#I love my Protestant brother and sisters and I respect our differences | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laineystein · 4 months

Note

I am genuinely curious - what is your opinion on practicing streams of Judaism? (Orthodox vs conservative vs reform vs Reconstructionist). I’m aware there are Israelis have the opinion that diaspora Jews- especially Americans, are Jew(ish), and not necessarily Jewish, if that makes sense? I know there are asshats that get quite nasty towards Israelis and I find that to be disgusting.

Me personally, I always found that to be very hurtful. I’m American, grew up Reform. In the sanctuary part of the Temple, we had two flags positioned on each corner of the sanctuary in the front: one was American, one was Israeli. My Rabbi, my Cantor, and my Sunday school teachers raised us to believe Israelis are distant cousins. Different but similar ideas, customs etc, but all part of the same family. So when 10/07 happened I (like many diaspora Jewish people), were shaken to the core.

And no matter what my personal issues are about the process of the military operation, and Bibi and his govt, I wish and hope everyone stays as safe as they can be while trying to get the hostages out and destroy Hamas.

So I was just wondering what your thoughts are about the clashes between the different streams of practice. I always feel that now is not the time to argue about who is or isn’t more Jewish. We are all feeling the after effects of what Hamas did, and the anti semitism that it has sparked. Once we have peace, then people can debate and bicker if they wish (but I really hope less of us do that). ♥️

So I contemplated how (or if) I’d answer this because I really think Am Yisrael needs ahavas chinam right now and I don’t want to do anything to promote sinas chinam. But I think you can disagree with something and still respect it and show love for your fellow Jews who may practice differently than you do and I think that *is* Ahavas chinam.

So I’d just ask that just as I’m affording respect to others who are different that people respect my view points as well.

So here we go…

A Jew is a Jew is a Jew. Even antizionist Jews, those are still Jews. Even atheist Jews, those are still Jews. I do believe in matrilineal inheritance of Judaism but I’m not going to treat someone differently if their father is their only Jewish parent and they were raised Jewish. It is not my place to say who is Jewish and who is not; I can have my viewpoints but ultimately I am not a Rav.

I was raised orthodox. I didn’t meet a “reform” Jew until med school (which was the first time I ever went to school with goyim) — the denominations you’re referring to are mostly western constructs. There are a few reform shuls in Israel but they’re not as common as they are in America. I am going to be very honest with you and share that many reform practices make me incredibly uncomfortable. Do I think that people that practice them are any less Jewish? Absolutely not.

As someone who spent half of their life in the diaspora (albeit in very Jewish communities with little contact with goyim) I absolutely do not subscribe to any belief that diaspora Jews are any less Jewish. That’s abhorrent. I don’t personally know any Israelis that believe that but I’m sure they exist. All Jews, regardless of their location, are valid.

I will say that it is interesting to me to hear that your teachers referred to Israelis as “distant cousins” - all of am Yisrael is a single tribe. I would only ever refer to a fellow Jew as a brother or sister regardless of whether or not they lived in Israel or the diaspora. It seems there might be some anti-Israel bias in that teaching, which is unfortunate. And it’s amusing because your question insinuates that Orthodox Jews and Israelis are less accepting of reform Jews and diasporic Jews and that’s interesting to hear because my experience has always been the exact opposite.

But in Israel we have similar issues where our religious communities spar with our less observant communities. It was very apparent in our most recent elections and the protests that followed. I find myself existing in both communities and it can be challenging sometimes. Some of my secular friends do have negative attitudes toward more frum communities. Those same frum communities may look down on my more secular friends. Because I do and always have existed in both groups I see both sides. I think both of these black and white attitudes are a chillul hashem and will get us nowhere.

But bottom line, how a Jew lives their life and their relationship with Hashem is none of my business. You do you; Jew do Jew.

(This was kind of all over the place and there’s a lot of tangents I actually *didn’t* go down believe it or not so if you want some clarification, feel free to ask. Or you can DM me and I’m happy to chat about it that way too.)

#lainey things #ask things #Jew things #this was a doozy

49 notes · View notes

targaryentorture · 8 months

Text

Second Born (Daemon Targaryen)

Part 1 Part 2

Daemon had anticipated the return of his youngest niece for many moons. So, when news broke of Rhaneyras engagement, he couldn’t help but acknowledge how his breath hitched when Viserys and his council mentioned visenyas name. She had left on dragon back years ago to try and be free for a time from her father’s wishes, the same he now proposes for her older sister Rhaneyra. An arranged marriage.

Visenya was strikingly beautiful, much like her mother at her age. The most sought-after girl in Westeros. Her features differed from her sisters, despite their shared parentage and close age gap. Unlike her sister, Visenya never sported a traditional Targaryan braid, she preferred her hair to remain unruly and wild, cascading gracefully passed her shoulders. Despite her late mother’s protests.

She had every man in the seven kingdoms fawning at her very presence despite her being third in line to the Iron Throne. They recited bullshit declarations of love and offers of generosity, cunningly planted into their minds as babes by the council of their houses. She knew despite her beauty and talents that these men dreamed of nothing more than to father her silver haired babes and have a claim to the iron throne. But she was not to be tamed. She dreamt of more for herself. Her aim was never to claim the iron throne, she was a girl, and as it stood at that time Daemon was his heir. Her father discovered very early on in her childhood that she wanted nothing more than to travel the world and divulge into the beauty of the different cultures of the realm on dragon back.

She was a fiercely opinionated young dragon who possessed a thirst for chaos. Much like her uncle. This greatly troubled Viserys, he could see countless elements of his brother within his second born and the closeness that they shared, and as she grew so did her father’s concerns.

Viserys had proposed an idea to Visenya only a matter of hours before her departure, that she was to marry Jason Lannister. To strengthen the bonds of their houses and the realm, after all the Lannisters possessed something that benefited the king. A castle far away from the temptation of the Rogue Prince.

“My dearest daughter, this arrangement was made to benefit you, not offend you. I’m doing you a kindness; the Lion is a fine match for you.” Viserys pleaded with his youngest daughter. Viserys knew this wouldn’t be an easy conversation, he foresaw this when the marriage was first discussed with his council.

“A kindness?” Visenya questioned. “Your grace, with all due respect I would rather be fed to the dragons than marry that pretentious, golden-haired idiot.” Visenya grew tired of conforming to the crowns demands. She loved her father but could no longer deny that she had dreams and desires of her own. “Look at Prince Daemon, you wed him to Lady Rhea and he resents you for it. Father, I don’t want the same fate for our relationship.”

She admired her uncle, his bravery and defiance of her father and the crown. But as she grew older that admiration began to subside, and brewed into something that she couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Daemon has sealed his fate with me.” Viserys tensed his jaw at the thought of his brother, and how he had banished him as heir moments before, unbeknownst to his daughter. “You must perform your duties as my daughter, and for your house.”

“If an alliance with the Lannisters pleases you as much as it appears, then why not spare yourself to my protests and marry Rhaneyra to the Lannister boy?”

“I understand your frustration, daughter. But your sister will have her own responsibilities to bare in due course. Please listen to my terms, I will allow you 2 years, to roam the realm a free dragon and conquer or discover the realm and all your heart’s desires. But when you return, you must choose to marry someone of high importance and fulfil your duties at court. I will not accept any less. Selfishly as your father, I wish to see you contented and perhaps one day make me a grandsire.” He paused, turning to face the young princess. “I expect an answer on the morrow.”

Visenya pondered her conversation with her father as she returned to her chambers, the moonlight now engulfing the hallways of the castle. Two years of freedom for an eternity as a lady wife, to a man she most likely will have no interest in. She couldn’t think of anything she desired less. “Princess.” Ser Criston Cole greeted her outside of her chambers, with a smile and nod. Upon walking into her chambers, she immediately fell to her bed, head in hands.

“What am I to do?” She pondered in deep thought, staring intently into the candlelight perched on her bedside. The bright, hot flames flicker, lighting up the dark room around its molten core as the embers dance around in the air above. Fire is the element essential to life in every form she thought to herself. The very destruction and heat it causes running through her veins and the blood of her ancestors. Some more so than others. Her mind raced immediately to her uncle. A man full of flames and fury, such beauty yet so much rage coursed through him.

Almost like her mind had summoned him, a knock sounded from the door of her chambers.

“Ser Criston?” She called out, expecting the handsome dark-haired man to enter the room. The door opened slowly, revealing Daemon. He appeared dishevelled and troubled, a cup of wine occupying his strong hands.

Ser Criston followed him hesitantly. “With all due respect Prince Daemon, The King instructs I’m not to leave the princess alone in her chambers with-”

“Byka mēre.” Little One. Daemon ignores the Dornish knight, focusing his attention on Visenya. A white linen shirt draped over his toned chest, the details of his body visible through the thin material. Visenya could feel the palms of her hands become laced in sweat. “A very loyal guard dog, you have there.”

“Leave us.” Visenya smiled politely at the knight.

“Naejot skoros gaomagon nyke enkagon se pleasure, Kepus?” To what do I owe the pleasure, uncle?

“I brought something for you.” He paused, his free hand fingering through the pockets of his clothing. Revealing a gold necklace, laced with jewels and a Targaryan crest. “Turn around.”

Visenya tried not to show her excitement as he approached her. She felt her heart skip within her chest as her uncle placed his cup of wine by her bedside and brushed her waist length silver hair in front of her shoulders. Grazing the sides of them with the tips of his fingers, her body almost erupting in anticipation. She could feel his hot breath tickle her neck as he placed the beautiful necklace onto her pale skin, she whimpered at his touch. She felt immediate regret when letting it escape her lips, she knew he would be smirking to himself. She knew Daemon, if he senses weakness, he will pounce. “Thank you, uncle.” She whispered.

“Gevie.” Beautiful.

“I overheard your conversation with the king.” Daemon muttered, clasping the necklace around her neck. “I fear that you will agree to your fathers proposal.” Despite Daemons cold exterior he adored the young princess, with every ember that burned within him. He couldn’t stand the thought of her leaving kings landing to become someone’s lady wife. He wanted her for his own pleasure, to gaze at her as he pleased. Husbandless. He had always been in awe of her beauty, something he confesses he had always searched for in the faces of the women in the pleasure houses of Kings Landing. Daemon ached for her, something he had been trying to deny for many moons. If Viserys caught wind of Daemons adulterated intentions towards his second born daughter, he would banish him to the nights watch without hesitation. As she turned to face him, he watched her delicate mouth twitch up into a smile, her eyes lighting up in the process. Like two violet gemstones in the light of the sun, glimmering.

“The offer my father proposes is a generous one.”

“You really intend on marrying that Lannister cunt?” He sneered. “Just for a mere number of years of freedom on dragon back.” Visenya couldn’t decipher what Daemon seemed to be feeling, uncertainty rushed over her like a cool wind. Meanwhile, his eyes gleamed with passion and his cheeks flushed.

“It will be an arranged match. What I want is meaningless to the small council, you know this to be true you’ve witnessed it yourself.”

“Lo ziry iksos freedom ao desire byka mēre, pār join issa.” If it is freedom you desire little one, then join me.

The pair had snuck out of the red keep that evening.

The princess and her uncle strolled through the gardens; small glances of hushed admiration shared amongst the pair. Visenya removed her shoes, stepping softly onto the moonlit grass without thought. Above, eyes upward, a serenade of heavens black supported a chorus of glimmering stars. As she admired them, Daemons gazed locked onto her. His heart devoured the moment of unsupervised bliss. He scanned her body, admiring her silhouette and each delicate movement she made. He could tell her mind was at war with itself. A pain he was all too familiar with. A pain he would never wish upon her.

He approached her carefully, filling the space beside her but she did not flinch or even turn to meet his gaze. She just stared, emptily. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” She spoke softly. “How the gods graced us with such power, to rule the skies.”

“The gods gave us dragons.” He paused. “Many of us do not know such grace.”

Daemon couldn’t keep the truth from her much longer.

“Rhaneyra is to claim your fathers crown.” He spoke plainly. Visenya's demeanour changed.

“How do you know this to be true?”

“Your father has banished me and intends for your sister to sit the throne.”

Visenya could feel her heart sink. The thought of Daemon leaving Kings Landing hurt her immensely. He placed his hands softly onto hers, intertwining their fingers and closing the gap between them.

“Let me take you to wife.” His tone is urgent and desperate. This took her by surprise, she had never known Daemon to be like this. He tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. She was unfamiliar with his affection and leaned into it, soaking up his touch. “I will honour you, just as your father wishes.” His lips now moved feverishly to her shoulders, pressing a delicate kiss to her pale skin. “We could fly off in the morrow, be wed at Dragon stone in the tradition of our house and nobody would care to question it.”

