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alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody · 1 month ago

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kinktober #9

Massively Milky 🥛 / Euphoria 💖

“Oh,” says Eliot, stopping short in the doorway of his bedroom. Q, hot on his heels and less than sober, crashes into him.

“Hey, what gives?” he complains, but Eliot just holds up a hand. Q hops up and down, trying to see over Eliot’s shoulder, but he lands unsteadily and braces himself against Eliot’s hips, making him stumble farther into the room.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Margo yells from where she’s splayed on top of Josh in Eliot’s bed. “Get the hell out!”

“Bambi,” says Eliot, playfully aghast. “In my bed? The chutzpah!”

“Out!” shrieks Margo, and Q ducks as a stiletto comes flying over Eliot’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing Eliot’s hand and tugging him down the hall to his own room. “I put a charm on my door earlier, there shouldn’t be anyone in there.”

“Put a charm on your door to what?” asks Eliot, letting himself be tugged.

“To lock it, duh. Have you met me?” A little clumsily, Q disarms the spell and lets them in. “Not exactly the party type.”

“And yet,” says Eliot, turning in a slow circle as if taking in his surroundings, “here you are. Partying.”

“Yeah, well, someone dragged me downstairs.” Eliot’s been in his room before, at least in passing, but for a moment he stops and sees it as Eliot must: the plain pale blue sheets and navy duvet, the pile of rumpled half-clean laundry threatening collapse in the corner, the total lack of decor. Eliot’s room at least has, like, plants and stuff. And framed art. All of the art Quentin came to school with is Fillory fan art Julia gave him or he’d bought himself at the one con he went to back in high school, and it now resides deep in the suitcase stuffed in the back of his closet.

Eliot does a theatrical little bow. “You’re welcome. Feel free to thank me for the many handcrafted cocktails as well. That was kraken rum in that hurricane. Not like the brand Kraken, but, like, actual kraken. And I made the orgeat syrup from scratch.”

Q furrows his eyebrows. “There’s no actual kraken.”

“Oh, yes, there is.”

“Nuh-uh,” says Q, shaking his head and flopping onto his bed. The last shot of rum is starting to hit him, his thoughts going blurry, everything suddenly moving a little slower.

Eliot throws himself down beside him, somehow still managing to look graceful and put together despite the many, many hurricanes Q watched him drink. Helped him drink. Whatever. “There is, and they’re sentient.”

Quentin is suddenly very, very aware of how close to him Eliot is. He can smell his woody cologne, the alcohol and sugar on his breath, the sweat from dancing downstairs in a pit of other people blowing off steam about midterms. He can’t remember if he put on more deodorant before the party. Or what he ate for lunch or what his breath might be doing. Did he even brush his teeth this morning?

“I know,” says Eliot softly. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“What?” says Q, too fast, and Eliot laughs.

“The kraken. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Q laughs too, nervously. “Um, did you need something from your room?”

Eliot shrugs, letting himself collapse back onto the mattress. “I was going to do some E, but it’s not worth the trauma of potentially seeing Josh’s dick.”

“I thought you liked dicks,” says Q, and immediately regrets it.

“I do,” says Eliot, as if that’s obvious, because it is and Q is just drunk and dumb, “but I’ll take a pass on Josh. Margo gets territorial.”

Quentin tries to laugh. He is definitely not thinking about Eliot’s dick.

Instead, he tips backward so that he and Eliot are lying parallel. From this angle, he can see the mound of his belly rising up like fresh dough waiting to be punched down. He’s been doing a bad job of eating things that are nutritionally complex recently, not to mention all the stress eating he’s been doing as midterms approach, and upping the dosage on his meds hasn’t helped. When was the last time he ate a vegetable?

“I’ve never done E,” he says to the ceiling.

Eliot snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Hey!” With only a little difficulty, Q rolls onto his side to face Eliot. Booze sloshes in his gut. “Don’t act like I’m some kind of square! I’ve smoked weed with you!”

“Using the word square isn’t helping your case, Q.” Eliot levers himself over as well, and suddenly they’re staring at each other, noses six inches apart. Quentin cannot remember the last time he washed his sheets.

Eliot blinks at him. Q stills.

“I left my drink downstairs,” says Eliot, as somberly as if he were announcing the death of a beloved relative.

“I’ll get it,” says Quentin instantly, standing up too fast. He sways and steadies himself on his bookshelf, the room tilting around him. “I think.”

Eliot hits him with a winning smile, and then it’s not a question anymore. Q wobbles downstairs, realizes he forgot to ask Eliot where he’d left his glass, and decides no way is he going back up and down the stairs a second time, so he googles how to make the cocktail and cobbles one together to the best of his ability. Luckily, most of Eliot’s liqueurs and syrups are clearly labeled, even the ones in otherwise unremarkable glass bottles, which probably has something to with the mason jar he spies in the fridge with a masking-tape-and-Sharpie label that says IMPOTENCE TONIC DO NOT DRINK in Margo’s loopy handwriting.

Satisfied with his work, he takes a shot of rum for confidence, scoops up a stray pizza box from the kitchen counter, and carefully makes his way back upstairs, leaving only a few drops of hurricane on the steps for his trouble. Outside his room, he stops to catch his breath and get his bearings. Eliot is in his bed. He’s about to be in bed with Eliot. And granted, it’s not the first time that’s happened. Not even the first time he’ll have slept with Eliot. But it’s the first time he’ll do any of it lucid, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. If something else is going to happen between them, he wants to remember it.

He bumps open the door with his hip and exhales in relief when Eliot is draped right across the bed where Q left him. His dark curls fall foppishly over his forehead. Q has the unbelievably stupid thought that he looks like Sleeping Beauty.

“Hey,” he says, nudging the door closed again with one foot. “Your hurricane cometh.”

Eliot barely raises his head off the mattress. “Too late. I’m not getting up.”

“Okay, well, I’m gonna drink it then,” says Q, climbing back onto the bed. “Your loss.”

“Nooooo,” whines Eliot, and Quentin dangles it over his face.

“Last chance.”

Eliot flails aimlessly with one long arm, and Q loses his balance trying to dodge and topples onto the floor. Only about half of the hurricane lands in the glass, and the rest catches Eliot’s thighs on its way down.

“Oh,” says Eliot lightly. “I’ve been shot.”

He slumps off the bed and onto the floor beside Q, who sets the glass out of harm’s way and pulls the pizza box down with them. There’s still a few slices of pepperoni left, which is better than he could have hoped for a Physical Kids party. Half the time you open a pizza box around here and it’s got some kind of psychedelic on it. Or else it’s vegan, which is worse.

“Do you want some?” he asks, taking a giant bite. Part of him is aware that it probably isn’t cute to be stuffing grease-sheened pizza into his mouth when he can see his stomach pushing against the fabric of his t-shirt, but it’s that or some word salad about how good Eliot smells, so he takes his chances on the pizza.

“Mm, thanks,” says Eliot, balancing the box on his thighs. “Cold pizza.”

“Room-temperature pizza,” amends Q through a mouthful.

“Oh, I stand corrected.” He closes the box and places it back in Q’s lap, then gives it a tender pat. “You have it.”

“I’m not going to eat half a pizza in front of you.”

“Why not?” asks Eliot, and there’s something brighter in his dark eyes than there was a moment ago.

“Uh, because I don’t need it? Obviously?” Quentin’s blushing, but he grabs at his stomach anyway. “Hello?”

“Oh, but I like this,” says Eliot, his voice going soft. So slowly, he drags a gentle hand down Q’s middle, just fingertips, barely enough to press, but it still makes everything in Q stand up and take notice.

He chokes a little on the bite of pizza in his mouth. “Don’t be weird.”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “My taste isn’t weird, it’s superb and discerning.”

“Your taste in what? Losers?”

Eliot frowns. “Let me try again. Oh,” he repeats with more emphasis. His hand is back on Q’s belly, pressing a little harder now. “But I like this.”

Quentin’s face burns hotter. “Stop,” he says, pushing the pizza box away. “I get it. You don’t have to rub it in.”

The furrow between Eliot’s eyebrows doesn’t smooth. Q’s heard Margo yell at him about getting lines there by doing exactly this. “What am I not making clear?”

Q blinks at him. “What?”

Eliot reaches out and cups Quentin’s cheek in one big hand. “I’m not making fun of you, Q, Jesus. I’m just — saying.”

Something warm and prickly is suffusing Quentin all over, halfway between thrill and panic. He can feel his pulse thudding where his skin touches Eliot’s. He can’t hear anything else. He can’t look away.

“Saying what?” he asks quietly. The music from downstairs pounds through the floor, and he feels himself unconsciously begin to tap his fingers on his knee in time.

“Oh my fucking god,” says Eliot, “am I speaking Armenian? I’m not just sitting here because I want to be in a quiet, depressing room when I could be at a party. I am saying that I like you. Do you need me to repeat it in any other language?”

“Hey, in my defense, my Armenian is not good,” says Q, though he’s halfway to laughing now. “Is this real? Am I dreaming?”

Eliot purses his lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t get around to doing E because this would be even less coherent.”

Q feels around behind him for the half-empty glass of hurricane and swallows half of it in one go. “Wait, so you’re saying that —

“Oh, come on, Q,” says Eliot, knocking back the other half of the cocktail and rolling away from him. “What do you want me to say, that I have feelings for you? I’m begging you, don’t make me.” He pouts. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Okay,” says Q, and it must be the kraken rum because he doesn't think he’d be this bold otherwise. “Then show me.”

Without a word, Eliot hauls him back up on the bed, extra pounds be damned, and Q, breathless, stares at him wide-eyed.

“You’re strong!”

“I grew up on a farm, remember? I’m more butch than I look.” Firmly, gently — if you had asked Quentin five minutes ago, he’d have said a touch couldn’t be both at once, but Eliot manages it — he flips Q onto his back and crawls on top of him.

“Look,” he murmurs into the curve of Quentin’s neck. “I know body stuff is hard to believe. But I need you to trust that I wouldn’t lie about this. I’m a bitch, but not like that.”

Q nods, brain not fully online due to the sandpaper scrape of Eliot’s stubble against his skin. “Okay.”

“Okay,” says Eliot, and then he says something in Armenian into Quentin’s mouth.

“Fuck you,” gasps Quentin.

“Gladly,” says Eliot, and he kisses him.

Q kisses back hungrily, desperately, pressing Eliot close like he can’t get enough. He buries his hands in his curls, mouths urgently at his neck, his jaw, his collarbone. Eliot’s less frenetic, his kisses long and deep and steady. He pulls the elastic from Q’s hair and runs his hands through it, cups his face in his hands and kisses until Q needs to come up for air.

“Okay,” Q pants, eyes blown wide. “I believe you. I believe you.”

“Good,” says Eliot. He’s stretched out beside him, so long that his feet hang off the bed, and he feels like the buffer between Q and the rest of the world. The party thuds on downstairs, but it’s muffled through the haze of alcohol and body heat and endorphins.

Q leans in, unwilling to put much space between them, and Eliot kisses him slowly, reels him back in. He braces a hand on Q’s paunch, and Q manually overrides the urge to pull away again. This is good. This is okay.

“Soft,” Eliot mumbles into his neck, and Q laughs.

“Yeah. Pretty soft.”

“’S nice,” says Eliot, garbled. He sucks at the soft skin below Q’s soft jaw. It’s all soft. Q starts to wonder just how much secondhand weed he’s inhaled.

“You should eat the pizza,” says Eliot. “You’ll be less hungover tomorrow.”

Q squints at him. “Is that true?”

“Okay, maybe I just want to feed you cold pizza. Let a man have his strange desires.”

“I thought they were disturb and su — superb and discerning,” he pronounces carefully, and the crinkle of Eliot’s smile around his eyes is everything.

“You’re drunk,” he says gently. “Eat some pizza.”

“You’re drunk,” says Quentin as Eliot drops a hand over the edge of the bed and fishes for the box. “You eat some pizza.”

Eliot obliges, taking a bite from the slice Q had started earlier. He pulls Q up to sit against the headboard and holds the pizza to his lips.

Q has not been fed before. He’s arguably not even that good at feeding himself, if recent events are anything to go by. But Eliot is slow and gentle, and he keeps looking at Q with sweet, fond eyes. With each slice, Q feels heavier, less like he’s floating. It’s good. He feels like he’s fully here. He feels full.

Eliot kisses him. Q burps.

“Okay?” asks Eliot, and Quentin nods.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good,” breathes Eliot, laying his palm across the crest of Quentin’s stomach. “Do you want to keep going, or do you want to stop?”

It’s not even a question. “Keep going,” he says, and Eliot moves on top of him again, careful not to put too much pressure on his midsection.

If it was hungry before, then this, now, is satisfaction, languid and warm. They get each other off, and as Eliot cleans himself up, Q lies still, curled in something close to the fetal position in just his boxers, room unsteady and next move uncertain. This is the part where Eliot goes back to his own bed and they don’t talk about this in the morning, right?

“Scoot over,” says Eliot, lighting on the edge of the bed. He’s shirtless and wearing a tiny pair of royal purple underwear that are probably silk or something, and Q reaches out in tipsy, muted wonder and touches the swell of belly pushing over his waistband.

“Oh,” he says softly. “I see what you mean.”

Because Eliot’s little belly is perfect. It’s feathered in dark hair, his skin pale in contrast, and there are impressions pressed into him from the waistband of his pants, his belt. Q runs his fingers over them, tries to smooth them out. Minor mending, indeed.

“Mm-hmm,” says Eliot. “Not so hard to believe now, is it?”

“Do you have this all the time?” asks Q, rolling over for a better angle. “Do you have it, like, spelled or something?”

Eliot nods. “The waistcoats,” he says after a long moment. “They serve a purpose. Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

Quentin pets at the little mound of flesh. “I won’t. It’s so nice.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” says Eliot again, drawing it out. Slowly, he turns and scoops himself around Quentin so that they’re spooning, his chin propped on Q’s shoulder, his arm hooked over his middle, tracing idle patterns on Q’s own full belly through his t-shirt.

