing enters my mind, and I feel my face go hot. What? I clear my throat. “Are you going up, too?”

“Yes, it’s—here,” he pulls the four bulky pillows from my grasp into his. My arms drop limply at my sides, suddenly relieved from their task. To give them something to do, I tug on the sides of my dress, trying to smooth the wrinkles that have somehow already appeared.

Haldir continues. “Rumil insisted it would be fun and it’s such a nice day I figured, why not?”

We turn a corner and begin our ascent up a tall spiral staircase. I remember a snippet of our conversation from last night. “Has Glorfindel come around?”

The edge of Haldir’s mouth pulls into a frown. “No. I talked with Elrond anyway and he’s agreed to my plan. It has set Glorfindel and myself at odds though, since I went over his head.”

I purse my lips. Though Haldir doesn’t say it, he’s clearly bothered by this outcome — it’s obvious he hoped to resolve things peacefully with Glorfindel and gain Elrond’s support. I hurry to try and make him feel better. “You did the right thing. So what if you went over his head? If it keeps people safe, I doubt it really matters how the plan came to be. And as commander, isn’t it his job to recognize advantageous strategies regardless of where they come from? I wouldn’t worry too much about being at odds with Glorfindel — the two of you will reconcile soon enough. And in the meantime, it’s good that Elrond agreed with you. Now Imladris has more time to better prepare.”

Haldir pauses on the step above me, turning with his head tilted slightly to the side.

I freeze. “What?” Did I intrude? Did I offend him somehow?

“No, it’s—I…” He sighs, offering me a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Oh, good. I breathe out in relief, returning his smile. We resume our climb.

“Elrond gave the order to call up the entire force and rotate the soldiers — they should all be switched in about a week. He’s asked me to oversee their training, to teach the strategies I use with my own guard in Lothlórien.”

I snort. “You’re going to work while you’re on vacation? That’s the most you thing I’ve ever heard.”

He rolls his eyes, but the smile never leaves his face. “It’s important and something I enjoy, so I am happy to help. I haven’t forgotten my offer to you, though.”

I furrow my eyebrows. Huh?

“Do you still want to learn how to defend yourself?”

“Oh! Yeah, definitely, if you’ve got the time.”

He steps onto the landing, moving forward to make room for me. “Of course I’ve got the time.”

I step up next to him—

And immediately return to the staircase.

Haldir alternates between looking at me in confusion and scanning his eyes over our surroundings, wondering what would make me practically jump away from the landing.

He doesn’t have to wonder long.

“You said it was encased in stone,” I shout accusingly over Rumil’s wailing laughter.

“Did I say encased? I meant made of. Whoops, my mistake.”

“Rumil,” Haldir grumbles in annoyance, but that only seems to make his brother laugh harder.

The tower is not, as Rumil promised, encased in stone, but rather a circular platform with only a roof and four stone pillars to protect from falling. There is no guard wall or even a thin railing. And we are stories above the ground.

“Cosima, it’s alright,” Lavandil coos, though her encouraging words are damaged by her giggles. “Elves have wonderful balance, no one is going to let you fall. And look—we are set up right in the middle.”

“If it helps, I can shove Rumil off the tower to demonstrate elven reflexes,” Orophin offers through a chuckle.

This does make me feel slightly better, and I crack a small smile. On the step above me, Haldir waits patiently. Maybe I’m just being silly. I take a deep breath and step up to join Haldir on the landing.

And nearly sway in fear.

To my right and left are open sky — and too many feet below, the hard, deadly ground.

I suck in a sharp breath.

Rumil waves in joyful greeting. “Good to see you both. Now do sit down, Cosima, I worry you will faint and tumble over the edge.”

His words resonate with a very real fear and I scurry forward and practically throw myself onto the blanket. Haldir follows closely behind, offering a cushion to myself and Lavandil before using another to hit his youngest brother over the head. Even in my nervous state, I can’t help but join Orophin and Lavandil in their shocked laughter.

“Didn’t our parents teach you not to lie,” Haldir drawls, dropping the cushion to my left and sitting upon it. He tosses the other to Orophin, raising an eyebrow at Rumil as if asking him to challenge his choice.

Rumil grins, completely unaffected. “Then I apologize, dear Cosima, but your face was hilarious. And don’t you know we all like you too much to let you die?”

I huff, rolling my eyes and feeling better as long as I focus on the faces of my friends rather than the nearness of the edge. “Thanks.”

Lavandil wisely changes the subject. “No Alex?”

I shake my head. “He’s doing some research today. I’m supposed to meet him in the library at five-thirty — Baranor’s going to teach us Sindarin.”

A chorus of approval runs through the group.

“That’s a useful skill,” Rumil nods, taking a sip of what looks like orange juice.

“I’d be happy to practice conversation with you once you learn the basics,” Lavandil offers, and I accept readily. From the little I’ve spoken with her, I like Lavandil, and it would be nice to spend more time with her.

Tired of being the focus, I turn the conversation on my friends. I gesture between Lavandil and Orophin. “How did you two meet?”

Lavandil launches into an animated account of her relationship with Orophin from start to where they are now. Apparently, they met eight years prior when Haldir and Orophin were part of a company escorting Lady Galadriel to Imladris. Orophin was taken with her immediately, but it took Lavandil a little longer to come around.