She whimpered at the desperation and weakness in his voice. Something she’s witnessed from men before, but never him. Their mouths were now breaths apart, panting from the intensity of the moment. Just as she is about to answer he presses his finger to her lips, closing her mouth, their foreheads pressing together. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, almost as if his words were a dream. Holding him this close felt as natural as breathing.

“Ao se nyke issi keskydoso byka mēre, se ānogar hen zaldrīzes dakogon qumblie. īlon issi lurking isse se shadows hen īlva uēpkta siblings skori skoros īlon issi destined syt iksos freedom. Naejot desire, jorrāelagon, purge se fuck hae īlon kostilus.” You and I are the same little one, the blood of the dragon runs thick. We are lurking in the shadows of our older siblings when what we are destined for is freedom. To desire, love, purge and fuck as we please.

“Hae mēre.” As one.

Visenya couldn’t take it anymore. She threw herself into his arms, pressing their lips together hungrily. This sudden urge of confidence took Daemon by surprise, but he melted at her touch, succumbing to the urges he fought so desperately to supress. His hands immediately made their way to her wild silver locks, grasping it by the roots and pulling her head back slightly, earning him a moan. They didn’t care that they could be seen, or the whispers that would follow. The lust that had gathered from that moment engulfed the pair and made all sense of honour and integrity flee from their bodies.

Daemon was all over her. His lips, his hands, his body. She didn’t want an inch of her body untouched by him. As they lay beneath the tall oak tree, the pair writhed around the grass in pure bliss. Hands feverishly exploring every detail of the others body.

“Tepagon aōla naejot issa.” Give yourself to me.

He scanned her face for a response, catching her eyes flicker back down to his lips almost pleading with him to continue. He growled hungrily, hiking her dress up to her thighs.

“I am yours, uncle.”

Visenya woke up in a blissful daze, her heart fluttering against her ribcage. Memories of the adulterous acts between her and Daemon flashed through her mind, but she smiled to herself. She felt whole. For a few moments she just laid there, still able to feel his phantom hands tracing along her body. She reached out for him, only to find that the place he once laid in beside her was empty.

Her heart was racing, searching desperately around her chambers for a slight trace of evidence that he may return. But there was nothing. The only evidence of the night they shared being the white sheets adorning her mattress, a small pool of blood staining the middle. Her virtue.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #house of the dragon #game of thrones

105 notes · View notes

freshdotdaily · 1 year

Text

Warning: Strong Opinion, but I only LOOK young, I'm 42 years old and my first march was across Brooklyn Bridge for Abner Louima, a victim of Police BRUTALITY in 1997.

Police'll kill another black person this year, either a "whoops, I thought it was my taser/accident" or a very clear intentional act of cold-blooded and brutal lack of humanity murder. Both will be caught on film. It'll be clear as day & broadcasted ad nauseum.

The supposed infraction will be minuscule. A broken taillight, jaywalking, a wallet mistaken for a gun, expired registration tags, breathing the wrong way, etc. Won't matter, a vicious death'll be the sentence.

We'll march. We'll protest. We'll mourn. Some may even riot out of pain and frustration.

Aaaaaand, it'll happen again. The annual sick American Ritual of Black Bodies sacrificed will be on full display in the media as a warning to black people and people of color in this country that at any given moment, should the protectors of the ruling class deem it, your life could be forfeit. It's fascist fearmongering from the service that we pay taxes for to protect and serve us. Murderers in uniform get off with a wrist-slap unless they too, are people of color, then justice is swiftly & severely metered out. We internally know they aren't here to protect, nor serve US.The sick joke wrote itself. But we'll march. Our "leaders" will encourage us to.

Martin marched, it ended poorly for him.

Actually, it ended poorly for most civil rights leaders.

But we'll do it. Nothing will change. Kumbyah's will be sung. We'll go home, watch our Sports and HBO shows and forget til the next dark sacrifice for public consumption goes viral. But forgetting isn't bad, it's a coping mechanism for knowing that agency over your own corporeal self is an illusion as is your safety if you are black or brown in America. They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. But we'll march & protest again, won't we? "But- but- we shouldn't lie down and DO NOTHING! Something should be done! and Said!" Yes. Yes, something SHOULD be done and said. However, the onus for action is not on black or brown bodies. It's clear we are not heard NOR respected. History has shown almost all of our civil unrests have been met with more violence. These actions of public unrest and outrage by black and brown people end up being performative mostly despite the best intentions because we do not have enough leverage, political power, wealth, and or influence to make a lasting change or instill fear of consequence or retribution. The hashtags, t-shirts, murals, and posters get made and rallied behind and then forgotten until the next public lynching.

It's a story as old as time. If you are not black or brown and do not condone The Annual Negro Culling Ritual, then the burden of responsibility lies squarely on your shoulders as an "ALLY" to put all your resources, your voice and your body on the line if you have had enough. Come up with ACTIONABLE ITEMS that your leverage, political power, wealth, and or influence will make lasting change.

Until I can see the impact of that, count me absent from the triggering superfluous displays of solidarity, I can stomach it no longer. My black time will be spent preserving my finite energy toward my black life's betterment. It is inhumane to force me to look at my slain brothers & sisters & relive their tragedies for platitudes that have no real-world results while I wonder.. "Am I next? Will I make it home to the people who love me?"

#blm #justice for tyre nichols

12 notes · View notes

qnewslgbtiqa · 4 months

Text

Couples celebrate in Estonia as same-sex marriage now legal

New Post has been published on https://qnews.com.au/couples-celebrate-in-estonia-as-same-sex-marriage-now-legal/

Couples celebrate in Estonia as same-sex marriage now legal

Same-sex couples in Estonia have cheered the country’s history-making same-sex marriage laws coming into effect on New Year’s Day.

Estonia’s parliament voted to approve the laws in June last year, making it the first Baltic, central European and ex-Soviet country to do so.

January 1 was the first day same-sex couples could submit their marriage applications online, with applications approved at least a month later.

Bride-to-be Marielle Tuum told The Guardian she’s planning to marry her girlfriend Annika in 2024.

“I’m really happy that I can do a proper wedding at home and not elsewhere, that has less meaning,” she said.

“Ten years ago, I didn’t see as many same-sex couples holding hands in public. People are more open now in Estonia.”

‘Finally, we are as equal as other couples’

Estonia has had same-sex civil unions since 2013. Those couples will have the ability to move to a legal marriage if they want.

Baltic Pride’s project manager Keio Soomelt and his husband plan to do so in 2024. Keio says marriage equality is “an important moment” for his country.

“For the LGBT+ community, it is a very important message from the government that says, finally, we are as equal as other couples,” he said.

“[It says] that we are valuable and entitled to the same services and have the same options.”

Under the new laws, same-sex couples can also adopt children for the first time.

Estonia’s Prime Minister Kaja Kallas (pictured above) said last year the reform “does not take anything away from anyone but gives something important to many.”

“We join other Nordic nations with this historic decision,” she said.

“I’m proud of my country. We’re building a society where everyone’s rights are respected and people can love freely.”

Latvia votes to approve same-sex civil unions

While same-sex marriage is widespread among western European countries, in eastern and central Europe it’s a very different story.

Countries like Poland and Hungary have targeted LGBTQIA+ communities in recent years.

However, Latvia’s parliament voted in November to allow same-sex couples to establish civil unions.

The move legally recognises Latvian same-sex couples for the first time but falls short of the rights legally married couples get.

Read next:

Shocking map shows a third of Poland declared ‘LGBT-free zone’

People think Dannii Minogue is heading to Eurovision in 2024

Thousands of Hungarians protest Victor Orban’s bigotry at Budapest Pride

For the latest LGBTIQA+ Sister Girl and Brother Boy news, entertainment, community stories in Australia, visit qnews.com.au. Check out our latest magazines or find us on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube.

#europe #same-sex marriage

1 note · View note

romanarose · 6 months

Note

Hello queen ✨

Daffodil and Palm tree?

ty 💖

hello beautiful!

daffodil ⇢ do you have siblings? if yes, in what ways do you think you’re similar to or different from them?

Romana lore!!!! Yes, I have 5! Older brother, J, younger brother, S, Younger sister, L, and youngest brother, T. all of us were born approx 2 years after each other, with J and I only being 17 months apart, hence me having a lot of older sibling energy despite being the middle technically. J was much more passive vs me extraverted, so i was the oldest in a lot of ways. We were homeschooled most of our lives, so J was essentially my classmate and in our homeschool groups we had the same friends. Me and my siblings are similar in respect to our sense of humor and weirdness and we all have the same fucking face. different in beliefs. S used to be v far right and we didn't talk to each other for 2 years straight bc Im a leftist. L and I got into a big fight over george fllyd which lead to us not talking for a while too (I was out protesting all summer and she had some choice words about it). Bth of them mellowed out a little. J went through a phase while politically left leaning he was red-pilled and would say some v mean thigs about me, my looks and how i present myself. That phase is over but he can still be v mean and it makes me sad how far we drifted. T is everyones favorite tho, he's only 18 and a good kid, funny as shit.

That was a lot, but my family dynamic is complex. we're all v close but also v intense. Like the family in This Is Us.

palm tree ⇢ do you have a fictional villain you shouldn’t like but love regardless?

All of them. My first crush was anakin skywalker but SPECIFICALLY in episode 3. 8 year old me saw anakinkilling a bunch of kids my age and though "he's the one" Kylo Ren is a big one too lololol and you dont even wanna know the things I read about loki and rumplestilskin in high school

#romana answers asks

0 notes

towardfatherhood · 1 year

Text

The Hope of Things Mostly Unseen

My eldest son carries a working grudge against my eldest daughter. They are 12 and 9, respectively. My son is a scientist, an analyst, a highly-informed enthusiast of military aircraft. He loves air guns and horseplay and poop jokes and has little time or patience for all the mysterious quirks of humanness. My daughter is a willow and a light, a singer, dancer, musician, writer and illustrator. Her right brain is fully alive. She loves snuggles and togetherness and running fast and climbing high, and she can burp louder than any man I know.

If I leave the two of them in any space together for any length of time - and I mean any length - I'll return to an emotional flurry of loud protests, detailing slights and aggressions toward my daughter from her big brother. "He makes throwing-up sounds whenever I sing!" "He keeps moving his chair away from mine!" "He said I ruin everything!"

My son, on the other hand, sees himself as the true victim here. He's the one who has to live with her! He's the one who has to hear her singing while he's trying to read! Why does everyone look at him like he's the villain? Can't they see that she's being annoying on purpose?? He sometimes grows furious to the point of tears over this, feeling utterly unseen, ignored and misunderstood.

I think my son has difficulty accepting his sister because her way of being in the world is so...just so different from his own. So foreign. He can't make sense of her, so he shrugs and condemns her whole person to the refuse pile. I wonder if she seems to him about as real as a Disney movie character, or the alien visitors his grandfather loves to watch on those conspiratorial pseudo-documentaries. Some people might think she's a real person, but he's not fooled; he's a scientist.

Or maybe she reminds him of what he's not - cute and silly and charming. Giving affection is easy for her, and it comes back to her just as easily. Why should her way of being human be so acceptable, so laudable, but his pragmatic standoffishness and acerbic wit draw nothing but ire and castigation?? From his point of view, the whole world is naturally tilted in his sister's favor, leaving him in the shadows and dust.

Perhaps the most surprising part of this for me, the wise parent, the father of this feuding pair, is that I truly don't know what to do about it. Lectures, time-outs, positive reinforcement, negative consequences, hoping, waiting, hugging - none of this has swayed my son from his resolute annoyance. He's like a housecat who believes he belongs on the kitchen counter. You can take him down, spray him with water, hiss and fume and scold, but the minute you leave the room, he'll be back on that counter, contentedly settled on his comfortable dishtowel. He doesn't know or care whether you want him there. In his mind, this is his place in the world.

It's this realization that shakes me and shapes me. I am neither all-knowing nor all-powerful. My children are not, and will not be, exactly the people I teach them to be. I'll do my best to teach them wisdom and virtues, and they will make their own choices about whether and when to employ those gifts. I am also imbued with an empathetic grace for other loving, caring parents whose kids are not doing as they've been taught. We're all struggling to make sense of our own lives in front of (and sometimes through) the clear, wondering eyes of our children, while also trying to interpret their and direct the life that is in them. It is a daunting and demanding role we play, and the older these kids get, the more our frailty and ineptitude start to show through the cracks. "Jesus said, 'Don't tell me you love God if you can't love your own siblings,'" I reminded my son last night. He thought for a moment. "Do you love your own mother?" He shot back with a grin. He knew he was dipping into deep waters with that retort. My mother is estranged from all seven of her children, such is the toxicity of her way of humanness. My son's remark hurt and offended me. Luckily I had enough sense or stupor to stay quiet and let his words echo back to him.