Eliot kisses his neck. Eliot holds him skin against skin. Eliot plays with his hair. Eliot falls asleep halfway through muttering something about the music choice downstairs and then wakes up again and finishes the sentence a moment later. Quentin is so verklempt by it that he has to turn over and give Eliot a turn to be held. He’s not entirely sure that what was on the pizza wasn’t psychedelic. For all he knows, he got caught in the crossfire of someone’s drunken casting downstairs. Or maybe this is just what it’s supposed to feel like to feel content with someone. To feel held and feel wanted.

“Room’s spinning,” says Eliot softly from beside him. Quentin smoothes the hair out of his face and squeezes the pressure point that’s supposed to help prevent nausea, or something like that. It’s been a long time since health class.

“Oh, no,” he says, exaggerated. “You’ll have to stay here. And there’s only one bed.”

Eliot huffs out a sleepy laugh. “Whatever will we do,” he mumbles.

Quentin wakes up with Eliot’s hair in his mouth, his hand asleep under Eliot’s ribcage, his own morning wood prodding uncomfortably against Eliot’s hip, and a spectacular hangover. But he remembers every moment of the night before.

Carefully, he tries to maneuver Eliot so that they can both lie facing away from the piercing autumn sun, but Eliot stirs, rolling one shoulder into Quentin’s jaw. “‘S it morning?” he asks blearily, and Q shakes his head, helping him roll over.

“Not yet. Go back to sleep.”

In the early morning silence, he pads downstairs and fills two honest-to-god steins with water for a few hours from now, when they’ll inevitably need them. Then he slips back into bed behind Eliot and gathers him into his arms. One language isn’t enough for how good it feels.

#feedist kinktober #feedist kinktober 2024 #my fic #my writing #the magicians #chubby quentin #quentin x eliot

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regallibellbright · 11 months ago

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So, I've been thinking about Toby's knives.

Well, okay, I specifically think primarily about Toby's main knife, but there's something interesting to be said about all three of the knives she "regularly" wears (silver, iron, and the new one.) All three of them are gifts. All three of them are given to her by someone expecting Toby to be a hero.

"Ms. Daye?" "Yes, Dare?" It was like trying to leave kindergartners with a babysitter. If I was lucky, they'd run out of questions before the sun went down. Maybe. "Here." She pulled a knife out of her sleeve, offering it to me. I didn't recognize the style of the blade, but if it was street legal, I'm a Kelpie. "In case you don't scream fast enough." "Good idea," I said. She looked almost disappointed by my reaction - she was still young enough for the rules against saying thank you to seem pointless. I winked, sliding the knife into my belt with the edge facing outward to keep me from cutting myself. She brightened, reading the unspoken gratitude in my eyes. She was pretty smart when she let herself be.

(Rosemary and Rue, Chapter 21, pages 239-240)

The first and most important, of course, is Dare's knife. And yet, this is a pretty minor moment. There's no sign this particular knife is special to Dare - it's mentioned earlier she's got enough weapons on her at the moment to clank. Manuel will ask for it later, claiming it was a loan, but that's the most he can say - and May, who would know, corrects him that it was a gift.

By this point, Dare's already told Toby she wants to get away from Devin and take Manuel with her, and Dare asks because Toby's already her hero. She got out. Dare doesn't get to, in the end. And so the knife that Dare all but offhandedly gave her becomes a keepsake, and one of Toby's most valued possessions. As Toby says taking it in A Local Habitation, maybe Dare's knife would help her be someone else's hero. Eventually, it does. Dare's knife is Toby's promise to herself not to fail anyone again. It's the justification she uses when she needs to go back and confront Blind Michael. (Incidentally, May tells her they can get a new knife in response. For all that she remembers being Dare, she doesn't yet understand what the knife is to Toby.) It's so tied to Toby's identity that when she loses her way home, among all the allies she can't recognize or only knows as enemies -

[Quentin] walked toward me, pausing to bend and gingerly retrieve a silver knife from the floor. It looked sharp. It also looked well-used; there were flecks of blood dried on the hilt, and streaks of something much fresher on the blade. "I'll just, um, hold this for you, for now," he said. "I promise I'll give it back when you're ready." "You can't give it back when it's not mine," I snarled. At least I could talk.

(A Killing Frost, Chapter 19, page 266)

Toby thinks at this point that she's sworn to Sylvester and can return to him, not knowing she's banished. He's not part of her way home anymore. But the knife is. When Toby can't recognize the knife, it's because she's not herself anymore. (Incidentally, it says a lot about how thoroughly Sylvester fucked up, particularly in AKF, that Shadowed Hills isn't home anymore.) On top of that, because of its link to Dare, the knife is also Home - the shitty flophouse for changelings with nowhere else to go run by an exploitative crime lord, but also the place where Toby learned to fight and survive. Sylvester's tried to teach her, but she's not the kind of knight to use a sword.

Moving on:

Then Acacia's hand was on my shoulder, and a knife was landing in the dust beside me. "Kill him or let him go, Amandine's daughter, but don't torture him," she said. "Make your choice. You haven't got much time." I looked up. "Acacia -" She looked down at me, the short tendrils of her hair curling around her face. When I distracted Blind Michael, that must have broken his hold on her, allowing her to rip herself free. "No. You let others make your choices too often. Kill him or let him live, but do it now. No more games." "I don't know what to do." "You always know. You just don't listen to yourself." She shook her head, turning, and started to walk away. The Riders parted to let her pass, still silent, still staring at me. Choices. Oh, Oberon's blood, choices. I put the candle between my teeth, keeping my knife pressed tight against Blind Michael's throat. The flame licked at my cheek, filling the air with the hot smell of singed blood as I reached out and picked up Acacia's knife. I almost dropped it when the metal hit my hand. Iron - it was made of iron. It would have to be; did I really think I could kill one of the Firstborn with silver alone? That was never an option. Not really. ... "I'm sorry," I said. "I can't forgive you." I lifted my hand, bringing the two knives together, and slammed them together down into his throat. Iron slices through faerie flesh like it's nothing but dry leaves and air. That's what iron exists to do: it kills us. Silver can do almost as well, if you use it properly. Acacia's knife was iron, Dare's was silver, and I held them together as I thrust downward. ... It didn't really matter; he was dead, I had won, and I couldn't fight anymore. No more children would suffer because of him. In the end, I'd proved myself as a child of Oberon's line, no matter how much I tried to deny it; I was a hero...

(An Artificial Night, Chapter 31, pages 295-296)

A longer passage there because Acacia's knife is by far the one that gets the most dramatic focus when Toby receives it, for obvious reasons. But it's also more significant than the moment itself. Up to this point, the closest Toby comes to considering herself a hero in more than Dare's eyes is just before the Ride, where she thinks that all her kids are safe (except Katie, who she can't save,) and that she should run before the Ride begins, even if it kills her, because at least then she'd die a hero. There's even a moment early in the book where the Luidaeg calls her a child of Oberon (five pages after Toby reflects to herself that the children of Oberon are heroes,) and Toby thinks to herself that the Luidaeg's wrong, since she still thinks she's Daoine Sidhe.

But she claims it here, because she has no option not to. You can't kill one of the great monsters of Faerie and not accept that you are, ultimately, a hero. So long as she's herself, Toby won't deny that she's a hero again.

Toby carries Acacia's knife with her regularly for the period of time between the end of An Artificial Night and the events of Late Eclipses. This is all but exactly six months - she receives it on October 31, 2010, going back to confront Michael almost immediately after being freed from the Ride. She stops being able to carry it regularly once Amandine changes her blood, in early May 2011. (I’d have to reread Late Eclipses in full to get the exact point it ends, since she’s still carrying it even though she can feel it in the scabbard at the very end.) After that, she keeps it secured at home unless her blood’s changed far enough back towards mortal that it’s safe. But she always keeps the iron knife, and she always brings it with her when she IS more mortal than fae. In The Brightest Fell, she notes the hilt fits perfectly for her. She has to throw it off her when she changes back in Chimes at Midnight, but once the False Queen’s been ousted, Toby apparently makes sure to reclaim it from the treasury. It’s not a good idea to lose a gift from one of the Firstborn, after all. And you never know when you might need to kill another one, especially when one of them is your (terrible) mother. Which she considers, to some extent, at the start of The Brightest Fell, and openly threatens in its ending to get Tybalt and Jazz back.

In short, Toby thinks of the iron knife as being a part of her life for much longer than it actually was, consistently. Part of it’s definitely that it represents the balance of her blood the way she was used to for most of her life - after all, when she gets another blood choice vision in CAM, the choice is presented as iron and silver knives for human and fae. But it’s also the knife she used to kill one of the Firstborn. Dare’s knife is Toby’s promise to be a hero going forward. Acacia’s knife is Toby choosing the title, and all the danger that comes with it. She stabs them both into Michael at the same time. When she’s rebalancing her blood, in CAM, she does the same thing to herself.

"... You do make the first cut, though, and you use my knife to do it, since yours is probably covered with something unspeakable that would despoil my beautiful creation." "Or she can use mine," said a male voice, from behind me. I turned. There was Oberon, still in his mostly-unassuming buise, the antlers on his brow small enough not to attract more attention than he wanted. He was wearing red, which was a little odd, since he wasn't part of the official wedding party, but he was also Oberon, which meant absolutely no one, not even his daughters, was going to tell him "no". And he was holding a knife by the blade, offering it to me hilt-first. I blinked, first at the blade, then at him. "Sire?" I asked. This was one of those things that probably held some great meaning and import no one had ever bothered to explain to me, assuming it wouldn't be important enough to matter. ... "I would be honored," I said, and took the knife from Oberon's hand, turning to face the cake. ... Oberon was gone when I turned around, leaving me holding his knife. I tightened my grip on the handle. I wasn't putting this one down until I could return it to its owner.

(And With Reveling, the novella/epilogue to When Sorrows Come, pages 360-361)

Today would be the first day I carried two knives to Arden's Court. The first, the silver, was familiar. The second was relatively new, although it felt natural and easy in my hand, and was made of a material I still hadn't identified. In a very real way, it was the only gift I had received on my actual wedding day. ... The knife was different. I hadn't even realized it was a gift at first; I'd thought it was just something I could use to cut the cake. But when I'd tried to return it, the Luidaeg had interceded, explaining that once her father - you know, Oberon himself - handed someone a weapon, it was a grave insult to hand it back, and did I really want to insult my grandfather, the Lord of All Faerie, on my wedding day? Was I that eager to become something genuinely unpleasant and leave Tybalt functionally a widower? I was not. And so now I carried a gift from the father of us all on my left hip, sharp and deadly and ready to be used. But no pressure.

(Be The Serpent, Chapter Two, pages 9-10)

Oberon's knife is given with so little ceremony Toby doesn't realize it's truly a gift at first, at a time where - for once - Toby does not actually need a knife for standard stabbing purposes. Oberon's knife immediately has the kind of importance that Toby isn't entirely comfortable with it, in stark contrast to how quick she is to accept the iron knife and how thoroughly the silver knife has become an extension of her identity. She's gotten used to being a hero, and even a hero of the realm - she lets/asks Aethlin to re-recognize her hero status so she can help investigate, which may or may not mean she's now a hero of the entire Westlands as a realm, not just Maples. (Neither of them bothers to specify.) But when a god gives you a knife, it's understandable to be a little hesitant about it. It's given under the most gift-like circumstances of the three - Dare's was a preemptive gift for self-defense, and Acacia's came with a direct request: Kill Blind Michael, or not, but choose. Oberon's gift is more to have than to cut that cake, even if it's not laid out until later.

Dare's knife's metal isn't actually specified in Rosemary and Rue - it's specified when things are iron in that book, but Toby never actually bothers to mention what they use instead. It comes up for the first time in A Local Habitation, instead. What's important to know at the time is that it's a knife, and a pretty unexceptional one, because Dare thinks Toby might need it. Acacia's knife, of course, is immediately singled out as iron. Oberon's knife is just left as "a knife" in And With Reveling (most importantly, a CLEAN knife,) but when it first comes up in Be The Serpent its material is explicitly mentioned as unknown. We immediately know that will be important. Oberon's children are heroes. The man himself does not give weapons lightly.

The Luidaeg waited until the door was closed behind her before she spoke again. "I saw my father hand you a knife at the wedding," she said. "I know he didn't take it back. Do you have it with you?" "I do," I said, and touched the knife belted to my hip. "Show me." Pulling the knife from its sheath felt like a promise I didn't want to be making, as if by doing so, even when asked, I was committing to using it for its intended purpose. The Luidaeg held her hand out and I dropped the handle into her palm, letting her take the blade for me. She lifted it toward the light, squinting. "Hmm," she said. "I think it's antler, rather than bone, but it should still work." "Oh, go- Wait, what?" "Antler. You know what those are, don't you?" She offered the knife back. I took it. "They're the handles on the stag. Not that I'd suggest grabbing them if you don't have a damn good reason, since the best-case scenario when you do that is being stuck on the end of a pissed-off stag. Bone would be better, but I guess Daddy has a renewable source for antler. He drops them every spring, right around Moving Day, and we used to use them for all sorts of things. There's a piece in every hope chest." "You're telling me that I've been carrying around a piece of Oberon?" I demanded, staring at the knife in my hand. The Luidaeg nodded, apparently untroubled. "He isn't good at showing people he likes them, but he must like you, if he's giving you one of those. He tends to keep them close, given what they're used for." "What's that?" "Murder, mostly." She said it so lightly, like it was nothing out of the ordinary. "Silver and iron for a Firstborn, silver and bone - or antler - for our parents. Not that we know that for sure, of course. It was just what the magic seemed to indicate, and what the oracles Saw, back when there were enough of us to ask." I kept staring at the knife. I couldn't seem to take my eyes away. "So you're telling me this knife could - could -" "Could kill Titania, if you used it correctly and caught her off-guard, yes, I am," said the Luidaeg.