“I always swore I would marry an architect—anyone but a solder,” she laments with comical exaggeration. “But eventually he persuaded me to give him a chance, and I haven’t looked back since.”

Orophin takes her hand in his and squeezes, staring at her like she’s the center of his world.

I don’t want to pry, but I do wonder how elven relationships differ from human ones. Just the time they’ve been courting—eight years—is much longer than I think is the standard for humans. I am lacking in memory, but surely with how short human lifespans are, they get married quicker? I make a note to ask Lavandil or Rumil about this later. Though, with all Rumil’s teasing of late, Lavandil is probably the safer option.

After I learn how Lavandil and Orophin got together, I have a lot of other questions about the lives these friends of mine lived before I knew them. As afternoon passes into evening, I discover that Rumil—unsurprisingly—has been the instigator of no less than four human bar fights, Lavandil once snuck from her childhood home to try and explore the mountains (and was promptly sent back to a furious mother), Orophin is apparently the life of the party after a bottle of Elvish wine, and, in his first few years of the guard, Haldir constantly challenged his superiors, to the point where they would send him off on solo trips just to be rid of the relentless suggestions. Before I know it, the first stretches of sunset streak through the sky and it’s nearing the time I set to meet Alex and Baranor.

I stand, sighing with no small amount of regret. I wish I could stay here with them all night. “I’ll see you tomorrow! I’ve got to get to the library for lessons.”

Rumil waves goodbye. “I’ll drop the blanket and cushions in your room. You know, as penance for tricking you.”

I roll my eyes, concentrating on his face rather than the open sky all too close to my feet. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it, but thank you.”

“Do you know the way?” Lavandil looks up at me with mild concern. I assure her that I’ve visited the library before and am mostly confident in my ability to not get lost.

Haldir wraps an apple and some bread in cloth and passes me the bundle. In response to my raised eyebrow, he quirks a knowing smile. “Baranor is likely to keep you well past dinner. He loves his lectures.”

I chuckle, agreeing that Baranor probably will, and thank my friend. After a final round of goodbyes, I hurry as quickly and carefully as I can to the security of the stairwell and head in the direction of the library.

{***}

Sindarin is complicated. Baranor seems to have an endless reserve of patience — how? I have no clue.

Alex struggles just as much as I do, but it is clear that he is more dedicated than I and pushes to keep his attention into the late hours of the night. I’m grateful Haldir had the forethought to send me with food, as are Alex and Baranor, who share the dinner. By the time ten o’clock rolls around, I’m fighting back yawns. I think I’ve got the alphabet down, though that isn’t even technically Sindarin — it’s the writing system called Tengwar — so I don’t even have any conversational phrases to try with Lavandil.

At midnight, Baranor finally calls it, acknowledging that he will need some sleep if he is to put in a full day tomorrow of researching with Elrond and doing a shift in the healing wards. But he graciously commits to teaching us three evenings a week after dinner and maintains that, after practice and time, we will improve.

We say our goodbyes and I practically stumble out of the library. I can think of nothing more than my plush duvet and cool mattress. Alex, on the other hand, somehow almost vibrates with energy. He seems rejuvenated, renewed, and for the first time, I recognize him as the same man in my memories — no longer is he weighed down by malnutrition, injury, exhaustion, and defeat. But it’s more than that. He’s no longer angry — hope lights up his eyes. He smiles broadly and insists on walking me to my room.

“Worried you’re gonna fall over, Cosi,” he reasons, sending me a wink. Even in my tired state, I have to blanch. It’s like being with a whole new person. But at the same time, I know this person. I like this Alex. At the very least, I know what to expect from him — he’s the friend I remember.

Though I do worry…what will happen to him if this search for answers is a dead end? What if we can’t get home?

I don’t want to think about how he would feel, then.

I don’t want to think about how I would feel, then.

We climb the stairs and reach my door, pausing outside it momentarily. I turn to my friend, giving him a sleepy smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Me too,” he agrees, leaning against the doorframe. “I just needed something to do. Now I don’t feel so helpless. And you’re okay? After yesterday’s setback?”

I sigh against the drowsiness. “Yeah, yeah I’m good. Don’t you worry about me.”

He nudges my shoe with his. “Good. Alright, I’ll leave you alone. Sleep tight, Cosi.”

I smile, waving as he walks down the hallway. “Night, Alex.”

Entering my room, I see that Rumil kept to his word and left the folded blanket on my couch with the four pillows stacked neatly on top. Still doesn’t atone for all his foolishness today. Crawling into my bed, I instantly fall asleep.

A/n Thanks for reading! Let me know if you would like a tag :) Comments, likes, and reblogs make my day! 

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[cummingforkylo]

The Prince Of Alderaan Chapter II

Chapter Summary: Lady Whistledown’s latest papers leaves you quite indignant and unsure of your next steps. Hyde Park is beautiful at this time of year but when you venture out with your Mama, you have anything but flowers in mind. 