"Oh, um, maybe that's not a good example," he finally stammered with an embarrassed smile. And there I saw it: a glimmer of hope. A moment of empathy. A brief emergence from his self-immersion, just long enough to recognize the experience of another human person. This is the parent's report card, this moment of seeing, this glimpse of life below the surface. Good things are growing down there, and so hope is sustained up here.

We are struggling, but we are not failing. Good things are growing.

1 note · View note

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Initiative - aka NMJ and JYL get engaged - ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

Nie Mingjue was always glad for an excuse to leave a boring political meeting, although he was surprised that Jiang Yanli had been bold enough to send a note requesting his immediate presence before they were married.

Certain jibes had been made at his expense by his fellow sect leaders, of course, but he had shrugged them off. Let them think him overly indulgent; what did he care? He enjoyed having someone to dote on when he had the chance, and anyway he didn’t think Jiang Yanli would ask him to come out so quickly over nothing – though it was interesting she asked for him to join her, rather than asking for her brother.

“Mistress Jiang?” he said, walking into the room in Jinlin Tower where she was waiting for him. Her posture was tense, her hands clutched together under her sleeves. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you know where the Wen sect survivors were sent?” she asked. “It’s a matter of – some urgency. If you don’t know, we’ll have to find out another way.”

We, he thought. Wei Wuxian, no doubt, since Jiang Cheng was still inside the hall, enduring the politics that came with any meeting between sects. And Wei Wuxian did not, generally speaking, have the best ways of figuring things out.

“The Jin sect has not shared that information publicly,” he said slowly, and saw her shoulders slump in disappointment. “But that does not mean I don’t know it. What is the issue?”

Jiang Yanli explained in a few sentences: a woman looking for a brother, a young man who had helped rescue Wei Wuxian during the war, a doctor’s assistant, who’d even gone so far as to poison his own people to save members of the Jiang sect and then spent the majority of the war in a prison, and yet now they thought he had been trapped in a prison camp, being abused…a young man surnamed Wen.

A young man called Wen Ning, or Wen Qionglin. It was not a name Nie Mingjue remembered.

But the one searching for Wen Ning was his sister, Wen Qing - and that was a name he did remember.

Wen Ruohan’s favorite nurse.

Nie Mingjue’s jaw clenched at the thought. He’d spent more than half his life avenging his family, and had always assumed the Wen sect would do the same if they were allowed to live; he had never stinted on hating all of them without exception, without quarter. Wen Ruohan was a murderer and a tyrant, and his family supported him with nary a word in protest until the tables had turned and it was their own lives at stake – was it not evil to support evil? Could Wen Ruohan have done as much as he did without Wen Qing’s medicines and treatments, without Wen Qionglin’s silent compliance? Did it really matter that they had been threatened, as so many other people had been threatened?

No. Duress could explain many things, but it never excused standing aside in the face of murder. Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing were, at best, accessories to a hundred crimes, and deserved exactly none of his sympathy.

And yet.

It was not them that was making a request of him.

Patient, calm, gentle. Forgiving. These were all traits he wanted in his bloodline, traits he lacked and knew he lacked. Traits that Jiang Yanli possessed: matching strength to weakness, weakness to strength.

Nie Mingjue did not love Jiang Yanli, not yet, but if he was not willing to even trust her, it was better not to marry at all.

“Very well,” he said, deciding. “Are they waiting outside? We will go at once. Huaisang will make my excuses.”

“…Huaisang will?”

“He’ll stutter and obfuscate and make a tolerable mess of it,” Nie Mingjue said, not without a mixture of exasperation and fondness – he knew his brother too well. “And as a result they won’t know where or why we’ve gone for at least another half a shichen, if not more.”

(Knowing Nie Huaisang, he might ‘accidentally’ end up implying that Nie Mingjue had gone to enjoy some afternoon delight with his soon-to-be bride, but Nie Mingjue was too polite to mention something like that to Jiang Yanli.)

Jiang Yanli nodded, and slipped her hand into his, squeezing briefly. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know what it all means to you.”

“I can only give you the benefit of the doubt,” he said, trying to be honest but probably coming off as harsh. “For the rest of it, I will decide when we are there.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t have his sword, as always these days, and Wen Qing, shivering behind him, had lost hers, but Nie Mingjue brought along four Nie sect cultivators and ordered two to act as escorts, with the other two trailing behind in the event of trouble. He rather liked Wei Wuxian, especially after that stunt he’d pulled in protest of the Jin sect’s little shooting ‘entertainment’, but demonic cultivation was dangerous and Wei Wuxian’s mentality was said to be unstable. Nie Mingjue had lost so many of his own already - he was taking no chances.

“How did you know where they’re located, Chifeng-zun?” Wei Wuxian asked from where he was balancing behind a long-suffering Nie Zonghui. “I wouldn’t have thought the Jin sect shared that information.”

“Are you not familiar with the concept of spies?” Nie Mingjue asked, voice dry. Jiang Yanli, in his arms, giggled – she’d planned to send them along without her, looking disappointed and worried and resigned, and she’d brightened like a flower exposed to the sun when he’d informed her that she was coming along with them. She was accustomed to being left behind, and he intended to change that.

Besides, they were only going to the Qiongqi Path, which was solidly in Jin territory, to a prisoner of war camp staffed by Jin cultivators. It was hardly a dangerous expedition, and he did not expect to encounter anything that might be a threat, excluding perhaps his own temper.

His temper did, in fact, make an appearance.

“Jin Guangshan swore to Lan Xichen that the Wen remnants would be resettled peacefully,” he snarled, eyes red with rage and Baxia in his hand as the Jin sect cultivators - which had been tormenting the civilians here and that had gotten into Wei Wuxian’s face when he’d charged over first to shout at them - cowered in front of him. They were willing to challenge Wei Wuxian, but it seemed that Nie Mingjue was a different story – bullying the weak and cowering before the strong. Pathetic! “I had not realized that our understanding of the word peaceful was so different. Clearly I will need to have words with Sect Leader Jin.”

A hand touched his arm, and he looked down, surprised; virtually no one approached him when he was in a rage.

Jiang Yanli stood beside him, looking up at him fearlessly. “As much as I’m sure you’d like to chop them into pieces, it’ll be more effective to present them as evidence,” she said, and even smiled, as if they were sharing a joke between the two of them. “We can save the chopping for later. Following the trial that I’m certain Sect Leader Jin will insist upon.”

The Jin cultivators paled, clearly realizing that the likelihood of Sect Leader Jin standing behind them rather than immediately making them scapegoats was very low. They would be much more likely to spill whatever secrets they might have now, knowing that their fates depended more on Nie Mingjue’s mercy than on Jin Guangshan’s, than they would have even in the face of his threats.

Baxia grumbled in reluctant approval, and all of a sudden Nie Mingjue could not wait for Jiang Yanli to have a saber of her own and to cultivate its spirit – he thought it would be a very fine spirit indeed.

“Very well,” he allowed, and put Baxia back on his back, noting but ignoring the respectful looks his cultivators were sending Jiang Yanli. It was nothing more than what ought to be, the proper role of a Nie furen: to incite when appropriate, to restrain when necessary. “Zonghui, return to Lanling and bring a larger force so that we can transport the Wen civilians to safety. And – there’s no need for subtlety.”

By which he meant that he wanted every cultivator who could fly their own sword to be tagging along out of curiosity, and Nie Zonghui knew it. He saluted and left at once.

“What do we do now, then?” Wei Wuxian asked, shifting from one foot to the other. He looked anxious and young, clearly startled by the abrupt lack of violence and worried about Wen Ning – the young man had some nasty injuries that hadn’t been treated by the Jin sect, his body tossed away like so much refuse, but they’d arrived early enough that his sister was avidly working to care for him. She had said that his chances were good, since they had arrived before his consciousness had slipped away.

If they’d arrived later…

If Nie Mingjue hadn’t had the information ready to hand from the spies he disliked using, if Wei Wuxian had had to get the information out of the Jin sect directly, if he had had to ride here from Lanling rather than fly a sword, if he’d gotten stuck in that thunderstorm that was rapidly heading their way…

Well, that hadn’t happened. There was no point in wondering what if.

“Now? Nothing. We wait. Nie Xizhe, Wu Shude, take some of the Wen civilians and have them help you tie up all the Jin sect cultivators; I don’t want anyone sneaking away, and there’s not enough of us to guard them while they’re free. Wei Wuxian, walk with me.” He glanced to his side. “With us, I mean.”

Wei Wuxian obediently trotted over to where Nie Mingjue and Jiang Yanli were waiting, and Nie Mingjue led the three of them over to a nearby ridge where they could have a little privacy. The storm was getting ever closer, he noticed.

“Very well,” he said finally. “It’s just us now. What debt do you owe the Wens?”

Wei Wuxian froze. “Debt? I don’t – I already said –”

“There’s something you’ve left out,” Nie Mingjue said. “The way you act with them…”

He didn’t know how to put it into words. It wasn’t merely chivalrous altruism, nor even friendship, that was driving Wei Wuxian – he was desperate to help, manic with the need to do something; there was something else there. Some secret. He knew, because Nie Mingjue knew secrets and what they did to a man, even if he was keeping it for the best reasons in the world.

“A-Xian?” Jiang Yanli asked when Wei Wuxian said nothing, when Nie Mingjue said no more. “You know you can tell me, right?”

His lips were pressed together, his hand tight on his flute until his knuckles were white. He shook his head. “Shijie,” he whispered. “Don’t ask, please. Don’t.”

At least he’d admitted there was something.

“Your conduct is causing trouble for Yunmeng Jiang,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wei Wuxian turned tormented eyes on him, even as Jiang Yanli’s hand tightened on his. “It’s a Great Sect, but your brother is young, untried, and sensitive to criticism. It will be difficult for him to deal with the issues you present, especially if you persist in your present path of continuing with demonic cultivation instead of returning to the orthodox path of sword cultivation.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, looking pained.

“Do you have a suggestion?” Jiang Yanli asked.

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue said. “Absent yourself before you are forced to leave in truth. Go to the Cloud Recesses the way Lan Wangji continues to pester you about – see if you can’t tell him what secret it is that’s weighing down your tongue, if you can’t tell any of us – and come visit the Unclean Realm when you’re done there.”

Wei Wuxian was staring. Nie Mingjue ignored him.

“When you’re done with that, assign yourself the job of checking up on the Jiang sect’s dependent sects, or even just go around to visit every sect listed as having fought in the war, building relationships with them,” he continued briskly. “As for the reason, you’re clever, you’ll think of something. Get Wangji to teach you some healing spells and come help those in my sect who need it. Say that you’re using your demonic cultivation to help ferret out resentful energy in need of cleansing. Something. It doesn’t really matter what. But whatever you do, go. Give Yunmeng Jiang time to become as strong as it needs to be to protect you.”

“But it shouldn’t be protecting me,” Wei Wuxian protested. “I should be the one protecting it!”

“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli exclaimed, and her expression was suddenly fierce. “Are you the eldest? No. I am. You are my A-Xian, my didi, and that means you are part of Yunmeng Jiang – we have as much right to protect you as you us, and don’t you forget it.”

“But – shijie –”

“I won’t hear another word,” she said. “I won’t! Whatever it is, A-Xian, you need to tell us eventually, or else we’ll all fall apart. Didn’t you both promise me that we’d stay together, the three of us, always? You can’t break that promise now.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were wet with tears. “All right, shijie. I’ll figure something out.”

“Start with Gusu,” Nie Mingjue said again, uncomfortable with the display of emotions. “If you tell Lan Wangji the truth, he may even be able to help – in one way or another. Or don’t, it’s up to you. Just get yourself out of the public view. Earn some merits that aren’t related to slaughter.”

Wei Wuxian nodded again, clearly overcome with feeling, and then promptly made up a flimsy excuse to leave, dashing away towards where Wen Qing was still working on her brother.

Jiang Yanli sighed. “Thank you,” she said. “Again. I just wish I knew what was wrong with him!”

“We’ll figure it out,” he promised her. “Even if I have to pick him up and shake the secret out of him.”

Jiang Yanli smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” she said, now a third time over.