(Be The Serpent, Chapter Twelve, pages 161-162)

Oberon's knife is a piece of himself, and it is the ability to kill one of the Three, if Toby dares, if Toby deems it necessary. Granted, that last part was also the case with Acacia's knife - she's Firstborn too, after all. (And of course, ANY knife has the capacity to kill a changeling like Toby starts the series, or Dare.) But coming from the King of All Faerie, it feels even more tremendous, particularly because it's given when the only one of the Three active is Oberon himself. He's actually surprised when Toby discusses killing Titania or threatens him in Be The Serpent. He isn't actually expecting her to start thinking about killing gods with her god-killing knife. Oberon doesn't think about things he knows A LOT. Toby probably gets it from him.

But he's already given her his absolute trust. You don't give someone the one kind of knife that can kill your wives and yourself if you think they would use it irresponsibly.

Toby's wedding is in many ways, in- and out of universe, a recognition of her heroism. Oberon's knife is, as well. And with it comes the burden she's locked herself into: She's the one who brought Oberon home. She's the restorer of the Roane. She's the one who will go to the Heart of Faerie. She has broken the bindings on Titania, set on her by Oberon himself, and destroyed the illusions of Titania; unraveling something of Maeve's seems as inevitable as finding her and bringing her home as well. The antler knife isn't just marking her a hero, it's marking her as something all but mythic.

Even a hero would be nervous about that responsibility.

But for all the weight it carries, it still feels natural to use, just like the iron knife. The antler knife and the role it brings with it are just as much a part of Toby as the silver and iron. And by the time she receives it, she's more than earned it already.

#violence #moreso than the sheer fact of Knife Meta implies there's a death scene under the cut #october daye #october daye series #meta #wall of text below the cut #spoilers through the most recent books; quotes through Be The Serpent #toby daye #Dare october daye #Acacia october daye #Oberon october daye #not gonna tag the other appearances here but I feel like the knife-givers deserve it

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eunchancorner · 19 days ago

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Revenged and Rescued (Part 14)

I figured after all that excitement, the boys could use a chill day :3

Henry woke up slowly, looking across the tent to see Charles sitting patiently on his cot. For a moment he thought to ask him why he wasn’t eating in the mess hall, before he remembered guiltily.

He can’t, he has to watch me…

“Henry, you’re awake!” the pilot greeted as he realized the other was up. “I got ready while you were asleep. If you need me to step out so you can get ready, I can, but I’ll be right outside if you need me. N-not that you should need help getting dressed like normal, but still. And maybe I can talk Quentin into grabbing us some breakfast, hm? Heard they got poptarts down there, it’s been a while since we’ve had something with that much sugar!”

“Mhm… yeah, just… give me a sec…” he mumbled tiredly, and the pilot quickly stepped out of the tent. Henry could still see his silhouette on the opening flap, and he yawned as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

After getting dressed, he stepped out, just in time to catch Quentin walking up with a few poptarts and small cartons of juice in hand.

“Hey, boys, thought you guys might want a breakfast delivery,” he said, tossing Henry and Charles a drink and poptart each.

“You read my mind!” the younger pilot smiled as he quickly tore the packaging open, wolfing his food down as Henry ate calmly. After the two had finished their breakfast, Charles piped up again.

“So, you seem to be in a good mood today, Quent. What’s going on?” he asked as the three began walking to where the squad usually sat, meeting up with Madd along the way.

“Well, you know how Konrad and I have that deal? About how he’d ask June out next time he saw her if I, uh, asked out Anthony?” the older pilot began, and the younger three knew where he was taking it before he even finished.

“You didn’t!” Madd cut in

“I did! Well, I asked if he’d like to hang out and drink with us and the squad tonight, but uh… h-he said yes! He’s gonna grab some extra beer, and said he’s gonna see if we can make it ‘a night to remember’!”

“Quent, that’s awesome! I think he might be interested in you, too!” Charles pointed out, and Madd nodded.

“He almost NEVER wants to drink with anyone but Smokah, you have a real shot here. Make it count.”

“Make what count?” Calvin asked as they arrived at the bonfire pit, settling in empty spots.

“Quentin asked Anthony if he wanted to hang out and drink with us tonight, and he said yes,” Henry told them, earning an excited look from Konrad.

“Alright, I can’t wait to see how this plays out!”

“You guys are gonna have to record it for me, because I wanna see that, too,” Mac chuckled, Phlex grumbling in quiet agreement beside him.

“I’ll take care of that, seeing as me and Andrew will probably be the only ones not drinking, and well, I don’t think Andrew wants to, do you?” Eel asked his apprentice, who just shook his head quietly.

“Aww, c’mon, you guys never drink with us! Just this once?” Calvin pressed, but Eel shook his head.

“Trust me, if the general got anything other than piss-flavored beer, I absolutely would, but until then, I’ll be the sober friend, thanks.”

“I just don’t like being drunk,” Andrew deadpanned with a shrug.

“Ughhh, fine, at least we get to see how Henry is when he gets something in his system that isn’t radiator fluid!” Konrad joked as he looked over to Henry, who rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, make fun of the guy with literal weapons in his arm,” he shot back, earning little more than a laugh from the twin.

“As if you’d actually use them on me. You like me too much~”

“Oh please, you’re no Charles.”

“Oh? So Charlie’s special? How special is he, Henry?~”

And just like that, Henry froze. He glanced at the pilot, who suddenly had his full attention, and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what he should say.

“Well… He’s uh… H-he’s my first friend here… and uh… well… I-I’ve never met someone so… dedicated… uh, to helping me… and protecting me… and h-he’s… well…” he struggled to find the words, but looking over at the pilot one more time, the words found him.

“He’s honestly just the best.”

“You wound me, Henry, you really do,” Konrad said dramatically, draping an arm over his face and earning a snicker from his brother.

“Well, since we’ve got a special thing coming up tonight, how about we chill out today. Just chat, maybe play some poker? I’ve got cards and a few extra bucks burning a hole in my pocket~” Calvin offered, pulling a box of playing cards out.

“God, you can’t go a week without gambling, can you?” Quentin asked, sounding both exasperated and amused with the younger. “Alright, I guess we might as well…”

Most of the rest of the day was just that; calm chats, various card games, most of which were betted on by Calvin and Andrew, and just generally enjoying each other’s company. The whole time, Henry could feel Charles glancing at him, but he didn’t address it. He didn’t want to embarrass the pilot in front of everyone, and in all honesty, he didn’t mind.

Hours felt like minutes, and before they knew it, lunch had come and gone and sunset was approaching. Mac and Phlex retired to their tent for the night, and a short while later, Anthony showed up with what Henry thought was a pretty sizable amount of beer for a military base.

The night began to blur after that first sip. It began with the attention on Anthony and Quentin; how obvious Anthony was about flirting with him, how red Quentin was with the attention, but before long everyone was more absorbed in their own activities. The twins kept getting into playful scuffles that Madd would take it upon himself to break up until they just decided to team up on him. Andrew was nearly forgotten, and barely anyone noticed Eel recording.

Henry and Charles focused much more on each other. Henry spoke so much more but didn’t remember a single word, and it quickly came to a point where they went back to their tent early. That was where things got really blurry.

A playful chat, sharing music tastes that turned into dizzy, drunken dancing.

Drunken dancing dissolved into a messy tickle fight.

A kiss.

Something more?

Henry couldn’t quite remember.

All he knew was that when he came around, it was morning. He was laying in his cot, but this time, he wasn’t the only one under his blanket. Charles was there, behind him, arms wrapped around him and face buried in his shoulder. It was new, it was close, it was sudden…

But Henry didn’t move. Instead, he just relaxed. He embraced Charles’s warmth, because right then, it was just them.

And he was okay with that.

#eun writes #thsc #the henry stickmin collection #charles calvin #henry stickmin #squad c #anthony lee #i can't believe i tossed this together so fast #i just had so many ideas last night #y'all lucky bastards get fics on BOTH days im grounded/lh

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thesoulesscollection · 1 month ago

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“Too bad, you need to sleep here now. I can’t seem to sleep without you anymore.” I think would be cute with roseright 👉👈

I'm so sorry for allowing your request (and the many more) to wait for so long. I also thought you asked for Grumpy Old Men too but I must've accidentally got rid of it or you never asked.

Whoopsie but I do hope you don't mind both ships to make up for it.

Down below was the original request qnd the post (Here) creativepromptsforwriting on Tumblr

“I personally like it, but you do look silly like this.” Would work with grumpy old men I think?

“Too bad, you need to sleep here now. I can’t seem to sleep without you anymore.” I think would be cute with roseright 👉👈

RoseRight

Right stood beside the edge of his bed, anxiously trying to pull himself together but winced a little at how embarrassed he felt about it.

“You. You said you needed me?”

The shame persists when a soft voice calls out, waiting for his response, yet curious on what it may be, her reason to be here.

“Where do you want me to put them for you?” She tacks on.

He sucks in a breath. For all his wants and desires had easily overpowered his logic.

It was her. Ellie.

The peculiar reason why he couldn't sleep. By the door she stood, holding close to her chest were thick blankets and soft pillows, and it was all that he needed for the night.

He wants her for her comfort, for him to be sweetly wrapped up in her soft arms. A light in the darkness. As it'd begin to terrify him.

“Yes, I do” He stiffly admits. “I've been struggling to sleep lately”

Though he won't say it outloud.

However concern is made obvious by her expression, and he doesn't like it, instead feeling guilty that she can be so worried about him.

“Oh. What does that have to do with me though?”

“Everything” Right grumbles, flustered, motioning to her with his hand.

“Excuse me?” Ellie tilts her head with a pouting frown. “I don't remember doing anything to you. I keep to my own lane like everyone else here”

“That's it you hadn't done a thing”

“What?”

“Your entire existence drives me mad”

The words left her to stare up at him as he comes to terms with what he spills in a moment of weakness.

“Besides that, I know this is weird but can you stay the night with me”

In the middle of the room, against the back wall, was a queen bed that can fit the two easily and have plenty of room for them to not be squished together.

Though he wouldn't necessarily mind feeling her heat.

“For the company” Yet he was quick to reassure after seeing her tense, “Only for a while. Nothing more”

“How can I be so sure?” She asked in a tone Right couldn't detect whether it was meant to be accusatory or not as she tilted her head with a smirk.

Right was going to open his mouth to say something, defend himself and his pride. Though Ellie swiftly beats him to the punch. In order to bring him down to earth with her.

“Thought so, heh. I knew you liked me, didn't you” What she's doing is teasing him, the heat rises in his face. “What if I say no? What will you do then?”

“Too bad, you need to sleep here now. I can’t seem to sleep without you anymore”

Although more blunt than he would've intended it, she snorted, amused, “Uh huh. So would you want me to cuddle up with you too? If you like, I can be the big spoon”

Right rolls his eyes but smiles, taking a careful step closer. “Yes, that would be fine. Thank you”

She grabs his hand.

Grumpy Old Men (They're not old here but I wanted to write about their relationship's earlier years & mentions of kiddo Johnny)

Quentin wasn't used to this style of outfit.

“I couldn't say no to the kid. It would've hurt his feelings” He mumbles, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. The shirt was snug in certain areas, around his stomach yet wasn't uncomfortable. It was bearable.

“He was so proud of himself. Saw it in the stores’ window and thought of you”

When turning away from the mirror, he saw Hershell staring him up and down, puzzled just as well with the article of clothing.

“Definitely your son. Neither one of you has a sense of fashion”

Rolling his neck, Quentin took another glance at his reflection from the back this time.

It was a bright Hawaiian button up shirt with a rainbow floral print. But his heart did swell a little at the sweet gesture from the kid.

“I personally like it, but you do look silly like this” Hershell chuckled, motioning with grabby hands for the man to come closer.

“Not saying it's bad. It's what I expect from a nine year old”

“C'mon. You love it”

Two large hands gently hold onto him, thumbs pushed into his hips, and rubs soothing circles.

Hershell clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “You do look nice. Really handsome” Slyly moving a hand up on Quentin's chest, fingers trailing across the buttons.

“Thank you” He shrugs, still expressing uncertainty. “Don't know when I'll ever wear this”

Now there's a mighty guilt in the sense he won't find the occasion or the drive to even wear it.

Which made it worse that the kid had a strong admiration for him. Quentin had no idea as to why and it worried him a lot.

“You'll find the best time for it so don't feel bad” A light nudge at his side was a reassurance to Quentin. “I can find a way to show this off for you”

Exhaling exasperated, Quentin shrugs the man off. “Oh, you would, wouldn't you?” He eyes the man, returning the interest in the offer.

Hershell took it up and leaned down to his level, soft lips met in a passionately deepened kiss.

#Answered Ask #I'm So Sorry For This #The Long Wait #Heavy Depression & Writer's Block #catisteard #RoseRight #Grumpy Old Men #Ellie Rose #Right Hand Man #Quentin Alabaster #Hershell Panzer #The Henry Stickmin Collection #Henry Stickmin Collection #Thsc One-Shot #Henry Stickmin One-Shot #Soulless Writing #My Writing

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cherry-cristal · 1 year ago

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Would the Survivors recognize Nicolas Cage?

So, I’m gonna put if the survivors gonna recognize Nic when he finally arrives to this hell

SURVIVORS / KILLLERS

YES/NO (if yes) Would they gush about it?

Dwight Fairfield: YES/NO | Dwight is you average white guy with average taste so of course he knows who’s Nicolas Cage is. He gushed, but not too much, from shyness and politeness.

Meg Thomas: YES/NO | She looks like she watches shitty movies with her mom whenever possible, so of course she knows who he is! She gushws, so much, like, she’s 10/10 an extrovert she made him sign so much leaves.