Chapter One | Read On AO3 | Send me a Ko-fi

Rating: Explicit...eventually

Word Count: 5,309

Warning: None as of now

Pairing: Kylo Ren x reader

Notes: Okay, Okay, I KNOW if you’ve seen Bridgerton you know that I pretty much took this one key element from the storyline but I promise i’m going to do it differently.This story is inspired by the netflix show/book series Bridgerton. It’s kind of a crossover because I do use some themes and characters from the show but it is mostly a Kylo x Reader fic. Remember: historical accuracy is not the goal!<3 

Dearest Lords and Ladies of London,

After the first event of the season last night I’m sure we are all wondering what scandal or excitement awaits our hungry appetite! This writer has heard from her sources that while the ball seemed to be laden with the typical talk(Miss Philippa Featherington danced with no one, Lady Browning indulged far too much in champagne and had to be removed from the party by her son, Lord Linfield was rejected by countless ladies for a dance…despite his sizable fortune-perhaps it is the lingering oder of cabbages and onions that accompanies him wherever he goes) there was one bit of excitement that stood far above the other more typical anecdotes. The most scandalous young lady of this season so far, Miss Huntington, seems to have caught the eye of the most coveted (and reluctant) bachelor of the season, the Prince of Alderaan.

Prince Kylo Ren of Alderaan spent much of the evening avoiding the dance floor and was seen to scurry away from many very suitable young ladies including Miss Bridgerton-Queen Charlotte’s choice of the season. While he resisted strongly(and some might even have called his actions rude) most of the young ladies he encountered he seemed to be unable to keep himself away from Miss Huntington. Miss Huntington, still fresh off of her family’s embarrassing gambling scandal last year did not do herself any favors at the Danbury Ball. She danced with a number of men who would have been perfectly adequate for her, but she seemed to have had nothing but contempt for them. Showing no more interest in them then a horse shows a fly and this mare perhaps should not be brushing flies away too quickly, no matter how much their buzz annoys her.

But perhaps the Prince sees something in Miss Huntington that society as a whole does not, because after ignoring the Queen’s choice of the season all night, the Prince and Miss Huntington came together for, by all accounts, a most heated dance.  I will be interested to see if Miss Huntington has a royal caller today and what that could mean for her prospects later on. Perhaps the Queen has chosen the wrong girl for the diamond of the season this year, perhaps we have all put our eggs in the wrong basket. But—perhaps not. Only time(and this writer) will reveal.

Yours most sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

“Contempt?” You gasped as you paced back and forth in front of the piano in your sitting room. Mama was sitting in front of a table holding the latest Lady Whistledown, a quickly cooling cup of tea completely forgotten sat on the table in front of her. “I didn’t show any of those men contempt! I was perfectly polite, Mama!” You complained. You were affronted to hear what that wretched Whistledown had written of you, written of you and the Prince.

“I understand that, but the members of the ton might not now that they’ve read this.” Mama sighed. Nerves clenched at your stomach, how could your status seemed to have gotten lower since the Danbury Ball? “Not all of what she wrote of you was terrible, dearest.” Mama said, trying to perk up. She set the paper down next to her tea on the table. “Don’t you agree, Ella?” she continued, looking to your lady’s maid who stood nearby.

“Oh, yes, not all of it was-“

“She compared me to a horse.” You said, turning around to face the two of them, frustration and irritation plain on your face. Ella’s face dropped and she nodded, looking away. “Sorry, Ella. I do not mean to take my own frustrations out on you.” You said.

“She did mention the Prince being taken with you-“

“Yes, what was the word she used to describe our dance?” You asked, “Oh yes, heated. That’s a scandalous word if ever I’ve heard one.” You said. You strode over to the table and picked up the copy of Lady Whistledown Society Papers that now sat on the table beside your Mama. You found yourself wanting to rip it into a million pieces, that of course would not be a proper display, even just in front of your mother and lady’s maid.

Your Mama reached out and took your hand, running her thumb along the backside of  it in a comforting way that only a Mama knew how to do. You looked down at her and found yourself for what felt like the millionth time, wishing things were different. Wishing things had not exploded for your family last year. How much easier would life currently be if your father had not indebted himself to so many people, not made a mockery of your lives? You tried to brush away the thought but anger pulsed through you. A most unlady-like feeling, anger. It caused you to think of actions you wanted to take but never could, words you wanted to speak but never would allow yourself to. It made you long even more for a different world wherein you could do and say those things. And longing wasn’t ladylike either.

“Dearest, she also compared you to Daphne Bridgerton and said the Queen herself may have been wrong in her choice. That the whole ton might have been wrong in thinking the diamond of the season was Miss Bridgerton, and she means that it could be you.” As your Mama spoke a whole knew vista of opportunities, and chances seemed to open up before you. You could, no, you had to prove this true. That you were more eligible, more likable and just…more than anyone else. The Prince could call on you and he could court you, and ask for your hand and marry you. Then all this worry, all this anger and pain and scandal would be for naught. It would be forgotten about because you will have made the match of the season. Even if he was rude, cruel and you became irritated at the mere memory of his mocking voice, you would still become a Princess when you married him and that was exactly what your family needed. Yes, that was the goal and you were heartened by it.

“My guess is you will have quite a lot of callers today, suitors ready to vy for your hand.” Mama said and you smiled because you really did agree with her.