“Thank you,” he corrected. “If you hadn’t brought this to my attention, I would be guilty of negligence in regard to the Wen sect remnants – and most of them civilians, no less. As for Wei Wuxian…he’s your didi, and so soon to be my brother-in-law. It’s nothing but what I should be doing.”

“Still,” she said. “I am grateful nonetheless.”

Nie Mingjue looked down at her, fierce and yet patient, kind and righteous in her own quietly determined way, fearless enough to stand by his side and trusting him enough to come to him for help.

His heart moved in his chest.

He decided to be daring, as it had always served him well in the past – he stepped forward, closer to Jiang Yanli, and leaned down to press his lips to the corner of her mouth.

“It is what I should be doing,” he murmured, voice low. “Nie furen.”

Jiang Yanli’s face turned bright red, but she was smiling.

Yes, Nie Mingjue thought – he might not be able to promise love, but accepting Jiang Yanli’s show of initiative was definitely one of the better decisions he’d made.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #jiang yanli #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #initiative

1K notes · View notes

cherrycheridarling · 3 years

Text

'someday maybe' | t.h.

tom holland x singer!reader

warnings: one swear? fluff and angst? kisses

summary: you're so close to finishing your second album when your manager pushes the deadline, your ex tom helps you write the final track.

{listen to someday by michael bublè and meghan trainor (if you want)}

wc: 2.1k

"Someday maybe when we're old and grey,"

"Yes, yes. I know. You are not being a very helpful manager right now, Noelle." you spoke to your phone as you paced around the living room, "Okay. I'll get working on it. Bye." you huffed and threw your phone against the couch.

Your album was due to be released in two months and you needed one more song to tie it all together. Your manager, Noelle, was pushing you to finish the song so she could start the promo of the album.

You were incredibly grateful for your career, but the pressure weighed down on you everyday. Never ending.

With a final groan you picked up your acoustic guitar and sat on the couch. Picking at the strings, trying to find a melody. You hit record on your voice memo app before strumming away.

"Someday maybe when we're old and grey, we can be in love once more. 'Till then I won't give my love away. Darling, I'm forever only yours." you sang softly.

You and Tom had a joyous relationship. A love that only ever existed in movies and fairytales. The type of love story that gets told for generations and onwards. But alas, all good things must come to an end.

Your breakup was calm, serene and clean. A mutual agreement as if your whole relationship had been a business deal. There were no loose ends or jealous passive aggressive remarks made. Just maturity and respect for one another.

Your pinky still held the promise ring he gave you. A token of appreciation. A reassurance that he'd always be there for you. And he lived up to his word.

Tom walked in and sat across from you, startling you, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Whatcha writing?"

"Need a final song for the album. Sorry for showing up unannounced. I just get better inspiration here, with all the memories, you know?" you timidly looked back down at the guitar.

Tom nodded, "No need to apologize. We gave you a spare key for a reason."

You couldn't stop yourself from spilling the words from your lips, "That was when we were together."

You could hear the awkward silence start to fill the room before he spoke again, "Still our best friend, Y/L/N."

The pain that crossed your features was instant. Being addressed by your last name felt like a stab to the gut. Especially by Tom.

You nodded before playing again, "Can I help you write it?" Tom asked as he sat next to you.

"Dancer, gymnast, actor and now songwriter. How many hidden talents have you got, Holland?" you teased making him laugh.

He shrugged with a smile, "It's kind of like writing a poem, right?"

You pondered on his analogy before slowly nodding, "Yeah, it kind of is. Give it a go."

You began playing the melody and he listened intently for a few moments before singing, "I love seeing you happy. I miss seeing that smile. It's been such a long time. A– Nope. Nope. Nuh-uh. I can't do it." he shook his head aggressively with a loud laugh as you stopped playing.

"No!" you quickly protested, "That was amazing! Don't leave me hanging, c'mon." you nudged him with your shoulder before strumming again.

"Alright, alright." he ran his hands down his face, "And although I don't have you, I know now that I need to?" he paused and gave you a skeptical look before you nodded again, "Somehow make you mine. Mmm."

"Oh, okay. He's giving ad-libs and all. Get it." you nodded as he laughed.

You were so engrossed on Tom actually writing a song with you that you didn't focus on the lyrics he was singing.

"And I won't lie, it's hard seeing you with him 'cause I know he can't hold you like I can." his mood seemed to drop by a thousand as the words left his lips.

"When can we meet this boyfriend of yours?" Harrison flicked your forehead from across the booth.

You, Harrison, Tom and Tuwaine were all sat in the local pub. Pints of beer in front of each of you as loud music and chatting filled your ears.

You shrugged, "He's picking me up, so possibly tonight."

Tuwaine's eyes lit up, "Fina-fucking-lly. I swear you've kept him hidden for years."

"We've only been together for three months, T." you laughed lightly with the group of boys.

And they met him. It wasn't the smoothest of introductions, but an introduction nonetheless.

"Boys, this is Kai. Kai this is Tom, Harrison and Tuwaine." you gestured to the parties as they all shook hands and gave polite greetings.

"So," Harrison started, "What do you do for a living, Kai?"

Kai cleared his throat, "I'm a Senior Resident at Kingston Hospital. Working towards being Head of Pediatrics."

Tuwaine and Harrison both nodded, impressed by his profession. Tom's face remained expressionless as he stared at Kai with cold eyes.

"Do you have any siblings, Kai? Any psycho ex-girlfriends? Any wacky cousins?" Tuwaine joked making everyone laugh. "'Cause Y/N has a lot of wacky cousins."

"We could be in love once more,"

"Hey!" you gasped with a laugh.

Kai pulled you closer to him as he laughed, "No, no wacky cousins or psycho exes, but I do have an older sister and a younger brother."

This game of ask and answer continued on for a few more minutes. Tom didn't say a word, just sipped his beer and burned holes into Kai with his eyes. If looks could kill, Kai would be six feet under.

Kai was a sweetheart, but you two ended ages ago. His work got too much for him and your job had you touring and travelling every second.

You picked up after him with the chorus before diving into your own verse, "I remember that love song. I sang every word wrong, but you didn't mind, no, no."

"I love the things you do. It's how you do the things you love. Well it's not a love song, not a love song. I love the way you get me, but correct me if I'm wrong. This is not a love song, not a love song!" Tom belted the 'Austin & Ally' song from the top of his lungs.

"Your turn!" he pointed the pretend mic in your direction.

You laughed, not knowing any of the lyrics, but still wanting to participate, "I love that you not a licket! And you own a watch and chicken! We got a car!" you sang with full confidence, making Tom burst with laughter.

"Yes! Sing it, darling!" he cheered you on, "Absolutely butchering the lyrics, but sing it!"

"Being stuck inside a car. If it's not a doe, don't kiss it! I can't hear a missing, when there's a shoe inside the ceiling! If you really need to fart, you can lunch on a pig farm! Love song! Love song!" you couldn't even hear the song in the background, your voice overpowering it.

Tom was hunched over from laughing before he came back up and planted a soft kiss on your lips, "You are one hundred percent ridiculous and I love it."

You brought yourself back to reality and sang again, "And I'll admit that I miss you, but only if you do. 'Cause you know that I'm shy. And I can't lie, it's hard seeing you with her. 'Cause I know she can't love you like I can."

Tom's eyes met yours as the words fell from your gentle lips. His mouth was slightly agape as you continued to strum.

"You are absolute rubbish. Imagine coming in eighth. Embarassing." you laughed as you crushed Harrison in a game of Mario Kart.

He shoved you with his shoulder, "You're such a try ha—"

"—It's always the same, Tom! How can I trust you? You follow gorgeous models on Instagram and expect me to trust you?" Nadia's voice cut Harrison's words off.

You looked at him with wide eyes, his expression matching yours.

"Those women that I follow have been my friends for ages. Who I follow on a stupid app shouldn't effect how much you trust me."

You paused the game, cutting off the theme song, "How long have they been fighting like this?"

Harrison sighed, a long groan following, "A few weeks. I think it started when she saw that he liked your Instagram picture?"

You stammered, "M-my post? She got mad about my post?"

Harrison nodded before opening his mouth to speak, but Nadia cut him off again, "And she practically lives here! How do you think it makes me feel seeing my boyfriend play house with a superstar?!"

"Aw, a superstar? I'm flattered." you joked making Harrison stifle a laugh.

"I've been friends with Y/N since we were in nappies!"

"I can't be with you if you're going to be friends with her."

Your laughter abruptly died at her words. Harrison stiffened beside you.

"Y-you can't be serious. You can't make me choose between you and her."

"Why? Because you're gonna choose her?" you could hear her voice crack.

"I-" Tom couldn't make out a sentence for a few moments, "Yeah. I'm gonna choose her."

Your heart fell from it's place, stopping at your feet. Harrison brought a hand to his mouth, "H-he chose you. He chose you!" he whisper shouted before you shushed him.

"Of course. I don't know why I expected anything different. I think I'll be going now." Nadia's footsteps approached the living room.

You and Harrison scrambled to look as if you weren't eavesdropping on their argument/breakup.

Tom followed close behind her, "I'm sorry. I really am."

She nodded, hand on the doorknob, "I know. Goodbye." she stepped out of the house, slamming the front door shut in the process.

Tom let out a breath of relief before turning to you and Harrison who were staring at the Mario Kart home screen with the infamous tune playing.

"You guys are terrible actors."

"'Till then I won't give my love away,"

"I'm forever only yours." the both of you finished the song in unison.

There was a moment of silence before you reached over and ended the voice recording.

"T-that was really good. You can change what I wrote, I know it isn't as good as anything you would've written, but I tried. And it was actually pretty fun and I never knew how difficult songwriting was un—"

"—Kiss me." you cut Tom's rambling off.

His eyes grew wide, "W-wha—"

"—Kiss me, Holland."

He swallowed, a small smile stretching on his lips, "Thank God."

And with that, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. Interlocking like missing puzzle pieces. Moving in sync like waves in the ocean. Soft and sweet, but filled with passion. You could feel his smile against your lips causing you to grin.

His hand came up to pull your face closer into his. Caressing your jaw, fingertips playing with the hairs on the back of your neck. His other hand holding your hip in a tight grip. Pressing the pads of his digits into your flesh, scared that you might slip through his fingers again.

One of your hands was pressed flat against his chest. Steadying yourself, the heat of the kiss threatening to throw you off of your axis. Your other hand tangled itself into Tom's curls. Pulling and tugging lightly causing small groans to fall from Tom's lips. Your fingernails scratching his scalp. Pulling him impossibly closer to you.

"I want my ten pounds." Harrison's voice snapped you and Tom out of your make out session.

Him and Tuwaine stood in the doorway, shit eating grins on their faces.

Tuwaine laughed before placing a ten pound note in Harrison's palm, "You guys couldn't have waited until next month to get back together?"

"You two were betting on us?" Tom laughed at his mates who nodded.

You shook your head with a smile, "Absolute idiots, all of you."

Harrison let out a happy sigh and pocketed the money, "Today was a good day. Had a sick ass shoot. Got ten pounds. And my best friends are finally together again." he waltzed into the kitchen with Tuwaine, leaving you and Tom alone again.

Tom's shy expression met your gleeful one before he spoke, "Someday came a lot sooner than expected, huh?" he chuckled.

You nodded with a laugh, "It certainly did and I am not complaining."

He sent you a wide grin before cupping your face and connecting your lips to his again.

"Darling, I'm forever only yours."

#tom holland #tom holland angst #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x osterfield!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland oneshot #tom holland one shot #tom holland blurb #tom holland headcanon #tom holland series #tom holland fic

484 notes · View notes

nxrthmizu · 3 years

Text

Second Place ; Miya Osamu.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | miya osamu x fem!reader

w.c | 2.2k

genre | fluff

warning(s) | slightly suggestive, implied sexual content

author's note | i've been wanting to write this for a while! so here it is <3 it's not beta read and I didn't use a lot of metaphorical filling so it's not that poetic but eh Idc bc ✨ self indulgence ✨

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Once upon a time, Miya Osamu swore that he would never settle for second place again— He was never going to let another Miya score first place while he stood in the shadows. The twins had split paths after graduation, stepping onto stages where they'd never have to compete against each other for the spotlight again.

... Okay, who was he kidding. He'd be compared to Atsumu for his whole life— It wasn't like a different career would change that. Besides, his aunts were way too bored to not spin up something about him and his brother during family gatherings.

"Atsumu's making more money, isn't he?"

Well duh, he was a professional volleyball player, of course he made more money— Osamu wanted to roll his eyes in front of his aunts to make sure they understood that he heard their hushed whispers— But then again, he was an adult now, and he knew better than to stoop that low.

The comforting grip you had on his wrist also helped.