Claudette Morel: YES/NO | She knows who he is, has watch like, 2 and a half of his movies and knows more about his memes than him.

Jake Park: YES/NO | He knows who he is, but not being a huge movie person he doesn’t really care.

Nea Karlsson: YES/NO | She’s from 2021, she was a young delinquent and passed more on the streets that in front of a screen so she knows but she couldn’t give more of a fuck.

Laurie Strode: YES/NO | Her nightmare began in 1978, and the next few years because of her brother she could keep up with media.

Ace Visconti: YES/NO | HE KNOWS HIM and he knows how to fake his sign, he had got sooo much money with that scam! He of course asked for his autograph!

William "Bill" Overbeck: YES/NO | He was a veteran, bitter about the civy life, he heard his name once or twice but don’t really know him.

Feng Min: YES/NO | SHE RAN A FORUM FULL OF HIS MEMES! She was fan of his shitpost and asked him to reenact so much of her favorite dialogues!

David King: YES/NO | He knows who he is, has seen a few of his movies but doesn’t really care, so when he sees him he was like ‘yooo, no even celebrities are safe from this shithole’ and that’s all.

Quentin Smith: YES/NO | He knew the memes (the old ones) but after everything with Freddy and now being in the Entity realm he forgot about him.

Detective David Tapp: YES/NO | He saw like, two of his movies and that was all, his ex-wife was a fan but he doesn't really paid attention to mainstream media being a workaholic and all.

Kate Denson: YES/NO | She’s from the 60′ I don’t think Nic Cage was even born.

Adam Francis: YES/NO | He actually learn about him when the Nicolastick became famous in Japan, but nothing more.

Jeffrey "Jeff" Johansen: YES/NO | He watched a lot of his movies when he was around 18 or 19, and even if he’s not as much as a fan now he still gushed a little about him.

Jane Romero: YES/NO | SHE had meet him before, even drink with him, but since their circles weren't really comparable, they didn't keep contact, she welcomed him not differently from whoever else falls in this nightmare.

Ashley J. Williams: YES/NO | Everything went to shit in 1982 for him, jumping from age to age and trauma to trauma he doesn’t even know what year he was taken from.

Nancy Wheeler/Steve Harrington: YES/NO | Being from the 80′s, and with all that went on with Eleven and the kids, they don’t know who he is.

Yui Kimura: YES/NO | She knows him because Hiro (her bff) is a fan of his movies and camped with him outside a store when they announced the Nicolasticks, she almost cried when she saw him because she was reminded of Hiro and how he was when she dissapeared and really couldn’t face him in a while.

Zarina Kassir: YES/NO | She know he exist, maybe saw... one? Two movies? But she’s not interested in fiction movies and being a workaholic didn’t let her much time to care about celebrities.

Cheryl Mason: YES/NO | Nope, no idea, no having time for teenhood and all that “vessel of a god and Silent Hill stuff” didn't give her much time to kept up with celebrities.

Felix Richter: YES/NO | He knows him, his tailor once told him they tailored a suit for him, but that’s all to be honest.

Élodie Rakoto: YES/NO | Knows, doesn’t care, she’s too busy trying to save her parents thank you very mucho.

Yun-Jin Lee: YES/NO | She knows who he is, doesn't really caring BUT since Ji-Woon was SO OBSESSED WITH HIM she actually tries to avoid him... And everyone else to be honest.

Jill Valentine: YES/NO | Even if Nic’s career started to be noticed in the 90′s she didn't have time to go to the cinema so maybe heard about him from strangers in the streets, but that’s all.

Leon Scott Kennedy: YES/NO | Goody-two-shoes freshly outa school rookie cop Leon sure didn’t have time (or actually care) about the upcoming actors.

Mikaela Reid: YES/NO | SHE KNOWS HIM, she went to a couple of comic cons to meet him and has an autograph from him, she gushes so much and actually gets hurt when he told her he didn't remember her.

Jonah Vasquez: YES/NO | His movies were what keeps him sane whenever he had a little bit of time for himself, he binge watched every-single-one, with beer and stale nachos.

Yoichi Asakawa: YES/NO | He has seen a couple of movies and were there when almost all of his student were late to class because they camped to try to buy a Nicolastick.

Haddie Kaur: YES/NO |Knows about him, has seen a couple of movies, knows a few memes, but that’s all, she’s busy, ok? That doesn't mean she didn't ask for an autograph...

Ada Wong: YES/NO | Nope, Nicolas what? No idea, doesn’t care, doesn’t matter.

Rebecca Chambers: YES/NO | Even if she doesn't know who he is, she gushes about meeting a celebrity, especially the Entity’s Realm!

Vittorio Toscano: YES/NO | Dude’s older that dust, he doesn’t know what a photograph is.

Thalita Lyra: YES/NO | Knows him, watched movies with his brother and actually really likes one of his memes, asks for an autograph for her brother (but it’s actually for her)

Renato Lyra: YES/NO | Has watched every single one of his movies in an “ironic” way, actually likes a lot of them and stuttered welcoming him.

Gabriel Soma: YES/NO | Dude’s from 2098 after a war that made humans go to outer space, I don’t think he even knows what a movie is.

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porcelainnpines · 4 months ago

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please please please tell me more about rosie’s cult! like common rituals/practices/prayers they would do (self-flagellation was a common thing in khlysty, was that a part of it as well?), “rules” amongst the followers, whether there are any distinguishing characteristics among the followers as opposed to non-followers (such as brands or something), the type of people that would join the cult (tortured souls? adults and children?) maybe a small summary of the homilies rosie performs? i literally want to know everything, cults have been my hyperfixation since forever, thank you monarch

Sorry for taking forever to answer this i keep forgetting to check my inbox💔

This au isnt that developed yet so i honestly dont have ton of info yet, but yes in some stuff ive written (unfortunately too unpolished atm to post lol) the self flagellation is a big part of their rituals, however its more so Rosie encouraging others to do it to themselves as a way to gain her approval rather than her engaging. I feel like its important to mention Rosie’s only knowledge of khlyst practices came from her mother, who she didnt really get along with that well, and in this au Rosie and Quentin ran away from their parents together around the age Rosie dies in canon. Because of this, a lot of practices within her cult are just random rules she felt like making up, or that “god” told her.

This “god” that tells Rosie things is actually just the same malicious spirit that manipulated her in canon. It likes sacrifices to be made for it, so it asks her for that, and Rosie has her group target people she deems as sinners for whatever reason, oftentimes just people she dislikes. Oftentimes Rosie’s views are very hypocritical, and she and the group will engage in the exact things they target others for, just because she thinks their special protection from God gives them the right to.

As for recruiting, she typically goes after traumatized young people with no family or safe connections who are looking for literally any community and easily manipulated by her motherly facade. (Basically Dolly)

#ask #oc lore #rosie cult au #rosie #quentin

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backtothefanfiction · 1 year ago

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The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Six: He's Got A Soul As Sweet As Blood Red Jam

Summary: Peter may seem like a big tough gangster to the rest of the world but he's still that soft boy from Queens underneath it all.

Warnings: 18+ Only, eventual smut (like real soon), slight fluff and jokes, this is mostly plot, character and world building

Word Count: 4.4K

A/N: This is basically just world building and further character development but still does a lot to bridge the gap between our lovers with their one to one dinner date. Expect some more name dropping and greater universe references and a lot of links back to our initial prologue and Peter's origins of friendly neighbourhood super hero to mob boss. Also title comes from the second verse of Lana Del Rey's Off To The Races, wanted to use both lines but it would have been too long. Anyway enjoy!

SIX

Peter had organised Miguel to drop the two of them off at F.E.A.S.T an hour later. The acronym stood for food, emergency, aid, shelter, training. It was a community outreach hub for the homeless or those in need. They had set multiple buildings up across the city under the banner when Peter first switched from being the friendly neighbourhood crime fighting vigilante to being a criminal in his own right. He still wasn’t like all those other guys though. Guys like her Father, Dr Octavious or even Quentin Beck. Whereas all those guys were solely out for themselves, Peter had never forgotten his roots or his mission to help his community. No, he was more like a Robin Hood figure. At least 50% of his annual profit always went back to the people.

And she had been there with him to set the whole thing up. After that first conversation they’d had all those years ago in the darkness of her college dorm room, they went back and forth for hours about what the people really need. Thus F.E.A.S.T was born.

They climbed out of the car and Miles quickly went round to open the trunk, to a mass of pink cake boxes. They quickly began to unload them from the car. Miles held out his arms and Angel stacked one box on top of the other until they were up to his eyeline. She took the final box out of the trunk before closing the boot. She shot a quick look of thanks Miguel’s way before her and Mile’s made their way to the door.

Her fingers quickly rooted around in her blazer pocket for the set of keys Peter had given her, her fingers holding a fob up to the side door of the building. There was a low buzz as the door unlocked and they shuffled their way inside with the boxes.

“Hey Karen.” Angel said, greeting a strawberry blonde woman as she made her way towards the same door her and Mile’s had just come through.

“Hey!” Karen beamed upon seeing her, an arm quickly raising to wrap around Angel’s shoulder. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“It’s complicated.” Angel briefly responded. “How’s Matt?”

“Oh, you know how he is, always takes on too many clients and never leaves himself enough time.”

“We’ll have to catch up properly soon.” Angel beamed.

“Yes. We definitely will. Look I’ve gotta run, I’ve gotta get some paperwork over to city hall before they close, but it was great seeing you.” Karen spoke joyfully as she wrapped Angel into her arms once more.

“Yeah, and you.” Angel concluded their conversation as Karen began to make her way to the door, buzzing herself out.

“Okay… so where are we putting these?” Miles asked, motioning to the boxes he was beginning to get frustrated with holding, after all, pink was not his colour.

She rolled her eyes before saying, “This way.” as she began to walk through the familiar halls.

Not much had changed since the last time she had been there. Maybe some of the faces, but she was still surprised to see so many familiar ones. Particular Nurses who saw patients with doctors in special designated consultation rooms, all paid for by the Benjamin Parker foundation, little kids who enjoy coming and hanging out in the rec rooms recognising her, smiling and waving as she passed them.

“Hi, Angel.”

“Hi.” she’d say back.

“Hi, Angel.”

“Hi!” It was like that all the way down to the food hall. A large canteen that served regular hot meals for anyone in need, whether you were living on the streets, struggling for money or simply had no idea how to cook. It was a bustling hub of life and community. Mothers talking over cups of coffee as their kids bonded and played together. Newly divorced men looking for someone to talk to and sharing a table with those who called the streets their home as they swapped life stories. It was her favourite place in the world and her proudest achievement in life.

They set the boxes down on a free table along the back wall, opening them up to display the fresh goods. There was a sudden thud to her side as a small girl collided with her thigh, her small arms reaching to wrap around her waist.

“Angel!” the girl beamed, “You came back.”

Angel recognised the young girl immediately. She had grown a fair bit since she had last seen her at the shelter. “Of course I did.” Angel beamed as her arms instinctively wrapped around her. “Look how much you’ve grown.” Angel commented.

“Look, I’ve got a loose tooth.” The girl said proudly as she used her fingers to pull down her lower lip and show it off.

“Oh wow. You make sure you take good care of it and that it gets to the tooth fairy okay, yeah?”

“I will.” she beamed before she ran off back towards her mother who politely smiled and waved in her direction from her seat at one of the tables.

“Wow, you really know everyone here.” Miles interjected as she continued to watch the young girl as she joined another little girl at a smaller coloring table.

“Believe it or not Miles, this used to be my livelihood. I used to come down and spend so many of my days here helping out. Veronica was actually born here.” She said motioning to the little girl who kept looking back and smiling at her.

“You don’t say.” Miles said with a smile as he finally began to relax.

“It’s my favourite place in the world.” she said fondly. “Come on, I’ll give you the proper tour.”

They walked around the halls together as she gave him the grand tour of all three floors. As well as the already mentioned doctor’s rooms, cafeteria, common rooms and childrens playrooms, there were counselling suites and consultation rooms for legal advice. The second floor had a community hall with regular classes from toddler groups to self defence lessons. The whole top floor was dedicated to the homeless project that provided emergency beds for those rough sleeping whether on site there at the hub or being relocated to one of the apartment buildings they had bought out as temporary accommodation until they could get their feet back on the ground.

They sat and talked to people in the communities, helped out staff where they could and overall tried to inject some light into people's lives amongst the darkness.

“Hey.” a familiar voice said behind her as Veronica, who had just come and given her a picture she had drawn for her, ran back to the coloring table.

“Heeyy!” she beamed softly as she turned around to find her husband.

His hand tenderly braced itself against her lower back and she couldn’t help but melt into his warm touch. She had become so wrapped up in what she was doing, she had almost completely forgotten everything else that had come to pass. The way that everyone had opened their arms to her made her feel like the last three years had never happened, let alone the last 4 hours she had spent there.

“I went back to May’s apartment but you weren’t there.”

“No.” she smiled fondly.

The whole moment felt so domestic, reminding him of days gone by where he would pick her up on Friday afternoons, a moment for him to show his own face and see all of the hard work that was continuing to be carried out with his money. He turned his head around the room looking for Miles, only to find him sitting on a tiny chair next to a little boy on a purple bean bag, playing with the new playstation that had recently been acquired.

“I’m assuming all of the baked goods are gone?” he asked, attempting to keep civil conversation and find good ground between them.

“Actually I think there might be a cupcake or two still in there if you want one.”

They smiled fondly at one another. He had to admit, despite all of the shit he ended up being involved with on a day to day basis, whenever he came back here, seeing families and communities thrive, it made it all worth it,

“You ready to get out of here and go for that dinner?” He asked softly.

She silently nodded as she found herself suddenly drowning in his honey brown eyes. Those soft eyes. The ones he used to look at her with back when they first met. Back when he would sneak into her dorm room. His gaze would soften like molten honey, a sickly sweet sensation always pulling her in as he told her how beautiful she was, his Angel. “Yes.” she finally said slowly, finding her voice. It was barely audible above the noise of the room, but she knew he heard it.