*

Your mood dissolved as the day went on, you spent the entire day in the sitting room awaiting on callers. You paced, and no one called. You sat on the sofa and tried to read, and no one called. You  played piano and no flowers or gifts arrived. You talked to Ella about other things to try and distract yourself and no one called. You picked out fabric for your next dress from the swatches the Modiste had sent and no one called. Not one suitor. You had been so  convinced that the Prince would call, or at least send flowers that in the afternoon when there was a knock at the sitting room door you were sure it was the Butler there to tell you that he was there but instead the door opened and your eldest brother walked in with his wife and your niece and nephew close behind. Matthew was jovial as he greeted you and your Mama,

“Did you read Lady Whistledown today? That woman has a knack for writing compelling stories does she not?” He asked as he grabbed a biscuit and sank down at the table. His wife, Rose sat down next to you at the piano as the children ran about already causing havoc. You rolled your eyes, had they not read the same thing this morning? Why would he think it compelling?

“She compared me to a horse, Matthew.” You found yourself saying once again, turning to look at your elder brother who attempted and failed to hide a smile.

“I told him not to bring up Lady Whistledown.” Rose sighed, reaching over to take your hand in the sweet and gentle way that she did.

“Ella, can you call down to the kitchens for more tea, please?” Mama said, looking to Ella who said,

“Of course, Ma’am.” She curtsied and left them. Matthew watched her go from the room, and leaned back against his chair.

“She may have made a few brash statements, my dear sister but she also reminded everyone that their choice of Daphne Bridgerton for the diamond of the season could be false and it could be you.” Matthew said, delicately selecting another biscuit from the tray in front of him.

“That is precisely what I pointed out out to your sister earlier.” Your mama said approvingly glancing from Matthew to you over her teacup.

“That was before absolutely no suitors came to call this morning,” You reminded your mother, irritation coloring your voice once again.

Your nephew sped past the table his father was at, grabbing a biscuit as he went.

“Simon, where on earth are your manners?” Rose asked. Simon stuck his tongue out at his mother and continued his game of chasing his sister around the couch with the biscuit in his mouth.

“You had no suitors this morning? None at all?” Matthew asked, and the shock in his voice made you want to shrivel up and die. It was unfair, unfair that Matthew was there to bare witness to  your suffering, unfair that he should be here with his happy wife and children watching you fail at your only duty in life. Your mama shook her head to answer for you because you were looking anywhere but at your elder brother. Rose squeezed your hand and your chest flooded with sudden emotion. The tiniest gesture made you feel as though you were not alone. Had she once felt like this? Had she too wondered if anyone would want her? Had she wondered if she would amount to anything more than the hated title of ‘spinster’? No, Matthew had been there from the start, he had been interested and active in seeking her out.

Matthew was  frowning as if in thought, “Does father know?” he asked, trying now to hide some of his shock by asking pointless questions. Of course Father didn’t know, Father wasn’t home, how would he know? Mama answered in a more polite fashion than you would have,

“Not yet,” She said.

“Hm. Well. There is still time.” He said shot you a quick smile, perhaps you weren’t entirely useless. Your mood did not improve, even when you retreated to your room to get dressed for walking in Hyde park. You knew you could not get discouraged. You knew you had to prove yourself as the best. Lady Whistledown might have helped along the No Suitors Situation but she herself had also said you could be the rightful Diamond of the Season and not Daphne Bridgerton. Everyone had already said this to you today and now you had to remind yourself. You had to convince yourself because it would take that confidence to pull it off. As Ella helped you dress you found your mind floating back to the night before, at the Danbury Ball and how flat every dance had felt, every look between you and a man had had no significance, every touch was dull and expected. It had all been nothing. All except one—the Prince. The rude, cruel, infuriating Prince Ren who had called you improper, even though he had been the one staring at you. Kylo Ren, who had…touched your skin. Your heart pounded at the mere memory of his fingers grazing against your back. It made you ashamed but not nearly as much as it should have, because it also was the only memory from the Danbury Ball that exhilarated you. He had sought you out, and you alone, it had to have meant something. And yet when he danced with you it seemed as though all he wanted from it was to humiliate you. You wished it wasn’t possible. You wished it hadn’t worked. And you very much wished you still weren’t thinking about it.

***

Your thoughts of Prince Kylo Ren didn’t abate when you left your house for the short carriage ride to Hyde Park. You were still thinking about him as you strolled along the walking paths with your Mama and your Lady’s maids. You were trying to work out what exactly he had meant by his behavior, why choose you to be the only young lady he danced with and then be nothing but rude to you? Perhaps he did not think himself rude? Perhaps he just spoke his mind very bluntly. You considered this as the best option for a while, barely noticing where your feet were carrying you as you walked alongside your Mama. But a memory resurfaced from that night, that made it very clear to you that this could not be the case. It was the memory of the smirk that seemed to hang even in his voice as he said, “You stared at me, my lady.” Your insides twisted at it. That and the way his eyes burned. He knew precisely what he was doing, he knew he was trying to humiliate you, trying to make you feel as if you had done something wrong. “How improper,” those words sent a spark through your body, something akin to anger and embarrassment. His voice had been dark and intense, your mind was absorbed in it…accompanied with the feeling of his gloved fingers against the bare skin of your back. It wasn’t the correct place for him to place his hand while leading a dance, it was slightly too high. Yet, he had done it. Accidentally? It must have been. He just had not been used to dancing with someone quite that much shorter than him, perhaps. Those fingers blazed through your memory, leaving little room for anything else in your brain. You could imagine his fingers there again as you looked out across the Serpentine River, which was little more than a shallow man-made pond that cut through this section of Hyde Park.