Things did get slightly better for him, though.

"Atsumu, your brother's already married," Osamu overheard his second aunt say to his twin during his wedding reception, "When are you going to settle down?"

The grey-haired Miya couldn't help but have a grin on his face for the entire night. Granted, the fact there was a silver ring on your finger also helped. You were absolutely radiant that night, and Osamu couldn't have been happier to finally be able to introduce you as his spouse.

Osamu's marriage did tilt more pressure towards his twin's way, because not more than half a year later, Atsumu caved in and found a sweet little thing to share his life with. The setter had had a couple flings here and there in his earlier years— But none of them ever lasted that long, and Atsumu had never introduced them to his brother, which is how Osamu knew that his twin really cared about the girl when the golden-haired man visited Onigiri Miya with her hanging on his arms.

If he didn't have the decency to help his brother maintain a good image, Osamu would've straight-up snorted at how tense his twin was when he served onigiri up onto their table, the shop empty with the exception of one table. It was almost like Atsumu was seeking Osamu's approval— Which was hilarious enough without the fact that the setter was nervous about it.

At the end of the night, it was as if the weight of the world was lifted off Atsumu's shoulders. Kaoru— The name of Osamu's potential sister-in-law— Got along wonderfully with you, who kept the shy-but-bright woman entertained as Osamu dragged his twin into the kitchen to make fun of him.

"Oh, go easy on him," You elbowed him lightly as the two of you closed up the shop for the night, wiping down the tables and tucking the chairs in. "Atsumu genuinely cares about her, he's making an effort!"

Osamu let out the snort he had held in for most of the evening. "I wouldn't be his brother if I didn't make fun of him."

"Boys." You muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. You had been around to catch the tail-end of some of Atsumu's previous relationships, so you could tell that Kaoru was different; In a way, Atsumu looked at her the same way Osamu eyed a nice piece of mackerel in the grocery shop.

"I heard that! C'mere," Osamu grinned, tackling you from the back. A smile burst across his lips when a giggle erupted from your lips, a cloth rag smacking him in the face when you tried to wriggle away from his hold. "You aren't getting away, pumpkin. Save your energy for later."

He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, yelping when he was smacked with the rag again.

"There won't be a later if you keep that up." You warned, laughing when horror instantly swept over his expression. His protests echoed in your ears as you thought about how this marriage was something you'd never regret. Yes, it was rough because his business took off on a rocky road, but you knew there was no gain without pain, so you hung on and saw him through to the fruits of his labour.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The next family meeting was graced with the presence of Kaoru, who, in turn, had been graced with your advice.

"Dress decently, do not wear black," You had warned her the night before on the phone, grimacing at the memory of your first Miya family dinner. No one had aunts more judgemental than the Miya twins. "I would suggest going with a dress. Oh, and it might help to bring a gift. A bottle of Ginseng Wine might be a good idea."

"We're here," Osamu parked the car outside the family home, subconsciously wincing at the sight of his aunts' vehicles. "... Ah. They’re here."

"I see they turned up early," You grimaced, "Atsumu and Kaoru-chan are going to have a brilliant night."

"Yup." Your husband grinned slightly at that, earning a smack for smiling at his brother's suffering. "Oh, he'll be fine. We'll mention that when Atsumu really needs saving." The wink he sent your way made your stomach butterflies flutter, but the warm touch of his fingers on your hand made them settle. "We'll be fine," Osamu's eyes softened as he met yours, reassuring you. "You've got me, remember? Worst case scenario, we'll just high-tail out of there and say we need to work tomorrow."

"Right," You released a breath of relief, interlocking your fingers with his. "Ready?"

"To see Atsumu suffer?" Osamu quipped. "Hell yeah."

And suffer did Atsumu. Kaoru wasn’t spared (of course she wasn’t—) and was judged from head-to-toe by the Miya's critical aunts. From the way they were eyeing her, you'd think they were the judges of Miss Universe instead of potential aunt-in-laws. Despite that, Kaoru braved the storm and stood strong through the whole night, her resilience shining with her determination to be with the other Miya twin— Osamu nodded his approval at that.

After dinner, the family gathered in the living room, with the elderly seated on the cushioned couches while the twins were squashed together on a bean bag (that you had to convince them to share, because apparently they were adamant about pushing the other off of it). Kaoru and you managed to snag a small corner of a couch, stifling your laughter at the sour faces of your respective significant others.

"So, Kaoru-san," Four heads collectively flinched when the aunt opened her mouth, "What's your job? Yearly salary?"

"Um, I'm... I'm a newspaper editor," Kaoru fidgeted with the strap of her bag while you resisted the urge to snap at her to look as confident as she could if she didn't want the interrogation to go on for the rest of the night. A shy, nervous thing like her would only make the predator's lick their lips at the sight of easy prey.

"Oh! That makes sense," The woman sneered, Osamu's mother not-so-discreetly turning up the volume of the television in hopes that the conversation would be drowned out. "You definitely dress with the salary of an editor."

Offence flashed across Atsumu's face like lightning, but before he could start a fight to defend his girlfriend's honour, Osamu dragged his brother back onto the bean bag and stood up.

"Excuse me, everyone," Osamu put on his practiced customer-service smile flawlessly, capturing everyone's attention instantly. "Y/N and I have an announcement to make." His eyes met yours, and you nodded, a smile waltzing across your lips.

"Mother, father," You begin, addressing your in-laws like you addressed your own parents. Encouragement swirled in your blood as Osamu interlocked your hands and squeezed your fingers. "You're going to be grandparents."

It took a while for the news to kick in.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Osamu's mother cried out, rushing to envelop you in a hug that you gracefully accepted. "Do you know the gender yet?"

"Of course not, mother." Osamu rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "We're not that far along yet."

"That's amazing! Congratulations!" Kaoru beamed brightly, not having picked up on Osamu's timely intervention.

"Thank you." You replied warmly.

"Well then, are you going to stop working?" The first aunt shot at you, smirking, coy as ever. She knew that you weren't the type to drop your job just because of an incoming child.

"Of course not." You replied easily, "What kind of spouse would I be if I couldn't help carry the financial burdens with my husband?"

She shut her trap instantly, huffing in fury. Osamu had never looked prouder.

The family rejoiced for a little longer, and from the tip of your ears, you heard Osamu gloating slightly about having reached another milestone earlier than his brother.

"I love you," Your husband murmured into the crook of your neck as the two of you cuddled in the warmth of your bed, too far for his aunts' sharp words to hurt you. "And our little boy in there.”

“How do you know it’s a boy?”

“... Father’s instinct.”

Months flew by in a blur, and so did doctor appointments, Sunday shopping trips with Kaoru as you left Atsumu to help Osamu in the restaurant. The pair would drive the half-an-hour trip from Osaka to Hyogo every weekend. This arrangement elicited a couple silly arguments between the twins, of course, but once you taught Kaoru the stern look that would make the two settle like guilty puppies with their tails between their legs— Those arguments became simple matters to handle.

“Have you thought of names yet?” Kaoru asked you while the two of you sipped on coffee.

“I have a couple in mind,” You smiled. “Osamu won’t stop going on about how he was right. The baby’s a boy.”

“Boys will be boys,” Kaoru rolled her eyes. Then, her expression changed to a wistful one. “This might sound odd, but… I just find myself thinking, sometimes… One day, I want what you and Osamu have.”

“... A happy marriage?” You raised an eyebrow, “Honey, you’re already on your way to one. Atsumu looks at you the same way ‘Samu looks at a bowl of gyudon. Or the way I look at a bucket of mint ice cream with peanut butter…”

Kaoru made a concerned look. “The baby sure craves some odd things.”

“You’ll experience this one day.” You returned pointedly. “Logically, I never would’ve thought of eating mint chocolate ice cream with peanut butter slathered on… But cravings are cravings. And it was surprisingly nice.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

After nine long months of waiting, Miya Tomohito was welcomed to the world. Osamu cried (Atsumu made fun of him for it before getting smacked by Kaoru— She was learning a lot from you). Both yours and Osamu’s parents wouldn’t stop gawking at your baby boy, with his little tuff of dark hair, his tightly-fisted hands and the slight cherry-red flush of his cheeks. You never thought you’d fall in love at first sight— But your son was living proof that you were wrong. From the first moment you held him in your arms, you had already given a piece of your heart for him to hold in his tiny little hands.

It quickly became a regular sight for frequent customers of Onigiri Miya to see Osamu walking around the shop, a sleeping baby boy strapped to his back. The two were inseparable. Once, you walked in on your husband having a full conversation with Tomohito, who was sucking on a spoon.

“I’m thinking of adding a twist to my tuna onigiri recipe,” Osamu said, as if he were talking to an adult and not a three-month old baby. “Do you think adding a squeeze of lemon juice will make it taste better?”

“Gwa.” Tomohito replied intelligently.

“Great suggestion, Tomo.”

“Mmm.”

“I see. We could go to the grocery store later to get some tuna and try that recipe tonight.”

“Ba.”

“You’re a genius, Tomo.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

“I can’t believe you.” Osamu looked helpless. “You’re not… You’re not seriously doing this to me.”

“I’m completely serious.” You said firmly, having put your foot down with no room for argument.

“You’re really choosing him over me?” Your husband’s jaw dropped when you nodded solemnly. “I’m your husband!”

“And he’s my son.” You shot back instantly.

“You’re kicking me out of our bed for our son?”

“He’s sick!” You refuted. “I need him to be as close as possible to me. His fever hasn’t gone down completely yet and I can’t let him go back into his cot tonight. Besides, you might get sick if we all sleep in the same bed. Who’ll take care of the shop then?”

Osamu drooped visibly. He couldn’t believe what was happening— He had lost to a Miya once again— Now his son instead of his brother. “Fine.” He mumbled sadly. “Make your poor husband sleep on the couch.”

“It’s only for one night, ‘Samu.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Tomohito's name is written as 智仁. '智' means intelligence and '仁' means compassionate. I have a friend named Tomohito.

Also, when I was writing this I reminded myself to make sure I made the reader gender-neutral. That is, until I realised that I made the reader pregnant. I am an idiot.

haikyuu!! gen taglist: @haru-senji @hikari-writes @whootwhoot @folkloeren @definitely-yours @rirk-ke @animegirlweeb @cemeiia @haikyuushuffle

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu x reader #miya osamu #miya osamu fluff #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu fluff #osamu x reader fluff #miya osamu x reader fluff #[ris writes]—✧#ris's works: [second place]—✧

385 notes · View notes

theshelbyclan · 4 years

Text

Swords and Daggers

Summary: When a family meeting is interrupted by your sudden menstrual cramps, your brothers do everything in their power to take care of you

(gif by @nofckingfighting) A/N: Anon requested: can you do a shelby!sister imagine where she’s gets these awful cramps and in the middle of a family meeting she just bursts into tears because it hurts so bad and omg the boys would be so soft As I’m currently dying of cramps, it made sense to write this. It’s short, but I hope you like it. Words: 1585 *** “This Saturday,” Tommy started, “We’re going legit. John, you and Johnny Dogs are gathering the men at the Charlie’s yard. Arthur, I need you on the tracks, keep the Lee men off. You can take Finn. I will create a distraction and… Y/N, are you okay?” “Fine,” you ground out, not really wanting to attract attention to yourself, “Tell me where I’ll be.”

“At home,” your brother said shortly. “Like hell I am,” you said, “If we’re going legit, I want in. Why the fuck else am I even here?” “Fuck if I know,” Polly sighed, “being decorative, I suppose.” Tommy shot daggers at his aunt and then turned back to you, “If you ladies have any problems with how I run…” “If we have any problems, we know to shut out mouths and get on with it,” Ada commented from the other side of the round table. “Remember we used to run this entire organisation, Thomas,” Polly scolded, “While you boys were off to France.” “Yes,” Thomas sighed, downing his drink, “I am aware, Pol,” Her look still had some effect on him, much to her satisfaction, “You remember that when you no longer care for our input.” “Fine!” he caved, “Y/N, what role do you want to play?” But you had stopped listening already. In all honesty, you didn’t feel well at all and so Tommy’s words seem to come from very far away. Still, you’d fought years and years to feel like you were a part of the Shelby Company Limited. Women were respected in this family, but never quite on the same level as the men. Sure, it’d been fine for you to take care of business while your brothers were away, and you and Aunt Polly had happily taken on the entire enterprise. With her head for strategy and your head for numbers, sharing the iron Shelby backbone, it’d been quite the dream team. But the boys came back and without many words of thanks, it’d been taken from you as well. There were so many mixed emotions that came with their return from France, but a day didn’t go by that you didn’t curse those men up top who decided to send boys into the mud to die for them. Tommy still stared at you, impatient and a little annoyed, so you said, “I’ll go to Epsom early. I still have the dress. I’ll let Arthur know where the Lee men are and what they’re planning.” Arthur grumbled something inaudibly and when you fixed him with one of your glares, he said, “You want to waltz in there, all dolled up and ready for the taking by any Lee bastard?” “Think I can’t do it, Arthur?” you said coldly. “We know you can do it,” Tommy interrupted, “Doesn’t mean we have to like it.” “I’m not fucking seven, Thomas,” you spat. Another sharp pain went through you and you found yourself physically doubling over in your chair. John immediately turned towards you, “What’s the matter?” “I’m good,” you tried to smile. “Doesn’t look like it…” “Maybe it’s food poisoning,” Arthur ventured. “It’s not.” “What is it then?” Both brothers said in unison. “Just…” you gritted your teeth as another wave of pain came over you, “leave me alone!” “Can’t do that, little sister,” Arthur moved to touch your arm, but you angrily pushed him away.