“Yo, Miles!” Peter hollered across the room to him, causing the younger gentleman’s ears to prick up, his head turning slightly, but his eyes never left the screen. “You’re free, man, go home.”

“Yeah, okay, just a minute!” he called back, “I just gotta win this race.”

“Nu uh.” the young boy next to him replied before Miles playfully bumped the kids shoulder with his own.

Angel couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at the exchange as she grabbed her blazer off the back of a chair as they left.

When they got out onto the street Angel had expected to find Miguel outside waiting for them, but instead her eyes came to rest on a black Maserati she recognised from her quick glance across the garage in their rush the night before. “Where’s Miguel?” she asked as Peter began to make his way towards the car, opening the passenger door for her.

“I’ve got him out running an errand with Harry.” he replied as she stepped past him to slide herself into the passenger seat. “Plus, I want tonight to be just about us.” He said, his head bending down to look at her through the door frame.

“Okay, duly noted.” she replied with a curt smile before he closed the door on her. “So does that mean we’re gonna get through a whole evening without interruptions?” She asked when he climbed into the driver's seat on the other side.

He shuffled slightly in his seat before reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer for his phone making a show of putting it on aeroplane mode before handing it to her for safe keeping. She pursed her lips, attempting to keep a straight face as she looked down at the phone now turning around in her fingertips, trying not to let on how big of a deal that was for the two of them.

“So where are we going?” she asked as he clicked his seatbelt into place before starting the car up with a loud rev of the engine for good measure. She had no doubt he was showboating, trying to impress.

“Oh, now that would ruin the surprise.” he said as he quickly revved the car and sped away.

*****

They arrived 10 minutes later outside a restaurant on the upper east side called the Lemon Grove. The whole front of the building was lit with fairy lights and vines filled with fake lemons. They got out of the car and Peter tossed his keys to a waiting valet before his now free hand rested comfortably at the small of her back as he guided her to the restaurant door.

“Hi, good evening, welcome to the Lemon Grove, do you have a booking with us this evening?” a gentleman, who looked to be nearing his forties asked.

“Yes, there should be a table for two under Parker.” Peter said.

The maître d' scanned his list before saying “ahh yes, here it is. If you’d like to follow me this way.” he encouraged them as he held out a hand for them to follow him.

He led them through the bustling restaurant and over to a table tucked away to the back. He moved to pull out a chair for Angel but Peter quickly cut him off, “It’s okay, I’ve got it.” he said, wanting to make a show of putting in the effort with her after their fight earlier on he was still trying to make up for.

“Okay.” the maître d' said as he took a step back.

When Peter had stepped back around to the other side of the table and began taking his seat the maître d' stepped forward again to place the menus on either side of the table in front of them.

“Thank you.” Angel smiled, as Peter tucked his chair in.

“Can I get either of you a drink? Or would you like to take a moment to look at the wine list?” The maître d' asked, motioning to the smaller menu already on the table.

Before she had had a chance to say anything Peter hastily grabbed the wine list, scanning it over, before ordering them a bottle of an Italian Cabernet from Tuscany.

“Coming right up, sir.” The maître d' said before walking away and leaving them to their table.

“You still love Italian food right?” Peter asked her as they both reached for their menus to start gazing over the cuisine.

“Would you hate me if I actually said I’d gone off it.” she deadpanned from behind her menu, causing him to freeze. “I mean, living in Italy for just over two years…” she continued, seeing how far she could push him and make him squirm. She watched over the top of her menu as he swallowed uneasily. “I’m kidding Pete.” she quickly said as he met her eyes, a smile creeping across her face.

“Don’t do that.” he quickly shook his head at her, but he couldn’t hide from her the small quirk in the corner of his lip at realising he’d been had. “No.” he continued, trying to brush it off.

“What? Spider boy can’t take a joke anymore?” she teased as she fought with the grin that wanted to take over her whole face.

“Oh no, I can take a joke.” he quickly interjects, looking to cover himself.

“Yes, of course.” she mockingly nods as he continues to get a hold of himself.

“It’s just, not often that I am the victim to them.”

“Okay.” she smirked as she continued to nod, her eyes turning back to the menu in front of her as she scanned the list of foods.

It was at that point she realised she hadn’t really eaten since their breakfast meeting this morning.

“What is it?” he quickly asked, noticing the sudden furrow to her brow, an air of concern taking over his whole body.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” She hastily responded, not wanting him to stress or feel like matters were worse than they were, as if either of them still weren’t somewhat on alert after the events of the past 24 hours, an unconscious paranoia just waiting to take over. “I just realised I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Oh.” he interjected quietly as he began to settle again.

They sat in silence for a moment as they continued to scan the menu, that unspoken paranoia sitting heavily in the middle of the table between them after his reaction that neither was sure how to shift.

“So do you know what you want?” he asked, clearing his throat slightly and breaking up the silence between them.

He watched for a moment as she flicked back and forth between pages. “Yes… no… maybe?” He can’t help but be warmed by the small questioning look on her face, one eyebrow twitching higher than the other, her head tipping slightly as she muddled over the different options in her head. It was the same look she used to get when he would watch her study for a test or when she was struggling to work something out for her thesis, back when she was still at college.

A waiter came over with their drinks and it made Peter smile when she didn’t even look up from the menu, but still reached for the glass the moment it had been sat down, swiftly bringing it to her lips and taking a sip.

“Do we know what we’d like to order this evening?” The waiter asked as he stood patiently next to the table.

Peter was about to ask for him to give them another moment when she closed the menu and sat it down in front of her. There was a pause as if to check she really was ready, when she said. “Off you go.” tipping her head to encourage Peter to place his order, as she once again brought her wine glass coily to her lips.

“Are we doing starters?” Peter quickly questioned her, an old habit suddenly popping into his head.

“Peter, just order.” she replied, but he could see the quirk of her lip and recognised the sudden dark gaze to her eye and knew she was up to something.

“Okay…” he hesitantly said, his head turning towards the waiter. “We’ll take the calamari and a portion of arancini to share for starters.” he began, his eyes quickly glancing back to his date for confirmation she was okay with this. She merely raised her eyebrows as she sank back in her seat, wine glass still poised in her hand, the tiniest tilt to her head encouraging him on. “Then for mains, I’ll take the sea bass…” he paused, flashing her another glance and her eyebrows rose higher still, encouraging him to surprise her and order for her. He quickly scanned back over the menu before him, re-familiarising himself with it. He smiled to himself. “She’ll have the parmigiana di melanzane, a portion of bruschetta and a small caprese salad on the side.” He said with perfect pronunciation as he ordered her a selection of their starters for her to pick and choose from like an Italian version of tapas. Once she had laid down the gauntlet he had felt her tense slightly, worrying whether or not he’d order the right thing, but upon making the order, he could feel her energy begin to relax, a smile forming on her lips again.

“Is that everything, sir?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, I think it is.” Peter said with a smile dismissing the waiter who quickly took their menus from them before heading to the kitchen with their order.

There was a pause between them as Peter took a sip of his wine and they tried to work out what to talk about.

“How’s your shoulder?” Peter asked her as she folded her hands into her lap.

“It’s okay. A little tender but, it’s fine.” Her fingers automatically reached for the shoulder in question but quickly lowered her hand back into her lap.

“How bad was the house?” she asked. Peter noticed there was a slight hesitancy to her question, as if it pained her to think about.

“It’s gonna take a bit of work but-”

“Do you think we’ll be able to go back there, or will we need to sell it?”

Her question seemed to answer her previous hesitancy. It had been their house, their home. The place they had picked out together, decorated together. Lived in together. They’d always seen it as their forever home. The place to raise kids one day. Maybe get a dog. Hold large family events in the backyard. They’d tried so hard to keep it separate from everything else and now that privacy had been violated.

He was silent for a moment as he considered his response. “I won’t lie… it might have to be a possibility.” He watched her closely as she exhaled the breath she had been holding, the usual twinkle in her eye fading as the reality of their situation took over once more. “But until-”

“I know.” she said, not needing him to finish his sentence, her own mind already completing it for her. ‘Until the Vulture had been taken care of, they wouldn’t even be able to consider the house safe enough to go home.’

“So what do we do?” she asked. “I mean we can’t very well keep staying at May’s.” she noted.

Peter was silent for a moment as he looked down at the table in front of him. He had that face on him, she noted, the one where he had something planned but didn’t want to let on that he in fact had a plan.

He was saved by the arrival of their starters, the food being placed down in the middle of the table for them both to pick at.

“Thank you.” Angel said politely to the waiter as he quickly made his retreat, leaving them alone once more.

“Oh my god.” she sighed as she took a bite out of one of the arancini balls with a groan of satisfaction. “That’s amazing.”

Peter’s face changed to one of pleasant surprise as he placed one into his mouth and confirmed his wife's reaction by having a similar one, his own humm of satisfaction vibrating his lips as he chewed.

“So is it as good as the stuff in the actual country or…?” he asked as they moved on to the calamari.

“Not bad.” she confirmed as she finished her mouthful. “I made friends with this lovely old woman who lived down the road from the house and she used to make the best meatballs I have ever tasted. She had just that right ratio of tomato and garlic and she’d slow cook them so they just melted in your mouth.” Angel gushed.

“Now I’m glad I didn’t order the meatballs.” Peter smiled. “With a description like that I don’t think they could have compared and I would have spent the whole meal feeling disappointed with my food, dreaming about these mouthwatering, slow cooked-”

She giggled, a blush forming on her cheeks as she took another sip of wine as he jokingly continued to use as many adjectives as he knew to describe a plate of meatballs he would never ultimately have.

“Oh no, I’m serious.” he continued with a smirk, “I’m gonna call Miguel right now, get him to tell them to get a jet ready so we can fly to Italy to this mysterious magical Nona who cooks the best meatballs and we will do nothing else until-”

“How are you gonna do that, when I have your phone?” she teased back.

“Fine then, you call Miguel.”

“Peter.” she giggled and chastised. He loved it when he could make her blush. Make her forget about everything else. Take them back to their youth. Quiet rainy afternoons, wrapped up in each other's arms on that small single bed.

“Okay, okay.” he conceded with a smile.

“What do you wanna do about your Father’s house?” he asked her as their main courses arrived, her three smaller plates being laid out strategically in front of her by the waiter. Peter watched as she quietly thanked him before switching the order of the plates once the waiter's back was turned. It made Peter’s stomach turn, a sickly sweet feeling that sent tingles to the joins of his jaw that made him quickly turn his head to his own plate before him, inner conflict returning as his brain remembered the question he’d just asked and all of their recent history began to drive a wedge between them once more.

“Sell it.”

“You sure?” he questioned. It had been the home she had grown up in.

“There’s nothing left for me there.” she said as she lifted a fork full of salad into her mouth.

“Did you wanna go back and sort through anything?”

“No.” she adamantly shook her head.

“Okay.” he silently nodded and agreed. “We can put all the money back into the foundation if you want. Maybe set up another hub in the city?” he asked, trying to chip away at the wall she seemed to just put up at the mention of her Father.

She paused as she lowered her cutlery. “Peter, can I ask you something?” Peter’s own hands froze either side of his plate as he gave her his full attention. “Do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?”

“What do you-”

“I mean all this.” she gestured with her hand between them. “If you hadn’t given up the suit and the mask… do you think things would have been different?”

“I think…” he paused as he tried to comprehend her question. To think of the life they would have had if he had continued to be the Spider-Man, not whatever he was today, “I think we wouldn’t have much money. I think we’d have ended up living in a shoe box apartment somewhere in Queens, still sneaking around behind your father’s back.” She quietly sipped on her wine as she listened to his thoughts. “I think a lot of people's lives would be harder because they wouldn’t have the hubs to go to when they are in need.”

“That’s not what I mean.” she quietly said as her arms came to rest on the table, her fingers reaching out to him.

“You mean, do you think he would have let you stay?”

There was silence between them. Peter watched as she slowly removed her hand from where it had reached out across the table towards him. Reached out for him, to bridge that gap that had grown between them. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t be reminded what it felt like to feel her soft skin against his.

The two of them remained silent, unable to finish their food. The weight of everything that had been or even could have been already enough for their brains to process, let alone the last of their food in front of them.

When the waiter asked if they’d like to look at the dessert menu, Peter waved him off. He instead quickly settled the bill with a generous tip and they both left.

They waited quietly side by side at the edge of the street for the car to be brought around.

“I’m sorry.” she finally blurted out as her arms closed tightly around her with the evening chill. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” she added more quietly as the car revved to a stop in front of them.

The driver quickly got out, handing Peter the keys before stepping towards the passenger door to open it.

“Get in the car.” Peter instructed softer than she expected. “There’s something I want to show you.”