Your mind was so wrapped up in the feeling of those fingers, and the burn in his eyes that it took you far too long to notice you were staring directly at the real thing. It took your mother taking your arm and hissing in your ear,

“Staring at the Prince is not very lady-like.” She squeezed your arm and you blinked. She, of course, was right. Across the lake, the prince was standing arm in arm with the Queen Regent of Alderaan, his mother. Someone he had not been seen with years. As you took him in you realized he had not noticed you yet,  you should look away, being caught staring at him yet again would surely end in more humiliation. He paused in his walk with his mother, his expression was irritated, lips tight, body stiff and upright as she spoke to him. His eyes flicked up and you were very suddenly caught in his gaze. Caught wasn’t quite the right word to describe it, trapped was probably more accurate. A shiver ran up your spine, it was that same blazing glance, a whisper of the memory of a hand on your skin. You watched as humor suddenly joined the irritation on his face, recoloring it. He turned to look at his mother, spoke and then pulled his arm away from her. He began to walk to the foot bridge nearby. She called something after him but he ignored her, she turned to her Lady’s maid who was standing nearby but your eyes were following his Grace as he walked over the bridge.

“The Prince is headed in this direction,” Mama hissed to you quite unnecessarily. You were about to hiss back that you knew but you started to feel not only his eyes on you, but many eyes on you. Everyone who had gone for a late afternoon stroll through Hyde Park seemed to be looking at you.  All because Prince Kylo was stepping off the foot bridge and striding over towards you. You found yourself having the insane desire to run away. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t face him after he had caught you staring, or perhaps it was because of your disastrous dance at the Danbury Ball…or perhaps it was because of the persistent and scorching thoughts of his hand in yours, his fingers on your back. You wanted to hide from all of that and hide from his gaze but he walked up to you a moment later and inclined his head respectfully,

“Miss Huntington,” He said and then he turned slightly towards your Mama. “Lady Huntington,” He said.

“Your Grace,” Your Mama said, dropping to a curtsey. When you finally remembered how to move, and curtsied as well.

“Your Grace,” You mimicked your mother.

“What a pleasant thing, to meet you here.” Mama said, smiling almost adoringly up at Kylo. “Were you escorting your mother?” She asked. Something shifted slightly in his face, the subtle shift was enough to make his face go from mildly polite to the beginnings of irritation.

“Yes.” He said. “But I happened to see Miss Huntington across the Serpentine and thought she looked as though she could use a companion this afternoon.” He said. He offered his arm to you. You didn’t move. You were unsure if you should take it, unsure if you even wanted to take it. You knew you should and something inside of you did long for it, longed for his gloved hand in yours so that you could again revel in the memory of it against your bare back. Shock swept through you  at your own thoughts, and with that shock was the realization that the prince had his arm held out to you still, “Would you care to walk with me, Miss Huntington?” He asked. You took the proffered arm as gracefully as you could manage while you still recovered from your own thoughts and the longing that still drove you to consider his hand at such length.

“Yes, of course, Your Grace.” You said. You watched him give your mother a tight smile and nod, before he turned you away form her and began walking.

It was quiet except for the sound of your steps as you walked along the Serpentine, you listened to his heavy footfalls and your lighter ones keeping pace. Was he going to mention the rude things he had said when you had last spoke? Should you bring them up? You were about to ask him if he planned on insulting you again on your walk when he spoke,

“I thought you might have learned your lesson about staring the last time we met.” He spoke casually as though he wasn’t attempting to wound your pride. “That does not seem to be the case.” He said. You looked about, wondering if anyone was within earshot, but no, Mama and her Lady’s maid were the closest people to the both of you and she was at least twenty yards back.

“First of all, Your Grace, I did not realize I was looking at you this afternoon.” You said, turning to look up at him. He was so much bigger than you that it felt as though you had to lean back to see his face. “Secondly, I maintain that the last time we met, I was only looking at you because I had caught you looking at me.” You insisted, and again the memory of that evening filtered into your head. The way you had felt his eyes upon you and how you looked back with curiosity.

“Hm.” Was his answer, and for a long moment it seemed as though he was going to leave it at that, then he spoke with no humor in his voice, “You presume to know better than I?” He asked. Your body felt tight and if you had not been holding on to his arm, your hands would have been shaking. Was it just because he was a prince that he was this intimidating or was it more? No, it had to be more, there was something about him that screamed at you to be nervous, to be afraid. You had to take a deep breath before you spoke to him again,

“I presume to know when I am being looked at across a ballroom, Your Grace.” You said, turning your face away from him so you looked forward at the path in front of you instead.

“Do you know so acutely what that feels like?” He asked, you felt his eyes on you again, that intense gaze that had burned into your across the ballroom at the Danbury estate. He was mocking you again, because he knew you did not know what it felt like.  You swallowed and your eyes flicked up to him and then away again as you tried to recover.

“Perhaps not, but I knew I could sense your gaze.” You insisted.

“Perhaps I could sense yours.” He said.