“She’s not doing good, Tommy,” John’s voice was full of alarm.

Arthur even stood up, “And she’s not fighting any bloody Lee men like that!”

“Calm down,” Aunt Polly said, “Women have been doing it for ages, every month, come hell or high water.”

“That may be so,” Tommy put down his drink, “but this is our sister.”

“I’m fine…” you croaked again, but you weren’t, at all.

“You’re not,” another unhelpful brother said, “you need to be in bed.”

“WILL YOU ALL FUCKING STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO FUCKING DO!” you suddenly burst out, and before you knew it, you had started sobbing.

“Oh no…” John said softly.

“Tom,” Arthur said unsurely, not knowing what to do with himself, “What do we do?”

He quickly took charge and picked you up from your seat. Held bridal style, he walked around the table and you could feel your brothers’ gaze on you, “She needs to be in bed.”

You still protested weakly, “Tommy…”

“Shhh,” he said softly, “We can talk about your plan to seduce the Lees in the morning, eh?”

As he walked with you up the stairs, you suddenly felt yourself lean into him. It felt safe, right there in his arms.

“Water bottles?” you heard one panicky brother shout downstairs.

“Boil the water!” the other replied, “I’ll get the blankets!”

“Ada! Where the bloody hell did you hide that chocolate?!”

You had to smile a little, “You’d think I’m dying…”

“Well, the truth is, sweetheart,” Tommy said in that soft voice he reserved only for you, “We have no idea what you’re going through. We spend half our lives talking to women, flirting with women, being with women…”

“Yeah, alright, I get the point,” you cut him off jokingly.

He pretended like he hadn’t heard you, but a small smile was tugging at his lips, “But we have no idea what it feels like, to lose all that blood…”

“What about France?” you asked.

“That was different, love,” he gently placed you on your bed, “That was a one-time thing and not a monthly struggle. Besides, we weren’t expected to just ignore it and get on with work.”

“I want to work,” you pouted.

Tommy sighed, “Y/N. Listen to me. I know you want to work for the company. I know you. You’re a Shelby and you don’t like being idle. I know. But for tonight, work is done. Get some sleep, eh?”

Suddenly, Arthur came rushing in. It was clear he felt incredibly awkward, but the fact that his arms were filled with hot-water bottles, blankets and chocolate showed he cared, deeply. There were times that you loved your awkward brother more than anyone in the world, and this was one of those moments. You smiled at him full of gratitude and he left quickly after, knowing he’d be back every few hours to check on you. He was the oldest brother after all.

You tried to find a comfortable position for a few moments and the occasional grunt of pain escaped your lips. Tommy looked at you with worry written all over his face, “Don’t know how you fucking do it every month…” he whispered.

“Careful,” you feigned shock, “people might think you’re a feminist.”

He slowly lit a cigarette, “And what if I am, eh?”

You scoffed and reached out, “Give me the cigarette. It helps.”

Another few minutes passed and John stuck his head around the door, “Y/N? Esme tells me it helps when I rub her back. Do you need me to do that?”

“I’ll be fine, John, thanks,” you smiled at him. Where you and Arthur had a bond that required no words, with John it was all words, but they were always good and open and honest. If you needed to talk, you turned to John.

He paused for a second, “What about a doctor, do you need a doctor?”

This made you laugh out loud, “John, sweetheart, this is perfectly normal and it does happen every month. We’d be wasting the doctor’s time!”

“Esme told me to tell you that it’s perfectly normal and there’s nothing wrong with you…”

“I know, John. I’m sixteen: I’ve been doing this for a while now.”

“Right,” he mumbled, “I knew that…”

“John?” you eventually asked and when he looked at you again, you said, “Thank you. I’ll manage.”

“Will you let me know?” John said with a serious look on his face, “If you do need something?”

“How? You’re four houses away. I’m not screaming loud enough for you to hear it, waking up the whole bloody street!”

“Just knock,” he replied, “Sleeping in my old bed tonight, just down the hall,” and before you could protest, he was gone and called from the hall, “Goodnight, babe!”

Tommy still sat in the corner, smoking quietly. You weren’t quite sure why he was there, but his presence was comforting. With Arthur it was protection, with John it was words, but with Tommy it was just his presence. When you two locked eyes, he gave you a warm smile, and it was just like you were six again. Before that god-awful war, he’d always been there. Tommy was the brother who couldn’t be dragged away from his little sister, always trying to get you to ride his pony. He followed you wherever you went and he gave you everything you ever wanted. But after the war, his head was filled with smoke, mud and ambition. But this, this felt like before, and it was good. Maybe it was even worth the swords and daggers attacking your uterus at the moment.

You started feeling yourself drifting off to sleep, with the warm bottle pressed against your abdomen. But before you slept, you mumbled, “I love you, Tommy…”

“Is this another hormonal thing?” a deep voice said in reply, with some sarcasm echoing through.

“Probably,” you smirked, “I’ll hate you again tomorrow, alright?”

“Good. You can take out that anger on the Lees, eh?”

“I will,” you heard your own voice was getting muffled. Still, you felt a small triumph of being allowed to go in the morning.

“Sleep, Y/N,” he almost sung, from a great distance it seemed, “And I love you too.”

***

Masterlist

2K notes · View notes

imherongraystairstrash · 3 years

Note

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, do you think Charles,Barbara, Eugenia and Anna were close? Anna maybe less because she’s closer in age to the merry thieves set and she probably ghosted Charles after the Ariadne engagement. Would you consider a fic of them all growing up, starting with them 4 as little kids and then slowly becoming teens and adults and then dealing with Barbara’s death. I think it would be a fun idea since nobody ever considers them to be a older merry thieves.

You can thank my social anxiety for this one bc I stress wrote it in school 🙃

TW: panic attacks, death

Title: When we were young

Characters: Barbara Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Anna was sitting by the fire when Charles came into the room. She hated him. She truly did. But, somehow, at that moment, she felt strange. He looked at her and it took her many years back, to when they weren’t exactly friends, but they were far from what they are now to each other.

…

“And that was how Consul Wentworth fixed the crisis of 1687.” Charles said with a satisfied smile to himself.

The Lightwood girls were his audience. Well, sort of. Eugenia’s cheek was resting on her fist, squishing the right side of her face as her lidded eyes approached shutting completely. Anna was slumped against Eugenia, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes opened wide, staring at a fixed spot on the floor. Their luminous dark blue glittered in the witchlight, looking exquisitely uncanny. Barbara was mid-yawn, leaning on the leg of a sofa.

“Wow, Charles. Thanks for the history lesson.” Eugenia said, monotonously. It was evident that she’d inherited her mother’s sass from the day she was born, when Barbara had woken her up by exclaiming at the sight of her newborn sister, and Genie responded by pulling her sister’s hair.

“Oh, and in 1690-“

“NO!” All three Lightwood daughters shrieked.

“I’m still not done, though.” Said Charles.

“Yes, you are.” Eugenia said, standing up and settling the matter. “We are positively bored. There is absolutely nothing to do except listen to Charles talk about politics, and if those are the only two options, frankly, I’d rather be bored.”

Charles crossed his arms. “Being an intellect is not boring.”

Little two year old Anna looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

“I swear, Thomas is having a better time than we are,” Eugenia said glaring at to where their parents were, with the tiny, almost invisible baby nestled in Gideon’s arms, his fingers wrapped around Sophie's thumb. The parents were all laughing about something, which made Eugenia scowl even more.

“To be an adult.” Barbara said, with a martyred sigh.

“We needn’t be adults to have fun.” Charles said.

“I suppose you’re going to torture us with more political trivia.”

“No,” Charles said. “I was going to suggest we go through the attic.”

The girls looked up at this and Charles smirked, clearly proud of himself at having come up with a good idea. For once.

“What is in the attic?”

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s probably strange and obscure things. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff in our house.”

Barbara and Eugenia exchanged a look before the eldest Lightwood sister turned to him.

“We shall go and discover this mysterious attic you speak of.”

…

“What could this even be?” Barbara said, holding up a loose gear-like contraption.

“Papa sometimes builds things out of clockwork.” Charles said, sitting cross legged. “Or, he used to at least.”

“That’s…”

Genie and Charles looked at Barbara as she trailed off.

“Nevermind, I have no comment.”

Charles nodded as though that was a common reaction people had in terms of his father’s experiments.

They rummaged through boxes upon boxes, finding momentos they didn’t understand such as papers upon papers of things that said many difficult words. They could distinguish a couple of words such as “infernal” and “devices”, however there were many that made no sense to them.

“What is a Mortmain?” Asked Genie.

“I think it’s an undead horse or something along those lines,” said Charles.

“Oh,” said Eugenia. “That’s disgusting.”

“Quite,” agreed Barbara.

Anna was toddling around the room, giggling. She almost tripped over a loose floorboard, and would have, had Charles not reached out and grabbed a hold of the back of her dress.

“This is too dangerous for a small child like Anna,” Barbara said, ever the mother-goose. “I shall take her downstairs before she hurts herself.”

Anna protested at first, but acquiesced once Barbara bribed her with the promise of dessert.

…

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked.

He looked up, his green eyes meeting her blue ones.

…

Charles remembered that day like it was just yesterday.

He and Eugenia had stayed behind rifling through boxes, which wasn’t unwelcome, as Eugenia and Charles had an easy, lighthearted and, at times, profound, friendship. Despite their age gap, they enjoyed each other’s company, though neither could say why. Perhaps, it was simply because they mocked each other. Or perhaps, it was sometimes they would occasionally talk about things such as philosophy, and whether what they were seeing was true, or the world was just a figment of their imaginations. Or a mixture of the two; they’d never really discussed it.

Eugenia surprised him when she said, “do you ever feel… different from your parents?”

Charles furrowed his brows, “in what aspect?”

“Love.”

“Have you a suitor?” Charles inquired, intrigued.

“No. Actually, that was my question. I find that, sometimes, I don’t only enjoy the idea of a male suitor, but perhaps, I also enjoy the company of a woman. Perhaps.” She pressed her lips together tightly, as if forcing herself to stop speaking.

Charles looked at her, his bright green eyes wide. “I-um-…”

“But I’m not sure, of course.” Eugenia blurted out. “It’s not as if shadowhunters are precisely fond of that particular preference or-“

“Do you really think they wouldn’t like it?” Charles asked, softly. “Do you believe they will reject those who are like that?”

Eugenia looked down. “I’m afraid I’m most sure of it.”

Charles had then realized that he couldn’t have both. There was no way around it.

He knew his parents were happy and that love made them complete. However, they didn’t have to choose. They could be married and the idea wouldn’t affect their respective occupations. Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be Consul and have the kind of love he wanted. He almost resented them because of it. They were able to do what they loved and nobody forced them to pick between one or the other.

It was unfair. So incredibly unfair.

“I guess you better get rid of your feelings towards women than.” He said simply, “unless you’re willing to let something as simple as love get in the way of your dreams.”

“Dreams?” Eugenia asked, looking confused and a tiny bit hurt.

But Charles got up to go back downstairs to his parents, aunts and uncles.

…

Charles slumped down in a chair and dug his fingers into his hair.

“She was just here.” He said quietly. “Babs, was just here.”

Anna felt sudden rage. “You are not allowed to mourn her.”

Charles looked up. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t be sad. She was my cousin too. Perhaps not by blood, but she was still a cousin.” He pressed his lips together angrily and stared fixedly at the witchlight stone that was illuminating the room.

Anna, however, couldn’t find it in her to be diplomatic; she got up and left the room.