------------------------------

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creelkobblelaufeyson69 · 8 months ago

Text

Pursued

Warnings: smut

Being the Spiderman in the universe they were in was quite hard. But that is just how it goes with that line of work. They lost their parents during a fight, and they still hated it to this day, since they blamed themselves for their parent’s death. They just needed something- anything for them to make them truly feel like a hero

In this universe Spiderman is always viewed as the villain. No matter how much they help out, they are still viewed in such a negative manner. They just wanted to feel like everything wasn’t their fault. This is when their teammate Quentin Beck chimes in

Those two were in a relationship, but it took them a while to fully believe that he had a crush on them. It was real as well. He wanted to help them get viewed as a hero. He didn’t see them as a threat at all. So him finally revealing the big secret he’s kept from them for a moment like this, made him realize how worth it it was to keep this secret from them

They were quite impressed, and turned on about how smart he was. How he managed to make the real Nick Fury believe his act. They give him and his team an applause. Quentin gets up from the stool, and then bows. “Thank you, honey” he says as he stands up straight again

He walks over towards where they sat, and once he was close enough, he takes out his hand. “I can make you into that superhero you’ve always wanted to be. But you have to keep this a secret” he says, which makes them take his hand. He smiles; “I knew you’d say yes.” “Plus I would’ve been so pissed at myself if I did have to kill you”

This makes them confused that he had thought about that, but it was fair on his side to have a plan b if plan a didn’t work out. “I like my suit though, so that won’t be an illusion” they said as they take their hand out of his. They stood up, and was closer towards him

“I wouldn’t make that into an illusion anyway, since I like seeing you in that tight suit” they blushed madly now, which makes him smirk. “Perhaps we should celebrate, since you’re new here” he says with the smirk still on his face. “I like the sound of that” they said as their lips go for his now

The two start to make out, which makes everyone else uncomfortable. Once the two pull apart, Quentin is catching his breath. They do the same, and also remembers that the two are still in front of people. “Can we go somewhere more private?” They asked in a hushed voice

He nodded his head, and then the two leave without saying anything to the rest of team. The two were eventually at his place, and once the two were fully inside, he stood behind them. He unzipped their suit, and once it was on the ground, he pulls down their underwear

He notices how wet they were for him, and chuckles. “Of course this turns you on” he says as as he has an evil smirk on his face now. “You know, I also think you make a good superhero. If only others could see that in you though” he adds as their underwear hits the ground. “Can you jump for me?” They did as told and now their legs were on his back, and they had their hands on the wall

He begins to lick their pussy, which makes their head arch their head. Moans escaped their mouth as he grasped onto their thighs as he now sucks their folds. “Quentin” they moaned as he continues to suck their folds. Their walls clenched now, which makes him stop. He gets them back onto the ground, and now he takes his shirt off

“If there are people that still don’t like you even after I change their minds. I’ll kill them” he says as his shirt goes onto the ground. “You’re joking” they said as now takes his pants off. “I’m not. I’d kill anyone that still hates Spiderman” he says as his pants were now on the ground. “But I won’t do it directly towards them. My illusions will kill them” he says, which turns them on more

“That’s hot Quentin” they admit as he takes his boxers off. “Yeah?” His evil smirk returns now. “Yeah” they said as they leave hickeys onto his neck now. He moans as they mark him. He gets pinned to the wall now, but it was quite aggressive. He liked it though

Once they’ve stopped marking him, they looked deeply into his blue eyes. He kisses them onto their lips now. He guides them to their couch as the two made out. Once close enough to the couch, he pulls apart. They knew their couch was behind them, so they laid down now. He goes on top of them, and his lips go back onto theirs

He goes into them, which makes them pull apart. Their head almost arches back, but makes them continue to look at him. “I wanna see the faces you make while I’m pleasuring you. Understand?” They told him that they understood, and now he’s thrusting

Their eyes go to the back of their head as he fucks them. Moans escaped their mouth as he hits their g spot. He moans too, but he doesn’t allow himself to arch his head back. He needed to see their face, especially for when they cum. “Y/n” he moans as his hands were intertwined with theirs

The two were leaving nail marks on each other’s skin. But neither had cared. It had just added to pleasure for the two. “I don’t understand how no one could like Spiderman. Especially with how sweet they can be” he starts, which makes them excited. “And how hot they can be. People loved a masked person, but don’t like Spiderman. How depressing. Their missing out” he adds, which makes them cum

He stops, but they wanted him to continue. He smirks, and happily listens

#quentin beck x reader #quentin beck x reader smut #spiderman! reader #spiderman far from home #jake gylenhall #mysterio x reader

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ihearyou-jikook · 2 years ago

Note

there's a scene in bon voyage s3 e6, when the members were eating and jhope mentioned that tae and jk were sleeping upside down and hugging each other's legs, i found jimin's reaction to the info kinda sus. the scene was overall weird, jimin was sitting down when hobi finished talking, with no apparent indication of standing up, and suddenly they show jimin's reaction and he's like "wae (what)!?!?" but he's standing up, and then another cut to hobi confirming the story, then the camera goes back to jimin who is seated again and says "that's weird". do you think they edited some of the conversation out?

Anon, this moment makes me 😆🤭

Sorry for making you wait. Let's go go go!

(Had too much fun with this one, it is quite long >.<)

Here is a clip of the moment

vimeo

Cr. Full video here

Let's Quentin Tarantino this. Do I think this was a sus moment? Do I think some of the convo was edited out?

Yes, to both. 👀

JM going from sitting to standing up without us seeing it happen didn't stick out to me too much only because in content like this (Not just BTS content), editors tend to show multiple viewpoints of a moment and I'm guessing JM stood up when we saw the close up of Hobi explaining what he saw. You can also see Hobi's eyes are looking upwards as he's talking.

What gets me tho is JM's initial reaction to Hobi, going eh?! And then needing to clarify what he just heard lol.

Then we cut to JM saying "왜 그래" with that face and that tone.

Side note: I'm not Korean and I'm not fluent in Korean. I have been learning for a while. I'm somewhere between beginner & intermediate and understand that context, tone, and the words used, explain so much when it comes to the Korean language. That's why I wanted to highlight this next part.

Let's talk about the sub-titles here for a moment.

The translator decided to go with "What's wrong?"

This is correct, but it's not the only meaning of those words. "왜 그래" can also mean the following depending on the tone, context, and intonation (rise & fall of voice): "Why is it like that?" "Why are you like that?" "Why are you acting like that?" "What's going on?"

This is a great post about how "왜 그래" can be used.

IMO, JM's tone sounded like it had a bit of a bite behind it. There was no rise in his voice at the end of the words to sound like a curious question. And his face was a little more on the serious side. Again IMO, something like "Why were you like that?" seems more accurate.

He gave off a WTF? vibe.

Back to the question about edited-out parts

I think it's hard to say if anything was edited out right before JM said 왜 그래 but I definitely think the reaction to what JM said was edited out.

There could have been more conversation, but I honestly think there was probably awkward silence after him saying that. 🤣

Because JK & V were both awfully quiet while Hobi was explaining, other than initially asking "Did we?" "Who did it?" There was no laughing, no smiling.

To me, it felt like JK & V were starting to sense JM's unrest with the whole thing and so they decided to stay quiet since an upset Mimi is not what you want to deal with. An upset Mimi is a feisty Mimi.

Look, we always talk about JK being the possessive one but I just think JK is louder about it than JM. There are 2 possessive men in the Jeon-Park Household.

While JK does do some type of skinship with all members, I do think JM enjoys his boyfie privileges. That there are just some things JK doesn't do often with others. And it was probably weird to hear that they were hugging each other's feet especially when JK is sensitive to smells 🤣

Before I go, I have to bring up our president Hobi.

Like, Hobi.

Why do I feel like you're snitching on them to Mimi??

🤣🤣🤣

That's the funniest part about this moment to me. After bringing up the situation to JK & V, Hobi is literally telling this story to JM.

I love Hobi. I miss him!

Thank you for the ask Anon. 💜💛

For you, Happy Jikook inc...

Cr. Daylight

#anon ask #jikook #kookmin #minkook

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larkscribbles · 7 days ago

Text

Hungry?

Word count: 1,514 [Ao3]

Following their meeting in Dimhollow Crypt, the Dragonborn and Serana stop in Morthal for the night. The vampire is given a moment to reflect on the past, what she must do in the present and an inkling of what the future might hold. (Set at the start of the dawnguard dlc.)

Serana did not think highly of Morthal, a smattering of thatched roof buildings mired in a gunky half-slush marsh. The few people they met outside were just as icy as the weather. Serana’s inner bookworm would have imagined a future of flourishing cities, mind-bending magical and technological advancements. Instead, Skyrim remained barren, cold and perpetually layered in a thick swathe of snow. She was sure the fading daylight did not help this sentiment. In fact, it caused her companion to lose his footing and stagger up the three remaining wooden steps to the inn. He acknowledged this flailing and windmilling by clearing his throat and a curt “Tired.”

In all fairness, she was too, despite having slept for hundreds of years. It had been a long trek to get anywhere near this level of civilization. Her limbs were stiff from exertion and the cold.

The Moorside Inn, despite being one of the largest structures in the city, was particularly devoid of life. A combination of a distrust of outsiders and the late hour, one would assume. While her associate made a beeline for the innkeep, Serana perched on a stool and allowed herself a moment to take it all in. The air was warm, tinged with the thick scents of smoke and wood. The room was wreathed in orange, illuminated by the licks of flame persisting in the firepit. It was lived in and homely, a far cry from the cold stone of Castle Volkihar. She found her mind wondering how her home had changed in her absence. The brief warmth of nostalgia was promptly snuffed by the bitter thoughts of her father. She hoped he had not become too embroiled in his obsession, she hoped he had come to his senses. And her mother… Serana blinked hard enough to focus her mind back on the present. The man she had encountered, Quentin, seemed capable enough to take her to the castle and smart enough to let her do the talking when they arrived. He was presently stumbling over his own words, gaze flicking between the innkeep and her. Hm. Perhaps not.

“Two beds, please. Uh- not a double bed- like two seperate - do you want to be in different rooms? I’ll pay.” He had splayed his palms in an indeterminate gesture, presumably some sort of asking for her input.

Serana thought on it a moment, then shrugged. “No difference to me.”

He seemed relatively happy by this, but the quirk of his brow and the way his mouth pressed into a thin smile suggested some awkward undercurrent. His voice quietened and he leaned over the desk conspiratorially. “So, uhm, what’s cheaper?”

This earned him a hearty chuckle from the innkeep.

The vampire rolled her eyes and busied herself with unbuckling her cloak. The wet bundle of cloth it had been reduced to reminded her why she disliked the snow. She laid it out on the seat next to her, the thing certainly needed to dry. Her companion strolled into view, two mugs in hand.

“Hot cider. I don’t know if you like cider. Or- or if you can have it with your… uhm. If you’re allergic to apples or something. If you don’t like it I can definitely drink two-“

“It’s great, thank you.” Serana wrapped her hands around the sides of the mug, enjoying the warmth emanating from it. She then made a very obvious show of sipping it to clarify her point.

“Oh. Good. Great. Uhh. Jonna said she’d be around to ask about food. Are you… hungry?” He pulled a stupid face when he said this. It was the agonising kind of face that exemplified how extremely unsure the Dragonborn was of what he just said: raised eyebrows and a lopsided mouth, one side angled down to a comical degree.

“Why yes, Quentin, I could certainly eat some food right now.” She stressed the words from between gritted teeth. He narrowed his eyes as if this would help him discern whether this was a euphemism or not. “Apples and anything else are fine with me.”

The shadow on his face seemed to immediately lift, his teeth flashed in the firelight. “Oh! That’s good. That’s nice. I just didn’t- haven’t met anyone- anyone like you- with your- I’m trying not to be rude.” He finished disjointedly. “I-have-been-attacked-by-people-with-your-dietary-condition-but-I-appreciate-that’s-different-”

Serana barely resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Seeing the rapidly approaching innkeeper, she bowed her head slightly to avoid direct eye contact.

“You two are lucky that you got here so late. Narrowly missed out on our bard’s caterwauling. Don’t got too much left at this hour, or in general but I can heat you up some beef stew if that’ll do the trick. Can throw in some bread too.” The redguard woman’s expression was welcoming but tired.

“Yes. Good for me!” The Dragonborn flashed a thumbs up. Serana took a moment to absorb this - it wasn’t just any thumbs up, it was a double thumbs up, with his lopsided grin. By the divines, this man’s social skills… had the times changed this much? She mirrored the action on knee-jerk impulse, internally cringing at herself for it.

“Yes. Thank you,” she offered curtly.

“So where are you two headed? Figure you’re not staying in Morthal.”

Serana tried to not let the flicker of concern show on her face. It had been so long since she’d been around Skyrim. She didn’t know if any excuse she could conjure up would hold anymore. What if place names had changed drastically? She didn’t want to have to use any of her vampiric abilities if she could help it.

“Solitude. I just moved and Serana here’s going to show me the capital.” The lie rolled off his tongue surprisingly well given his prior social ineptitude, it made the vampire wonder if it was intentional.

“Ah. That’s nice.”

Serana didn’t know how intensely she was being scrutinised, nor did she want to know. She concealed herself behind her mug, made an indiscriminate grunt and stalled for time until she sensed the woman had left. Then she spoke, voice still low. “There was a civil war last time I… in the second era. One side’s capital city was Windhelm and the other was Solitude. Guess that explains who won.”

“Oh. Right. I haven’t read too much of the history.”

Serana found herself taken aback. “But you-?”

“My job is more in the realm of ancient history. And uh the prophecies.” He registered the incredulous look on Serana’s face. Quentin broke out into something just short of a laugh. “Nothing to do with my current title, well, not initially. My job! I am- was- uh- a dungeon delver.”

“So crawling through crypts wasn’t too unfamiliar.”

“No, not really. The corpses reanimating themselves in front of you is, kinda. But I’m not a graverobber, obviously.” He waved his hands enthusiastically before the gesture abruptly ended. “It wasn’t just me. I had a team and uh- I’m waiting for them here. They said they’d meet me here in Winterhold. Do- do you have any friends? I meant- as in friends around Skyrim?”

“Ah. No. I had quite a lonely upbringing at the castle. Was pretty isolated.”

“Oh. Right. I see. And- and-”

“And I’m going back there.” She finished his thought with a bow of her head.

“Yeah.”

Words unspoken hung thick in the air. The tension was cut by the scrape of wood against wood - two steaming bowls. By oblivion that woman had snuck up on them!

“Stew’s up. Enjoy.” Jonna smiled warmly, then made herself scarce. Perhaps she was just closing up for the night, or perhaps she had sensed the shift in the atmosphere.

“I have a house in Whiterun, if you’re ever around. Breezehome.” Quentin panted between mouthfuls of steam, not waiting for his food to sufficiently cool.