“That’s impossible because I was not looking at you yet.” Your voice was colored with anger now and you wished you could take back the words, your frustration only seemed to spur him on.

“I think you might have been.”

“I was not.”

“Says who?”

“Me.” You almost ripped your arm away from him but you knew deep down that you could not. Not only was it impossible because you knew it would cause a scandalous scene but you could not because your body would not allow you to pull away from him. It felt like you were glued to his side.

“You seem unreliable to me,” His voice was humorless, irritated at your refusal to accept his version of events. You walked in silence next to him, not wanting to give him more fuel to flame his suspicions that you were an unreliable source, or a hot tempered girl. “Did you have many callers this morning?” You were so surprised by the question that you stopped walking, or you tried to because with your arm in his he simply towed you along with him.

“Excuse me?” You asked, breathless. It wasn’t an entirely unreasonable question for a friend to ask but you would not consider him a friend or even a potential suitor at this point. He had made it quite clear that he thought of you as nothing but an improper, unreliable, little girl.

“Lady Whistledown wrote that you might surprise everyone by making the match of the season,” He explained as he continued to tow you along with him. You turned your head to gaze up at him again, he was shocking in so many ways. Not only did he follow no real social protocols, but he spoke his mind and was too handsome to be reasonable. You wished you did not think it true, but as you looked at him you couldn’t help but notice again every pleasant thing about his face. Full lips, dark eyes with their fire-gaze, straight nose, and skin that was kissed with beauty spots in all sorts of delicate places. You blinked a few times, trying to beat back all the feelings that rose with appreciating his beauty,

“You read Lady Whistledown?” You asked, hating how stupid you sounded.

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asked. Your brow knit, you didn’t like being reminded of that fact. It must have shown on your face because he raised an eyebrow and his lip twitched towards a sardonic smirk, “I thought you would appreciate most of the things she wrote of you, Miss Huntington.” He observed. The idea that you would appreciate the things she wrote of you, of your family irritated you more than anything else he could have said. You let out a long, slow breath, trying to not let the anger towards Lady Whistledown effect the way you spoke to him. You were about to answer when he continued, cutting you off yet again, “You should appreciate that she’s willing to speak of you at all,” The frank way he put that boiled your blood and again you found yourself wanting to rip from his arm and march off but your body betrayed you once again and you remained stuck next to him.

“She…I can’t believe- that woman…she compared me to a HORSE!” You exclaimed, your voice dripping with contempt as you tried to not speak too loudly. Kylo frowned in thought a moment,

“I had not recalled that.” He said easily ignoring your fuming. “So, did you have callers this morning?” he asked again. You felt deflated, you had been so angry only seconds before and it was like it had been a soap bubble that he had burst. You swallowed and forced your eyes down, away from him. You felt your cheeks burn and you hoped your embarrassment didn’t show too much,

“No.” You said in the most dignified voice you could manage, lifting your chin. You weren’t sure why you were telling him the truth, but lying about it made it seem more shameful.

“No?” He confirmed, sounding surprised.

“No.” You said again, “No callers, no flowers, nothing.” He had walked you down the Serpentine to the next footbridge and now you were beginning to cross it. As you reached the middle of the bridge he stopped and looked down towards the water, you paused and stood on your tiptoes to look over the railing on the bridge as well, there was nothing but shallow dirty water below. Nothing of interest, but it was a good way to avoid his gaze.

“That surprises me. You danced with others at the Danbury ball I presume?” He asked.

“Yes,” You finally did look back towards him and again were struck by his handsome face. Your heart started to thrum faster in your chest. “I did think that perhaps you would call,” You admitted in a rush. The silence that fell seemed like the longest silence in your life. You wished you had not said anything. The words hung in the air and you wished they were physical so you could grab them and press them back inside of you, into your chest where he could no longer know them.

“Why would I call on you?” It was the emphasis on ‘you’ that hurt more than the sentiment itself. You let out the breath you had been holding and tried to replace the hurt with the frustration you had felt towards him earlier.

“I was the only young lady you danced with at the Ball,” You said, “And now you’re standing here, walking with me and asking if I had any callers. Forgive me, for thinking that might mean some form of interest, Your Grace.” You said.

“I am not interested, Miss Huntington.” He said so easily that you felt that same hurt as before. Why was he here then? Why was he walking with you now when you could have been walking with someone who was truly interested. Perhaps it was rude but at the moment you didn’t care,

“Why are you here then?” You demanded, you were finally able to pull your arm away from him now. “If you want so little to do with me, why walk with me?” You placed both hands on the railing of the bridge and turned fully towards the water once again. You tried to even your breathing, it was unbecoming to be gasping for breath even if it did feel like you had been kicked in the stomach.

“To irritate my mother,” He answered. Now it was easy to replace the hurt with anger, he was using you for his familial issues and it was at the expense of the rest of your life. How were you to have any suitors if he took up all your time with stupid walks that were only to his benefit.

You turned slowly towards him, feeling like anger was swelling up inside of you like the soap bubble from before, only you doubted it would be as easy to burst this time.

“To irritate your mother?” You asked, your voice dangerous and quiet. He was unapologetic. “How dare you? You think just because you’re some…some Prince that you can use me however you would like for your petty problems with your mother?” You gasped out, you were shaking now. Your whole body was responding to the indignity of what he was doing to you. His face darkened slightly and he stepped towards you, towering above you. Anyone watching might have mistaken this for something romantic if it hadn’t been for the loathing that was apparent on your face.