…

Anna had never seen Eugenia look this way. She was always put together, posh. But now, she looked hollow. Like a shell of who she used to be. Anna wanted to go up to her, to say something, but she felt lost for words. What did you tell someone who lost a dear sister? If Anna felt sorrow, she couldn’t imagine what Eugenia was feeling.

Her head was tilted upwards, looking up at the pyre where the corpse of her sister lay. Tears were streaming down her face, rolling down her cheeks, throat and chest, leaving streaks on her face that looked like the roots of a tree.

Sophie had her arm around her daughter. The sight of the four of them was very strange. There was a gap missing where Barbara should have been. She suddenly felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked to her right and saw her mother looking straight ahead, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Her father was looking down, holding Alex. Her baby brother was one of the few who looked up at the cousin who’d taught him to play simple songs on the piano, and had always let him sleep in her arms on New Year's eve.

She didn’t know what he must have been thinking now, staring up at the pyre.

Though, to be fair, she didn’t quite know what to think herself, as she looked up at the cousin who’s life was cut far too short.

…

Eugenia’s body didn’t feel like her own. She hadn’t felt this body was her own for a while. Even since Augustus and the secret she’d kept to herself.

This was somehow worse. To be torn away from your best friend, whom you’d shared a room with almost your entire life. Eugenia didn’t know how to live in a world without Barbara. Sometimes, in the rare moments when she forgot about her sadness, she’d call her sister’s name, ready to tell her about what had happened in her novel. Or find herself walking to Barbara’s room without thinking and then staring blankly at the door that has remained shut ever since the day she passed away.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d found a letter Barbara had sent her when she’d been in Idris. It was in between her copy of Jane Eyre. She couldn’t bring herself to read it in its entirety, but she stared at the signature blankly.

Suddenly, she got the urge to run. So she ran. That’s how, an hour later, she’d gotten a small tattoo under her ankle that said “Sincerely, your favorite sister Babs.”

It felt right to have Bab’s signature there, we’re only she could see. It made her feel accompanied everywhere she went, even though nobody else could see.

Now, looking up at the pyre, her face tight from tears she’d left to dry, her mother weeping silently, she could almost imagine that her sister was there, simply caught in a slumber and that she’d wake up at any moment and come tumbling down, throwing herself in Eugenia’s arms.

Any moment now, she thought when the pyre burst into flames.

“Ave atque vale, Barbara Lightwood.” The crowd said at once.

Eugenia shook her head and swayed on her feet. Her breathing became heavy and her fingers began prickling. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. No nononono.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, vaguely that it was her father’s.

Not Barbara.

Not Babs.

“Calm down, Genie.”

Not her sister. Her sister couldn’t possibly be up there.

“Breathe Eugenia.”

She wanted to scream that she couldn’t, that she’d never breathe again, as long as her sister wasn’t breathing with her. Why did she have to live? She would have much preferred that Barbara live in her stead.

The world was numb and fractured, never to be fixed again.

…

(Don’t worry, Gideon was able to help Genie after the fic ends bc he’s the best dad)

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @ninacarstairss @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @icouldnotask @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures @ti-bae-rius @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @readersconfessions812 @nightshade3465 @livvyheronstairs @zemiraa @proudtobealuthor @neurogliadudette @theenchanteddreamer @cheeseandmacarons

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

#tsc #tlh #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #charles buford fairchild #gabriel lightwood #anna lightwood #cecily lightwood #cecily herondale #tlh fanfic #tlh fanfiction #the last hours #tid #sophie lightwood #gideon lightwood

58 notes · View notes

one-boring-person · 3 years

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could write more for Dutch from Predator? Lol it's me btw! I was wondering if it could be a hate to love relationship, where Dutch, being the hardass he is, can't live down his pride, and the reader (preferably female), is a strong independent woman who is actually Poncho's little sister, learning from the best. To add on, can the reader be short as Arnie is so tall, and because I am only 5'2" irl?

I kind of combined this with the enemies-to-lovers prompt request, I hope that's ok! I hope you like this!😊💛

Old Habits Die Hard.

Alan "Dutch" Schaefer (Predator 1987) x reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, swearing, mention of violence, alcohol consumption

Masterlist

"This round's on me, what does everyone want?" Mac announces as we go to sit down at the table, the mercenary remaining standing.

"A beer sounds good." Poncho says, looking at the rest of us.

We give words of agreement, taking our respective places at the table as Mac goes to leave the room and go to the bar.

"Don't forget a soda, I don't think they sell alcohol to underage people here." Dutch chips in, flashing a pointed look in my direction.

"Very funny." I roll my eyes, forcing a smile as the others chuckle, "A beer is fine, Mac. Thanks."

He nods, ducking from the room we rented out for the evening, leaving the five of us alone.

"So what's all this about, Dutch? Got us another job?" Blain questions, the gruff man leaning back in his chair, jaw working languidly at the gunk in his mouth.

"Yeah, but this one's a bit different." The major replies, taking a cigar from his pocket and lighting it.

"Different? How?" Hawkins frowns, cokcing his head to the side.

Dutch takes a deep breath of smoke from the cigar, sitting back in his seat.

"An old friend from the army got in touch. Says he needs us for a rescue op."

"Friend from the army? Who?" I inquire, lifting an eyebrow.

"Old commander of mine." Dutch replies dismissively, barely sparing me a glance.

"Ok, where is the job?" Poncho asks, my brother shooting me a knowing look, his eyes flicking up as Mac walks in again, seven beers cradled in his arms.

"What job?" He asks as he places the bottles down on the table, looking round at us all.

"Dutch got us another op." Blain grunts, reaching out to take his beer, spitting the contents of his mouth out into the ashtray on the table. Hawkins, Poncho and I pull faces at that, but don't say anything.

"Another one? We only just got back!" Mac exclaims, taking a seat across from Hawkins, taking a sip from his beer.

"Perks of the job." Dutch shrugs, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Will you at least tell us what it is?" I can't keep the impatience from my voice, finding his vagueness irritating.

"I'm getting to it, (Y/n), calm down." He rolls his eyes, "It's in central America, somewhere in the jungle. Phillips was cagey about where exactly, but he said it's got something to do with guerrillas and hostages. We're supposed to get the hostages out of there."

"Sounds simple enough." Billy muses, rubbing his chin.

"When is it?" Poncho chips in, watching the major closely.

Dutch is quiet for a minute, his eyes flicking over us all, before he finally responds.

"It's tomorrow."

I nearly choke on my beer, spluttering as I sit upright in my chair.

"Tomorrow? Are you insane?!" I burst out, annoyed, "We got back from Afghanistan at the ass-crack of dawn today, and you want us to fly off to the jungle at the same time tomorrow? You trying to kill us or what?"

The others nod in agreement, murmuring their own complaints, only to shut up when Dutch turns a venomous glare on me.

"You know, if you spent half the energy you do on complaining on growing, you wouldn't look like a damn child anymore, (Y/n). Would make taking jobs a lot easier - means I don't have to explain why we've only got six and half mercs with us." He snaps, voice laced with anger, "I'm not insane, just practical. We all need more money, and the work is low at the moment. You'd know that if you weren't off lounging at home all day, letting us do the hard planning and prep work."

Silence descends on us all, my jaw dropping at the vehemence behind his words. No one speaks, letting the two of us stare at each other in hatred, my expression swiftly creasing into fury, every muscle in my body going tense.

Another moment passes, before I suddenly stand from the table, slamming my bottle on the table as I stalk past, heading straight out the door. Poncho tries to stop me, calling out to me, but I ignore him, practically seething as I leave the bar and stride to the car my brother and I came in. Unlocking it, I climb in and slam the door, buckling myself into the driver's seat as I throw the car into drive, pulling out onto the road.

Furious, I drive way over the speed limit, weaving in and out of the traffic with no regard for my own safety as I careen down the highway. Screeching horns and tyres follow me as I go, but I ignore them, focusing instead on getting home, filled with anger now as Dutch's words play over and over in my head.

It doesn't take long for me to pull up in the drive of my house, the car skidding on the loose gravel as I harshly jerk the handbrake into place, unbuckling myself before I climb out, making my way over to the door. Opening it, I go in and head straight to the bathroom, intending to take a shower to cool me down, knowing I need to calm down. I strip down quickly, quickly getting under the cold water with my fists clenched at my sides for a while, until I start to massage myself with my fingers, working out the knots in my muscles. It's pleasant, but I can still feel the anger burning in my system, so I swiftly leave again, wrapping myself in a towel.

As I leave the bathroom, I hear a car pull up in the drive, the tyres crunching loudly on the gravel, announcing the newcomer's arrival. I dismiss it, chalking it up to it being Poncho, come to check up on me as the door downstairs opens, then closes, footsteps sounding in the hall as the person checks for me. The sounds are heavier than I thought they would be, and the identity of the person soon dawns on me.

Immediately, I feel the anger start racing through me again, my face creasing into a scowl until I force myself to calm down, at which point I turn and storm up to my bedroom. Going in, I start to rummage through my wardrobe, looking for some new clothes, trying to bite back the irritation rising in me as I hear the footsteps getting closer, the heavy boots not even halting as they reach the door. Within seconds, the wooden structure has been flung open, an angry mercenary standing in the space behind it.

"Ever learn to knock?" I snap at him as soon as I turn around, glaring at Dutch as he looms in the doorway, "Nevermind, you never learned manners period."

"Says the person who just stormed out of a bar." He scoffs, sneering at me as he steps into the room, "Talk about table manners."

"And whose fault is it I stormed out in the first place?" I glower at him, holding my towel in place as he continues forward, the glint in his eyes sparking a blazing heat inside me.

"Oh, so now it's my fault you can't take a joke?" Dutch jabs his finger at his chest before pointing it at me, brow furrowed in anger.

"You have a pretty poor idea of a joke, asshole." I spit back, lifting my finger up in his face as we step closer together, less than a foot away from each other now.

"You're the only one who thinks so, short-ass." He glares down at me, making me all too aware of how he towers over me.

Swallowing tightly, I shift uncomfortably.

"Sure about that? I can't be the only one who thinks your height jokes are getting old." I reply venomously, jabbing my finger at his chest.

He laughs humorlessly.

"Oh, but we both remember a time when you used to love playing into your shortness." His voice drops an octave, eyes boring into me, "I had you on your knees more than once with only standing over you. Remember?"

A flare of lust goes through me at the reminder, flashes of him looming over me as he pounded his cock harder and harder into my waiting mouth coming, unbidden, to mind. I'd always liked the sight of his muscular body above mine, as well as the feelings of his large hands wrapped around me, even if it was simply to hold my head still whilst he fucked it.

"That was months ago." I hiss back at him, barely able to look up at him - if I do, it'll be too much like the memories in my head and I'll give in to the urges of my body. Already I can feel arousal pooling in my panties, my cheeks flushing as I realise this.

"Old habits die hard." Dutch growls, before swiftly reaching out to tear the towel away, exposing me to him. Before I can protest, however, he's taken hold of me and lifted me against the wall, pinning me roughly in place with his body, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. His lips crash into mine, a mess of teeth and tongues ensuing as we kiss like we used to, wet sounds filling the air as we press closer and closer together. Soft sounds of need escape me, but they're swallowed by the ravenous major above me, who licks and nips at my lips, a few grunts leaving him as he does so.

Moving to pull him closer, I moan loudly as Dutch jerks his hips into mine, using them to hold me in place, his arousal pressing at my clit through his trousers. I have to bite back whines at the feeling of the rough fabric against my unprotected clit, my slick soon covering the crotch of his jeans as he rolls his hips into me. One of his hands moves to palm roughly at my breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between two calloused fingers, his other hand grasping my ass, which he squeezes tightly. Whimpering into his mouth, I take my nails down his back, grinding my sensitive clit down onto him, enjoying the waves of pleasure emanating from the stimulation.

Months and months of pent up lust pour through the kiss, only breaking as Dutch pulls back to yank his shirt off, revealing his muscular yet scarred torso to me. Instantly, I go to lick and kiss at the toned muscles, only to yelp indignantly as he takes hold of my hair and jerks my head back, growling as he fastens our lips together again. He presses closer, crushing me against the wall with his huge body, grinding his arousal into me with vigour, only to suddenly pull away, keeping me in his arms. In seconds, Dutch has thrown me on the bed, standing at the end with his hands on his belt.

Biting my lip, I eagerly move to help him, but he pushes me back down roughly, wasting no time in pulling his trousers and underwear down, revealing his leaking cock to the air. I moan at the familiar sight of it, eyeing up the veined length keenly, following it from the base to the reddened tip, watching as precum beads there.