Despite the flicker of warmth that ignited in her chest at the gesture, Serana found herself dodging the question. “Is that a dragon thing? You trying to practice breathing fire?”

“Doesn’t help. Tried before. ‘M just hungry.” He whined to himself, unable to cool his tongue on his warmed cider. “Gonna try eating fire salts next - uh - that was a joke, obviously.”

She laughed genuinely but briefly. The feeling was fleeting, marred by the keenness of her obligations to her family, as sharp as the frosts outside. The least she needed to do was to find her mother. Companionship was a welcome but momentary reprieve from the weight of it all.

No. Serana willed herself to live in the moment. She was allowed to think of the present and future, it was healthy to do so. She just needed to close the previous chapter of her life. Get a proper conclusion to it all. The vampire was snapped out of her thoughts, stomach growling at her lack of anything after centuries of sleep. She’d have to get something proper later tonight. “Guess I’m hungry too.” She drawled in an attempt to hide her embarrassment.

“Oh. Yeah. When was the last time you ate?”

“A while back.”

#larkscrawls #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #Skyrim #elder scrolls #Dragonborn!quentin #Dragonborn #Serana #dawnguard dlc #tes

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cocainegirlsnblunts · 1 year ago

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Smoothies In 1991

In this “series” you are Jack Harlows Lover/Wifey/Muse/Mother of his Children.

And I named this series “Smoothies In 1991” because your “uncle” is Larry June in this. (he’s just a really close family friend and you see him as an uncle)

Personal life

Your Career as a Visual Artist/Art Director

You doing a Vogue Beauty Secrets video

You doing a Vogue 24 Hours With

Doing a ELLE Waking Up With video

Instagram Posts

Here’s your “vibe/aesthetic” and our face claim is Stephanie Rao.

Your Wikipedia

Arlette Viotto Prescott is an American Art Director from San Francisco, California. She is in charge of the Visual Appearances for Album Covers and Music Videos. She is best known for being behind the Album Isolation by Kali Uchis. Viotto has also worked with Artists like Madison Beer, Cole Bennett and many more.

Early Life

Arlette Viotto Prescott born October 27th, 1999 in San Francisco, California. Grew up in Palo Alto’s Charleston Meadow, and Atlanta, Georgia. She was raised by Vincent and Claire Viotto. And has one sibling, older Sister Giselle. Arlette is of Mexican, Italian, and French descent.

Interviewer: “So what are you? Like are you White or Mexican?”

Arlette Viotto: “I don’t know exactly what I am but I’ve always just said i’m half Mexican half Italian.” “My Mom is French and Italian, and My Dad is Mexican.”

Interviewer: Can you speak the languages?

Arlette Viotto: Yes I can! Uhm, my parents taught me English first of course, then Spanish, then Italian. So I’m fluent in those, but when I got to learning French… It was difficult at first I’m not gonna lie, but I got it! So now i’m what, quadrilingual!”

Career

Everything started for Viotto when she met Lyrical Lemonades Cole bennett in 2016, and eventually started working with him. Bennett said this in a 2018 interview. “Arlette Viotto, oh man she’s extremely talented, I met her when she was 17 and uh, she’s a great friend, she really helped with a lot of these videos and album covers. she has a lot of sick ideas.”

Now Viotto has very few interviews, but in her very first one in 2019, she was asked “What do you think about your career right now?

“I mean, first of all, I am extremely thankful for the support and love i’ve gotten, but I don’t even think of myself as famous.”

“And even when I started all of this, I didn’t want to be “famous”. I just wanted to work with dope ass people ya know?”

“And I mean i’ve always been a creative person, I just really wanted to share my work and ideas with the world. But like I said I appreciate everything that’s come out of it.”

In the rise of Arlettes Career, she worked with Playboicarti and Asap Rocky on their New Choppa Music video in 2017. She helped with the Quentin Tarantino idea and even appeared in it as one of the Female Shooters.

In 2018, Viotto worked with Kali Uchis on her debut studio album Isolation. Viotto came up with the Color scheme, and overall Aesthetic for the Album Covers. She was also behind Music Videos for After the Storm, Tryant, and Get up. Viotto has developed a bond and friendship with the Artist because of this.

Viotto also worked with Summer Walker on her 2019 debut studio album Over It.

Arlette has worked with Madison Beer on the Music Video for “Home With You”, “Home To Another One”, and “BOYSHIT”. Arlette even appeared in Vogues 24 hours with Madison Beer Video.

#jack harlow #larry june #madison beer #kali uchis #playboi carti #smoothiesin1991 #jack harlow smut #jackharlowswifey #cole bennett #lyrical lemonade #instagram au #stephanie rao

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eneiryu · 2 months ago

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hi! i love your fics so much and i was wondering if you would ever write a fic that is a prequel to offered the moon every part of the truth? i was thinking about how theo got the injury like just from inferencing from the fic, theo already seems cool with the pack and part of the pack and in a relationship with liam when he got attacked (seems like quentin did it cause he knew it was the only way to get revenge because scott’s pack already accepted him as one of them and loved him and the rest of the packs all accepted him so there’s no way he could convince them that theo needed to pay for what he did) but it also seems like the attack happened after they arrived at some summit type thing yet no one was close enough to theo to save him or do anything until after quentin already attacked (and scott who has a no kill rule was the closest one and killed quentin). so that made me think like what if liam and theo had gotten into a small petty fight (like since it’s a summit maybe someone else from some other pack said something rude or biting to/about theo and liam overreacted to it or called it out and theo got mad at him cause it’s a summit and it makes them all especially liam and scott look back so liam got mad and decided not to drive with theo and go in mason and coreys car instead so theo was “alone” at the time of the attack). but really just desperately want to know about the situation leading up to it and immediately after it like this is one of my favorite fics for some reason and i just need a backstory of it

Thank you! I do really love that fic—it was one of my first times really playing a game of “how much can I get away with not saying, and yet still manage to tell a complete story,” and I like to think it worked out alright.

But yes! The ask has come up before, to write a prequel, and I would really like to do it. Somewhere I did actually write down a summary that I thought could work, and had at least some thoughts for the plot, but it never fully blossomed into fruition. That said, I am interested in writing the prequel, so one of these days—I will definitely try and find the necessary inspiration to.

#eneiryu ask

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aquadestinyswriting · 1 year ago

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Eye of the Storm

Summary: Elowyn helps Morag sort out some sort of breakfast while everyone else recovers from their assorted hangovers the morning after the trial's conclusion. Written for the Flash Fiction Friday prompt 'Found Family'

Words: 832

Tags: @druidx @homesteadchronicles @flashfictionfridayofficial @sparrow-orion-writes-orion-writes,@warriorbookworm, @odysseywritings, @blind-the-winds, @thesorcerersapprentice,@writeblrcafe, @ashiru, @writeblrcafe

Warnings: None

Notes: Based on an actual bit that was roleplayed out, but some creative liberties have been taken as I can't remember what exactly was said in the session any more.

Morag smiled at Elowyn as the woodling busied herself sorting out a pot of bloc,

"Ta for the help, hen." She said, straightening up again with a groan, "It's much appreciated." Elowyn shrugged her shoulders,

"I can't very well leave you to sort out everything for us all by yourself. Especially since no one else is in any position to, at the moment." She pointed out, nudging Snotgrut, who had fallen asleep curled up next to 'Arry in the corner of the kitchen, with her toe.

The green and brown lump groaned as the goblin stirred,

"My head is about to explode." He complained, "Why do people insist on drinking to excess if this is the outcome the next day?" He blinked blearily as a mug of hot and bitter coffee was thrust into his hands,

"This should help a bit, along with a decent breakfast." Elowyn told him. She turned her attention to the piece of rope dangling from seemingly nowhere, "Now how am I going to get this to Felix?" She wondered looking between the mug in her hand and the area where the rope seemingly vanished into thin air near the ceiling. She wafted the bitter steam up in the general direction of the Rope Trick opening after shouting for Felix to get up failed to rouse the gnome. Eventually Felix's arm shot out of nowhere, took the mug from Elowyn's hand with a mumbled 'Thank you' before vanishing once again. Elowyn shook her head as her ears picked up the renewed snoring from the extra dimensional space.

"That's the last time I get myself talked into a drinking contest with a dwarf." Quentin moaned as he stumbled into the kitchen.

"I did say it was a terrible idea, Quentin. Not that I have room to talk." Laurence groaned, collapsing into a chair at the table and burying his head into his hands. Elowyn clucked her tongue,

"Well that's what you get for going out and getting wankered isn't it?" She said, placing her hands on her hips. Neither man nor elf said anything and simply moaned into the table. She looked over to the younger woodling woman that now stumbled into the kitchen with a softer smile, "Lesson learned?" She asked. Aurianna nodded her head, wincing at the pain that lanced through her head at the motion.

"Breakfast's pretty much ready. Just hold on while I get the rest of them up." Morag piped up, picking up the frying pan and a wooden spoon from the counter. Elowyn smiled, winced and covered her ears, gesturing for everyone else in the kitchen to do the same seconds before Morag started bashing the two implements together.

"Right! Come on, you lazy sods! Up! It's about lunchtime already!" The housewife's voice boomed through the house, echoing slightly, alongside the ringing of the frying pan. Various moans and groans of protest quickly followed suit, but Morag stood firm, simply banging the frying pan again when no one appeared on the stairs.

"I said up! Breakfast's ready and I swear on Moradin's bloody beard if I dinna see anyone down here in the next two minutes there's gonna be more than the hells to pay!" She snapped. Elowyn winced but turned her attention to her own little family,

"Well, seeing as our host was kind enough to make breakfast for us, I'm calling not it for the dishes." She said. Morag shook her head as she waddled back into the room,

"Och, dinna fash yerselves." She protested, "Ye helped more than enough the other night, and you all put in the work to see proper justice done." She beamed at the motley group of adventurers, "Besides, the lot o' ye are basically family at this point, and seeing as ye are, I'll not have ye taking on more than your fair share of the chores while you're here." Elowyn opened her mouth to protest when a rough, but blessedly familiar voice, came from the doorway,

"I'd save yer breath, hen. You were basically adopted the minute I brought ye back here the first time. Now, that includes the rest of you sorry lot." Meredith added, poking at Quentin's ribs as she sat down next to him.

"Oi! This is the thanks I get for helping you avoid the executioner's block?" The elf protested. Meredith stuck her tongue out at him,

"What help, ye pointy eared git? From what I can tell yer goblin friend did most of the work!"

Elowyn stifled a laugh as others joined the friendly argument. A warm feeling settled in her chest as she looked around the cramped room as everyone finally converged around the table. Her family were finally all in one place, happy, healthy and whole. Well, half of it, the other half were back in Toreguarde after all. Once everything was taken care of she'd need to find a way to get the whole lot together. For now, though, this was all the family she needed.

#aquadestinyswriting #fangthane's folly and the anvil's fall #titan fighting fantasy #flash fiction friday #elowyn o'toreguarde #morag ironforge #meredith gruksdottir

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fischerfrey · 11 months ago

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A Christmas Prince; The Royal Wedding

Chapter 1: Back to Alderly

Summary: It's been a year since Dawn helped Quincey keep his throne. Now the pair's wedding is fast approaching, but unrest is stirring both in Alderly and in the personal lives of our heroes...

A/N: The second installment in the movie trilogy makes even less sense plot-wise than the first but Annie and I wanted to try our hand in this anyway. I expect this one will be a little shorter than the first fic was, because I'm cutting the stupidest parts from the movie script entirely, lol.

Words: 3k

Characters:

Dawn and Evan Harvelle @potionboy3

Quincey, Olympia, and Isabella Alderly

Tess Brandon

Lainey Bell by @gcldensnitch

Beginning | Next Chapter

Want to read the first fic in the series, A Christmas Prince? Click here!

Chapter 1: Back to Alderly

Dawn’s Blog, December 15th

Post title: Big Event!

Dear all, It's been three hundred forty-nine days, eleven hours, twenty-three minutes, and seven seconds since I said “yes” to the love of my life, Quentin Christian Alexander, King of Alderly. But who's counting? Other than me and millions of people around the world. Needless to say, it's been a whirlwind year. There's been a lot of back and forth between Bristol and Alderly. The long-distance engagement hasn't always been easy, but it's always been interesting. Somehow through all this insanity, I'm still me. Even though I'm about to become royalty of a small country. Thank you for all your love and support this past year. Sharing my writing with all of you means more than you'll ever know. I promise to keep you posted on all my adventures to come, especially our wedding on Christmas day in Alderly.

“What’s with the sunglasses?” asked Evan Harvelle when he, Dawn, and Dawn’s aunt Teresa exited the airport.

“We’re in disguise, dad,” Dawn explained.

“You’d think that they would send someone to escort the future prince consort,” Evan mused quietly. The airport was bustling, as usual. Alderly’s tourism had seen unprecedented growth since Dawn and Quincey’s engagement announcement. Of course, there were also those that firmly opposed the marriage, but Dawn felt like nothing could dampen his spirits.

“I think they did,” said Tess, pointing towards a line of cars heading towards them.

“Oh, they’ve sent the royal motorcade,” said Dawn, surprised.

“Did you think they were going to make you take a taxi?” joked Tess.

“I mean we took one to the airport back in England so...”

The motorcade naturally drew people’s attention, and it wasn’t long until someone shouted: “Look, it’s Dawn Harvelle!” Several faces turned to look at them and Dawn and his family surely would have been swarmed, had the royal chauffeurs not managed to get to them and escort them to the car. As Dawn was about to get in, a reporter approached him through the crowd.

“Mr. Harvelle, any comment on the King’s new initiative? Will it affect the wedding?” she asked, thrusting her recording device towards Dawn. He had been prepared for this.

“I’m very happy to be back in Alderly,” he said. “And excited for the wedding, and Christmas of course.”