“You speak to a Prince like this?” he growled.

“When this Prince has acted anything but gentlemanly and has insulted me repeatedly-“

“Even when what I’m doing will help you in the long run as well?” He asked, his voice lowering even more.

“-by blatantly disrespecting me and my—what?” You pulled up short when he asked you that. “How on earth could this help me?” You paused, and then added with as much sarcasm as you could muster, “Your Grace.”

“Have you not noticed how many men have been watching you since I took your arm for this walk?” He hissed, leaning down closer to you. You could smell him now, and his scent with the overwhelming power of that dark gaze was enough to make you lose your breath for a moment.

“I-What?” You asked again, hurriedly looking around towards the other groups of people in the park.

“Don’t look now, stupid girl.” He growled. “Yes, my interest in you has piqued the interest of quite a few other men. You need suitors. I need my mother to stop pushing for me to marry…and I also need some peace from the idiotic Mama’s who push their daughters on me at every event I attend.” He said.

“I…I don’t understand.” You said softly, but you were beginning to, you remembered the way you had felt eyes on you when he had first come over to you. It hadn’t just been the eyes of gossiping old ladies, no, it had been the watchful daresay jealous eyes of men. He was proposing something to you, not something you would have thought of…but something almost as helpful.

“If you and I are seen together…seen as an item. Seen as if we were courting, you would become the most appealing girl in the ton. You would also become a challenge and men love nothing more than a challenge.” He said.

“And you…”

“Well, I would get exactly what I want as well-“ His eyes flicked to the other side of the river and down back where they had come where his mother was still walking with her Lady’s maid. You felt as though your heart would beat out of your chest, if he was right, if this worked it could very well get you a match by the end of the season.

“Do you think it would work?” You asked.

“If Lady Whistledown believes it. The whole ton will follow.” He said. “You just need to stop making scene of us in public.” He said. “Now take my arm again,” He instructed. “And walk back with me.”

You did as he said, hoping against hope he was right. He had to be right, your future was relying on it. You had to maintain that you were courting, you had to maintain it realistically and you had to do it while not thinking too much about his hand grazing your skin or the way his fire-gaze scorched your insides, burning excitement into your veins.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

WHOMST IS THIS OC BAKER BOY ELF I SEE YOU SPEAKING ABOUT!???! DO TELL!!

~vaya

GAH YES I LOVE MY SOFT BAKER ELF BOY!!

He is one of my most favourite OC’s, because he is quite literally a cinnamon roll.

(him on the top left, not my art but my faceclaim, as found on Pinterest with no other link)

His name is “Oranor” (it means “Sunday” in Elvish—the day he was begetted on)

He’s from another one of my main stories, “Phony Matrimony”

Basically, he’s about the elven equivalent of 18 years old, and developed a strong childhood crush on Legolas after the war against Sauron, upon seeing him ride to Aragorn’s coronation atop a white steed (very swoon-worthy for a 6 year old gay-to-be)

When Legolas took over Ithilien, I headcanon he built his town in Emyn Arnen—a canon place which looks like the Shire, but more yellow.

(Emyn Arnen, Ithilien)

He’s a baker’s boy (originally born in mirkwood) who Legolas regularly orders from, and the story follows one big lie that Oranor accidentally orchestrated with his scheming older brother.

So, his parents perished in the war, so he and his brother are both taken in by their aunt, Bronwe.

His older brother, Remmirath (means “constellation”), is an...eccentric “El Dorado” type of fellow, always chasing one big adventure after another, or selling snake oil as “cures” to people—a total charlatan.

Remmi comes back one day to find his little brother heartbroken over Legolas being forced to choose a Sindar-blooded partner soon by Thranduil (Oranor himself is just a lowly silvan), and sees an opportunity to be set for life.

The brothers are both naturally brunette, but Remmi returns as a blonde, explaining that he found this “amazing flower” which can change your hair colour for a short amount of time (like polyjuice potion, but just for your hair), depending on which hued flower you pick.

After being coerced (Remmirath just wants his brother to marry a royal so he can mooch off of them both), Oranor agrees to take the flower and turn blonde, as to convince Legolas and Thranduil that he, “Alfirin” (his new alias, quite literally means “white flower”), is actually Glorfindel’s illegitimate son, making him of noble blood, and consequently allowed to marry Legolas.

Big antics ensue with a “suitor competition”, as Thranduil calls in potential elves for Legolas to court, and now Oranor, under the guise of the blonde “Alfirin” has to make Legolas fall in love with him.

However, Legolas has actually been in love with the simple baker’s boy all along, and isn’t interested in any of the suitors, until “Alfirin” starts to remind him of Oranor, who has mysteriously skipped town.

An extract of chapter 2 underneath the cut!

I’ll get around to posting the story eventually lol

Also don’t mind Legolas being a little bit scandalous, he’s doing it to piss his father off (and rightfully so, too)

🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖🥖

Blowing a stray strand of his fringe out from his eyes, Oranor readied himself under his breath. Readjusting the crate underarm, he shifted his weight to one hip.

Muttering quietly to himself, the young elf further pushed the letter down behind the sticky buns. “You can do this, Oran. He will never know it’s you unless you reveal so to him. Don’t be a coward, for once in your life, don’t be just a little baker’s boy. All you have to do is—”

Halting his nervous tongue, Oranor heard voices on the other side of the door. They sounded heated and tense, clearly two males.

It was only with quite some strain on Oranor’s elven ears, that he recognised both Thranduil and Legolas’ voices.

The Elvenking was here, in Emyn Arnen?

Frightened out of his idea immediately, but still curious, Oranor pressed his ear flat against the wood, and listened closely.

“I ask this of you because I care about you, Legolas!”

“Ada, please! You only wish for me to court so you can have an heir begotten for you!”

“That is NOT true, and I resent your thoughts regarding so! Just study the list of names, Legolas. Some are male, too! I know you and your preferences.”

“My preference is to NOT get married right now! Especially to your presumptuous list! I’ll be sailing soon after Aragorn’s departure from our world, so what does it matter, Ada?”

“You will be lonely by yourself overseas! I want to ensure my son is spoken for before he goes.”

“Your son is speaking; you’re just not listening.”

“I could be a lot meaner, Legolas. I am allowing you to choose whom you marry freely, so long as they’re from my list. There are many names on there! You will see—love will find you swiftly.”

There was a short silence on the other side of the door, and Oranor imagined it was his usually reserved lord taking a moment to roll his eyes at his father. Once those few seconds had passed, Thranduil spoke up again—sterner this time, too.

“I am not being unreasonable, Legolas. I only ask two things of you; that you see to yourself being betrothed in the next few months, and that they be of Sindar lineage. There are many to choose from. I won’t hear another word about it—you are still my subject and heir, therefore I have the right to ask this of you.”

Oranor gulped down the nerves that rose in his throat, and made quick moves to retrieve the letter. Hastily, for he heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the door (most likely Legolas seeking to leave his father’s presence in a furious state), Oranor began to rip the letter in two.

He was blushing madly in humiliation. Of course he could never court Legolas. Legolas was a prince, and Sindar at that. Oranor himself was just a lowly Silvan of bakery origins. It was simply not meant to be.

Perhaps it hadn’t moved past a childish crush after all.

Feeling the tips of his ears turning red, Oranor anxiously glanced between the letter he was tearing in half, as well as the door.

He knew he could not hide both himself and the crate in time, for the angered steps were upon him. Glancing all around, Oranor spun on his heel a few times, as he hastily thought of where to flee and stash the crate.

There was a pot of fern to his right, but before he could throw the crate inside and finish tearing the letter, the door to Legolas’ large reading room opened.

A roaring fireplace soon met Oranor with its warmth, as it fought to fend off the winter snow’s cold, just outside the large windows of light running along one side of the room.

Oranor, shorter than his lord by at least a head, was soon met face-to-face with Legolas. They blinked at each other in shock for a moment, before Thranduil spoke up again.

Oranor peeked over the prince’s soldier, and saw the king rise from the long couch before the fire to chase after his son.

“Legolas, do not be such a child, it is very unbecoming of you to storm away—”

Thranduil, too, was stunned to find someone there. If he didn’t possess all the class in the world, Thranduil perhaps would have been embarrassed over someone having heard his conversation.

Formally, Oranor bowed his head to both Thranduil and Legolas, and greeted them by their respective titles. At the same time, he tucked the one half of the letter he’d managed to rip into his winter cloak’s pocket—partially grateful the rest was hidden down the side of the buns.

At least most of it was unintelligible now.

“Your majesty.” He moved his eyes away from Thranduil’s, and nervously met Legolas’. “My lord.”

“My delivery?” Legolas repeated back, offering a mustered smile to the baker’s boy. He also gave a brief nod down at the buns in gesture.

“Yes, my lord,” Oranor meekly replied, shifting the crate under his arm again, so that he brought it forwards with both hands.

“Amazing timing,” Legolas sincerely commended. He took the order and practically drooled over the scent of cinnamon and icing.

Turning on his heel, and ignoring his unimpressed father, Legolas walked over to the table set before the fire. He placed the crate down promptly, planning on curling up with a good book later on and divulging himself in the treats.

The crate was slightly messy, and icing soon covered the lord’s fingers. Extracting a low, quiet whine from the back of Oranor’s throat, he watched as Legolas licked the icing from his fingers, one by one.

Thranduil caught this, and narrowed his eyes in Oranor’s direction. The younger elf noticed the king’s scrutiny quickly, and averted his eyes from the blonde, who seemed to be cleaning each finger very slowly, almost aware of his audience.

“Legolas,” Thranduil ordered, pausing the lord’s tongue as he looked at his father innocently with blinking eyes. “Pay the baker, and then we shall discuss your betrothal plans further.”

With one finger still in his mouth, Legolas flickered his eyes on over at Oranor. The brunette could’ve sworn he spotted mischief behind the blue, and the slightest of smirks upon his lips.

Oranor shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing more than anything to run upstairs in the bakery to his bedroom. It’d been a blessing since his older brother had left on another adventure, for privacy was entirely his in the shared room and bunk beds, and his alone.

“Of course, Ada,” Legolas replied, popping his finger from his mouth. “I was just about to.”