The reported didn’t look pleased with Dawn’s reply but before she could ask anything more, Dawn was ushered into the car.

“That was intense,” said Tess. She was already sat in the limo looking a bit hackled. Tess was Dawn’s mother’s sister and only five years older than him. Dawn had asked her to join them, since the two were quite close, especially since the passing of his mum.

“Are you okay?” asked Evan.

“Yeah…”

“What was that initiative that reporter was talking about?” his dad continued.

“I…” Dawn paused. “Actually, I don't know the details. I’ve been so busy I’ve barely managed to catch up with Quincey in weeks.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to be living in here,” said Tess, peering out the window.

“That makes two of us,” said Dawn.

“Three,” corrected Evan. “When you shipped off all your stuff here, it was one thing, but now…”

He looked a bit stricken and Dawn had to admit that his own chest felt suddenly tighter, too.

“Dad, I’m going to come visit Bristol all the time,” said Dawn. “And you can come here anytime you want. Remember, they’re making you a count or something.”

Every time Dawn thought about his father as a count, he felt the urge to giggle. Evan Harvelle was the most normal man in the world. Not to mention it would be infinitely amusing to have both Count Evan and Count Evander.

The motorcade weaved its way through the city. There was snow everywhere, because of course there was, and when the palace first showed up behind the snow-covered treetops, Tess actually audibly gasped.

“Not bad, huh?” asked Dawn.

“You’re so posh now,” she teased.

They all filed out and headed inside. Dawn was expecting to see a certain face among the welcome committee, but Quincey was conspicuously absent. Instead, he was greeted by Queen Isabella and Olympia, the latter of whom immediately wrapped him into a big hug.

“Dawn!” she exclaimed. “I’m so happy to see you again!”

Dawn hugged her back. “Damn right,” he said. “I missed you.”

Olympia let go of him and smiled.

“This is my dad, Evan,” said Dawn.

“Your majesty, your highness,” said Evan, only a little clumsily.

“And this is Tess, my aunt.”

Tess echoes his dad’s formalities.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” said Olympia and Queen Isabella nodded. She didn’t seem openly hostile, but Dawn could tell she wasn’t happy about how everything had turned out.

“Mr. Harvelle, welcome back to Alderly,” said the queen. “And I’m most pleased to meet you both.”

“And you,” Tess said with a smile. Isabella regarded her for a moment. Tess was dressed in her usual manner in a flowy, colourful dress and knee-high boots. It was quite the contrast to Isabella’s prim and proper pantsuit and immaculate bun. If Tess noticed the queen rating her outfit quite low on the scale of 0 to 10, she gave no indication.

Behind the royal family members was Dawn’s old friend, Miss Pince.

“Pince!” he said when the introductions were out of the way. “How are you? Has it been awfully boring here without me?”

“It has been quiet, Mr. Harvelle,” Pince replied, and it was quite evident she had vastly preferred it. “And I have been promoted to the head of Palace Office of Press and Protocol.”

“Oh, sweet,” said Dawn. He wasn’t exactly sure sweet was the right word, though.

“Come on, I’ll show you to your rooms,” Olympia said cheerily.

“That is hardly appropriate,” said Pince.

“Oh, Irma please, let it go,” said Olympia and headed towards the stairs. Pince sighed. Dawn, Evan and Tess followed the princess.

“See you all at the reception,” the queen called after them.

Dawn almost choked of laughter when Olympia announced loudly that he was to have the bridal suite until the wedding. He then also understood why Olympia had wanted to take him personally. They’d left his dad and Tess to settle into their own rooms.

“Pince did this on purpose,” said Dawn, more amused than anything.

“Oh Dawnie, it’s tradition, it’s protocol,” Olympia laughed.

“It’s very… frilly,” he noted. “And pink.”

“Nothing wrong with a little pink,” said Olympia, a known appreciator of pink.

“I love pink,” said Dawn, who didn’t really have a strong opinion for or against.

“I had hoped I could simply share a room with my fiancé.”

“That’s entirely impossible, and worst of all, common.”

“Where is he, by the way?” Dawn asked.

“He’s been busy with all kinds of kingly duties,” Olympia explained. “I’ve barely seen him, and I live with him.”

Dawn couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy with this new information.

“But I’ll let you settle in now, you must be exhausted,” Olympia said. “We must catch up as soon as possible though, I have so much to tell you.”

“Of course, thank you O.”

Once left alone, Dawn looked around the room. It looked straight out of one of those early 2000s animated Barbie movies. On one of the nightstands Dawn noticed a note, written on familiar hand. He took the paper and read:

“To my love, with all my heart.

From this day forth,

we shall not be apart.

Poetry can be a challenging art.

If not yet mastered, here's a start.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the corny little poem, when a voice from the door behind him said: “It’s a limerick. Of sorts,” said Quincey.

Bad limericks be damned, Dawn all but ran to hug him.

“Sorry I wasn’t there to greet you,” said Quincey, hugging him back. “I had to finish my poem.”

“Next time, maybe you could forgo poetry and come greet me instead?” Dawn suggested.

“Hey,” Quincey protested. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Yes. It most definitely was.”

Quincey laughed and Dawn kissed his stupid face.

“I can’t believe this is finally happening,” Quincey said.

“You’re telling me,” Dawn laughed. “A year ago, I was working a shitty job in Bristol, worrying about writing an article about a ridiculous playboy prince.”

“Ridiculous, maybe,” Quincey mused. “Definitely not a playboy.”

“I guess that’s true–,”

Dawn’s sentence was cut short, when Quincey’s new equerry showed up at the door.

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” she said.

“What is it, Lainey?” asked Quincey.

“An urgent call from the Minister for Economic Affairs and the Prime Minister,” the equerry said, eyeing the both of them. She seemed to be around the same age as Quincey, with her blonde hair up on a ponytail and a tablet in her hand.

Quincey sighed. “Can’t it wait?”

“I’m afraid they insist.”

Quincey turned back to Dawn. “I must take this. We'll have more time this evening at the reception.”

He kissed Dawn’s cheek quickly and followed Lainey out the door. Dawn sat on his bed and dug out his phone. He typed in a message to the group chat he had with his friends: just saw my husband-to-be for the first time in months for all of 5 minutes.

Not long after came a reply from Jimmy: abolish the monarchy.

Two hours later Dawn had unpacked his meager little bag (most of his other belongings had been handled earlier by palace employees) and gotten ready for the reception. It was to be a party of importance, with government officials and foreign ambassadors. The thought might have spooked Dawn once, but now he was slightly better prepared. He met up with Quincey before the double doors that lead to the banquet hall.

“Hi,” said Quincey in a low voice.

“Hi,” Dawn replied. Quincey offered his arm and Dawn took it.

“Ready for this?” asked Quincey.

“As I’ll ever be.”

The doors were opened, and the pair entered, with a herald calling out: “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen; King Quentin and the guest of honour; the future Prince Dawn!”

As they entered, at least fifty pairs of eyes turned to look, among them the prime minister but most of the faces completely unknown to Dawn. He hadn’t had any official duties as a royal spouse yet, as their circumstances were rather unusual, and Quincey’s advisors felt it was best to move slowly and respect traditions. Dawn didn’t want to cause any more trouble than he already had but he wasn’t sure how much tradition and protocol he was going to be able to handle without complaint.

“Oh wow, this is–,” he started but suddenly a man in an expensive looking suit and a serious look on his face appeared and whispered something to Quincey.

“Dawn, find Olympia, I’ll get away as soon as I can,” he said as the man whisked him away and Dawn was left standing alone in the middle of the room, feeling more awkward by the second. He was approached by several people with greetings and congratulations, he recognized the Minister of Internal Affairs, as well as Magister Malinda, but some he only pretended to recognize, as he had been advised to do.

“Mr. Harvelle, here,” said the queen’s voice to his left and Isabella introduced him to some more dignitaries, such as ambassadors from Penglia and a president of the Council of Women in Alderly.

“I should go save Quiney…” Dawn mused as he saw him still talking, or rather, arguing with the same man.

“Best, I think, to leave him to it,” said the queen.

“What’s going on?” asked Dawn.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” Isabella simply said. “You should focus on the wedding. Most of it is well in hand but Quentin insisted we leave some breathing room for you, despite the short notice.”

And the Queen's objection, Dawn thought but only said: “Well, that’s nice."

He had pretty much resigned himself to having no say at all with the wedding.

“To that end, I have hired a wedding planner to help you.”

“What?”

“A wedding designer, Your Majesty, but yes,” a woman said, walking up to them.

Dawn recognized her. Rosa Yaxley, the girl who had been briefly engaged to Count Evander, Quincey’s throne-stealing cousin.

“You’re a wedding designer?” Dawn asked.

“Yes, and now I’m here to help,” she said, though Dawn couldn’t be sure if she was all too happy about this prospect. “I hope there’s no bad blood between us?”

Dawn looked from Rosa to the Queen and back again and then said with a note of humour in his voice: “Well, if her Majesty found it in her heart to forgive you, then I suppose so can I.”

Rosa smiled. “Glad to hear it Mr. Harvelle. We’ll get to work tomorrow.”

Dawn finally found Olympia, chatting with his dad of all people.

“Well Dawn and I call them meat jelly, they’re pretty gross,” Olympia was saying to Evan, who examined a suspicious looking block of meat that a passing waiter had offered to him.

“Don’t eat that, dad,” said Dawn.

“Thanks for the tip, kiddo,” Evan said and deposited the meat jelly on a nearby table.

“Oh, Dawn, I was just telling your father about how I’m part of organizing a charity event!”

“You are?”

“It’s a play,” Olympia continued. “The Tale of Princess Froon, an Alderlian folk tale. I was asked to play the titular role to draw in the high society crowd.”

“Oh my god,” said Dawn.

“Hey, it’s a beautiful tale,” said Olympia with a grin.

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Anyway, all the proceeds will go to helping those affected by the current depression.”

Dawn had read the newspapers, of course, and knew of the rather terrible financial situation in Alderly. “That sounds pretty awesome,” he told Olympia.

“I’d sure like to see some Alderlian culture in play,” said Evan.

“You’re most heartily invited, Mr. Harvelle,” said Olympia.

“Isn’t this the one where Princess Froon gives Santa his magic powers?” asked Dawn. He remembered Quincey talking about it last year.

“Yes, just the one.”

“Oh, I can’t wait.”

A tap on his shoulder made Dawn turn around, ending up face to face with Miss Pince.

“In my new capacity as the head of Palace Office of Press and Protocol, I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Of course,” said Dawn. “See you later dad, Olympia.”

Olympia gave him a thumbs up, as Dawn followed Pince to a less crowded area.

Once they were safely out of earshot of any visiting dignitaries, Pince said: “It's clear that you've had a very laissez-faire attitude concerning your image over the past year; magazines, television, blogs…”

“Blogs, that's what I do for a living,” said Dawn. Ever since his successful article about Quincey, he had run a blog focused on his journey into learning all about Alderlian politics, customs, and of course, details about his own personal life all mixed into a neat little package. He was quite proud of it. “I’m a professional write–,”

Pince interrupted him: “But now that you're a part of the royal family, we must be careful of the image that you project. Consider me your protector.”

Dawn wasn’t a fan of where this conversation was headed. “Look, Miss Pince, I know that my life is about to change in a major way, but I’m not going to quit my job.”

“The goal is to see you and the crown in the best possible light.”

Dawn sighed, and said: “Well, nothing shines quite like the truth, right?”

“I'm glad we see eye-to-eye. Please wait here and I'll have the King and you pose for the photographs.”

After their photo-op, Quincey led Dawn out of one of the doors lining up the outer wall into a beautiful little courtyard.

“Irma didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?” he asked.

“Just wants me to delete my blog,” said Dawn.

“Yes, we’ve had words about that before,” Quincey said. “She’s just passionate about protecting the image of the royal family. She feels like it is needed now more than ever, when we’re already breaking about a dozen ancient customs just by being together.”

“I know,” said Dawn and took Quincey’s hands in his. “It’s important to project an image of continuity even through this massive change.”

“Yes.”

“Has it been difficult?” Dawn asked.

“Well, not everyone is as on board with a gay monarch as I had hoped but it was to be expected. I can’t change people’s decades held beliefs overnight, but I know I can make a change over time.”

“You’re doing a great job,” said Dawn.

Quincey smiled, but it was a tight smile. He was hiding something, but Dawn didn’t feel like pestering him about it tonight. He was exhausted too.

“You have a new equerry,” Dawn noted.

“Oh, yes, her name’s Lainey Bell,” Quincey replied. “We met in uni. She’s about the only thing keeping me afloat right now.”

Dawn gave him a look and Quincey laughed. “Aside from my everlasting love for you, of course.”

“We should get a Christmas tree up in here,” Dawn just said, observing the tree-less courtyard.

“Oh, a good idea!”

“We could go look for one tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s no good, I’m going to town to give a speech.”

“What kind of speech?” asked Dawn.

“Well, you know how I’ve been trying to implement the initiative to bring Alderly into the 21st century? Strengthening infrastructure, schools, tech…”

“It's smart.”

“That's what I thought but instead of strengthening the economy, the country is bleeding money,” Quincey explained. “And nobody can tell me why.”

Dawn frowned. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Do you know any genius economists?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“I’m having a meeting on Friday, trying to figure this out. Something’s not right.”

“Can I come?”

“I would really appreciate it if you did.”

Dawn smiled and squeezed his hands. “We will figure this out.”

“I hope you’re right,” Quincey said. “But I also have a feeling like Irma and Miss Yaxley are going to keep you quite busy with the wedding preparations.”

“Oh, for cock’s sake…”

tag list: @lifeofkaze

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#fic: the royal wedding #a christmas prince au #dawn harvelle #quincey alderly #dawncey #here we are girls and gays!!!#*my writing #yes dawn's blog is called 'dawn's blog'#*tess is FIVE years older than dawn NOT FOUR #i can't count

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