Dutch doesn't give me long to admire him, climbing over me and pressing himself against me as soon as he's exposed, his lips moving to my neck. He leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses in his wake, biting at sensitive points as he goes, licking over them briefly each time to soothe them, every movement extracting a needy whine from me. One of his hands moves down to his cock, which he takes hold of and runs through my slick folds, coating the tip generously as he supplies pleasure to me. With every pass over my clit, I moan and rock up into him, clutching at his back.

"Fuck me, Dutch. Show me how much bigger you are." I moan out, wrapping my legs around his waist.

As he hears my words, however, Dutch growls, leaning back, making my legs fall from where they were. I whine at the lack of contact until he rolls me onto my front, grabbing hold of my ass to knead and grope.

"I'll show you alright." He practically snarls in my ear as he bends back over me, moulding his huge body to my smaller frame, hands jerking my ass into his hips. He grinds himself into me for a moment, building my pleasure further as he bites at the back of my neck, sending bolts of electricity through me, which I respond to by rocking back onto him.

With a final grunt, Dutch lines himself up with my hole, surging forwards into me in one stroke, stretching me out as he goes. A half-scream leaves my throat as I feel his cock slide over every sensitive spot inside me, my walls clenching deliciously around him, every vein rubbing against me. He gives me no time to adjust, pulling out entirely before slamming back into me, setting a hard, fast pace that has me seeing stars in no time. Ecstasy races through me, a knot tightening swiftly in my abdomen at the feeling of his thick cock pounding into me.

Dutch straightens after a moment, taking my hip in one hand whilst he presses my face into the bed with the other, using me as leverage to shove his cock as far into me as he can go, grunting and groaning behind me in pleasure and need. Under his grip, I feel totally immobile, but the thought of him using me to work out his anger sends me reeling, my walls clenching tightly around him, tearing a moan from his lips. His name falls from my own, almost like a mantra as he slams into me, sending bolts of pleasure through me, bringing me closer and closer to what I really want.

"So close, Dutch...keep going, oh fuck, you're so good…" I moan out, my words muffled slightly by the bed, though they are audible enough for him.

A whine of displeasure echoes from my chest as he suddenly pulls out, my pussy throbbing at the loss. He doesn't wait long, though, rolling me back onto my back before he hikes my legs up onto his shoulders, thrusting roughly back into me. With the new angle, whole other waves of pleasure ripple through me, his cock hitting the very spot that brings me crashing towards an orgasm. The sound of skin slapping together fills the room, along with obscenely wet noises and moans from the two of us, both too caught up in the moment to care about what comes after.

"You're getting tighter, (Y/n)...gonna cum for me, are you?" Dutch groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as my pleasure rapidly builds, "Come on, (Y/n), cum for me!"

With a final scream of ecstasy, the tension inside me snaps and I cum, hard, my walls clenching like a vice around him. White light blinds me, everything disappearing around me as the pleasure floods through me in a great torrent, rendering me incapable of moving momentarily.

Vaguely, I feel Dutch pound into me a few more times before he pulls out and cums over my stomach, letting out a roar of satisfaction at the sensation, his hand wrapped around himself, jerking his cock desperately. Breathing heavily, he milks himself dry before he slumps over me, smearing the sticky substance between us, the two of us left breathless in the throes of our pleasure.

"Still as good as I remember." He hums, rolling off of me to lie beside me.

"Could say the same thing." I sigh, trailing a finger through his cooling cum, grimacing at the sight of it.

Groaning, I heave myself up, taking the towel up from the floor.

"Where are you going?" Dutch asks, still lounging on the bed.

"Shower. You should, too." I inform him, moving to leave, only to stop still as the door swings open.

"(Y/n)? Who are you- oh." Poncho blushes a deep red, grimacing as he swiftly ducks back out of the room.

"Oh shit…" I groan, putting my head in my hands, unable to bite back a small smile.

With just grins, leaning back on his hands.

"Oops."

Tag list: @nightime-luna-fairy

#predator 1987 #predator #predator Dutch #Dutch Schaefer #Alan Schaefer #Dutch x reader #Dutch Schaefer x reader #Dutch Schaefer imagine #Arnold Schwarzenegger #break writes

68 notes · View notes

bxebxee · 4 years

Text

What I have to say: This is really not what I typically write, but please allow me my self-indulgence. Also, I am rusty and unpracticed, but this made me happy to write.

What this is: Yoongi has gone through twenty-seven phone numbers over the last ten years, and you haven’t changed yours since high school.

What this wants to be: Romance

What this warrants: Rated R for Rotten Relationships (and other things)

You hold your sister’s new baby reverently. The baby is so small, and you’re scared that your bad morals would somehow seep into the skin through contact diffusion.

“I feel like I’m already the irresponsible aunt,” you whisper, shooting your sister a terrified look. The baby isn’t even sleeping, but what if your bellowing voice would upset him. “Are you sure-”

“Yes,” she says firmly, “You’ll be a good godparent. There’s literally nothing to do except spoil your nephew every now and again.” She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “Unless we die. Then I guess you’d have to be more of a parental figure...”

You and your brother-in-law interject at the same time in a cacophony of protest.

“Okay, we are not dying,” he sighs as your octave increases by a half-step, “Please do not say that as I hold your offspring in my arms. I can’t feel them by the way. Seokjin, can you take him? I don’t want to drop him.”

Seokjin takes the baby, and you feel bereft of warmth. It’s a weird feeling to note that considering your firm No Babies Policy. You miss the baby already. This is witchcraft.

“It’s just a fucking hypothetical, relax,” your sister laughs, her eyes softening considerably as she sees Seokjin coo over his son.

“If our baby’s first word is ‘fuck’ I am not taking responsibility,” Seokjin says mildly, eyes never leaving his baby. You don’t really blame him.

“And you’re not blaming me either. I’ve been good,” you say.

“Oh please, everyone curses younger these days anyway. I’d rather my son know than not know, you know?”

“You’re pushing it,” Seokjin warns.

“You’re such a dad,” she scoffs.

“And you like it,” he counters.

“Yeah,” she admits. “Yeah, I do.”

You check your phone for the time, and it’s thirty minutes before the official start of the baby gathering. Time for you to leave.

“Hey, it was good to see you guys. And the baby,” you tell them, hugging both lightly so as not to disturb the tenderness of the moment. Bear hugs were for a different day. “I have to head out, but I’ll come visit a lot, okay? I’ll even babysit. For free.”

“Not staying for lunch?” your sister asks, looking very sad and disappointed, but you steel your heart. The two of you have inherited your mother’s knack of guilt-inducing looks, and you’re not about to fall for it.

“Not today, no.”

Seokjin nods, bidding you to take care. He knows why you want to leave before the crowd gets too heavy.

Unfortunately for you, cosmic luck was not on your side because as soon as the front door shuts behind you, the elevator dings and Yoongi steps out, clad head to toe in celebrity black and holding five Burberry shopping bags. There’s no one around, so you don’t particularly feel the need to stand on the niceties of greetings and choose instead to brush past him in favor of the elevator.

“And hello to you too.” he remarks sarcastically.

“Go to hell,” you reply, wishing that you didn’t have to be in a close fucking hallway because you could smell his cologne.

“Oh come on-”

You press on the close door button rapidly, and the doors shut out Yoongi with a soft, muted click.

Twelve hours later, you get a text from an unknown number. Coward is all it said. You stare at your phone screen in bed, seeing typing bubbles start and stop and start and stop. Mister Unknown Number finally settles on silence because nothing follows after the one-word epithet.

It feels like a dare.

Yoongi finally puts his phone down. You were too smart and too self-respecting to try this all over again with him, and he wants to kick himself for ever thinking that goading you would work when you were clearly over him-

His phone vibrates intensely and consistently. You’re calling him.

“Hello,” Yoongi says, picking up the phone after just a single ring. Desperate, to be sure, but he wasn’t positive you’d wait for five rings anyway.

“You changed your number again,” you say without preamble.

“I’ve actually had this number for two years now,” Yoongi says. “Been getting hacked less and less. Guess you never saved the number.”

“Why would I?” you ask, petulance peppering every syllable of your words.

“Why didn’t you stay for the luncheon?” he asks instead of answering your question.

“And sit in a room with you for a couple of hours pretending everything’s normal? No thanks,” you scoff. “And luncheon? Really?”

“You missed out on the shrimp toast.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“So why’d you call?”

You could take the easy way out. Save your pride and your face, and pretend that you still don’t carry a torch for Yoongi. You could lie and say you just wanted to call and make sure it really was him. But you were always a glutton for pain, and he was all too happy to oblige to your needs.

“You wanna come over?” you offer, not feeling an ounce of trepidation that he’d reject you. Yoongi always came when you asked.

“Where do you live?”

“It’s the same place as last time.” It’s a test. Let’s see if he even remembers my address-

“Be there in thirty.”

He’s late by a few minutes, but Yoongi explains through interrupted kisses and hasty undressing that there was traffic, and he showered-

“You could have showered here, you know,” you mutter, pawing at his dick and biting down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Yoongi always like a little pain.

“I’ll shower here after.” (After he fucked you at least twice, minimum. After he got to see you naked and temporarily his. After he was somewhat satisfied but much too sweaty for sleep.)

And then it’s No Talking Time for a short while because he has your face occupied with inhaling scant oxygen against the mattress while his own head was buried between your asscheeks and legs, lapping and sucking at you like he had something to prove. Could this count as some form of asphyxiation? Probably. You don’t expect his mouth to make you feel close to losing control. The act had always unnerved you, but you found yourself uncaring of past discomforts and losing yourself into the feeling of soft, insistent lips.

Yoongi eats you out with soft grunts, hands holding your thighs apart and firm. Don’t move, his hands say. His tongue up your cunt isn’t any sort of giving on Yoongi’s part; this was all selfish. He wants you to cum and feel starstruck and ruined, wants you to get it through your head that your flesh craved his flesh in the same animalistic way he needed you.

You turn your head around just enough to be able to get out, “You can sto-”

But he silences you with a warning slap on the ass. You are not to be deterred.

“Stop with the tongue,” you order.

“You’re insane,” he hisses, pulling away and shamelessly licking his lips. “You can’t ever just let me-”

“Put it in now,” you demand.

Yoongi lets out a terse sigh. “I should just leave right now,” he grumbles, getting up on his knees to rub his dick against you and nudges the head on your opening. “I shouldn’t be here.” He presses inside at “here” and wrenches a moan from your lips.

“Then leave,” you sigh, pressing your ass back against him, relishing in the feeling of being filled again by Yoongi. “Just go home and jerk off instead. That’s what you’re good at, right? Leaving me?”

“You’re a bitch for bringing that up during sex,” Yoongi says, fucking into you steadily and slowly, resisting the urge to pound into you like his baser instincts demanded. He was going to enjoy you for as long as he wanted. He knew you wanted it rough and bordering on violent, but he wasn’t going to add more ammo to your already large arsenal of Reasons To Hate Min Yoongi.

Yoongi leans over completely, letting his torso lay flush against your back, unbothered by your sweat as it mixed with his own. You were going to feel every last inch of him inside and out. He pumps in and out slowly, sucking on your neck and breathing into your hair with audible moans of enjoyment.

“I’m not leaving,” he groans, reaching over to rub your lower stomach gently, as if comforting you. The intimacy of this wasn’t lost on you, but you can’t find the words to tell him off. You missed his heat and the familiar weight. You are only human, after all.

Yoongi threads his fingers through your unkempt hair, stroking gently before balling his fists into a pronounced grip. He turns your head to the side and kisses you, your neck straining from the awkward, uncomfortable position. But it reminds you of the beginning - of the before times when things were easier in the shadows of his success and unavailability.

It’s impossible not to feel things when he fucks you this way, and kisses you, and moans soft nothings into your ear like you’re the only woman he’s ever done this with. You are atrocious at protecting your heart, and even after two years of icing him out, Yoongi barges into you like it’s nothing.

“Don’t stop,” you moan, heart thumping against your chest. You really, really can’t stand to want him so much.

“I won’t,” Yoongi reassures, kissing the corner of your eye. He doesn’t speed up, and instead chooses to test the limits of your patience with languorous but firm strokes. “Not until you tell me to.”

There was nothing that compared to this - not heated fucks with attractive strangers, or money, or getting crossfaded by the Han River. When Yoongi did this to you, you almost felt like he loved you.

Yoongi sleeps silently besides you in the sunlight, completely worn out after an emotionally exhausting round of sex that made him cry when he came inside you. He’s usually sensitive to the light, but he’s out cold and completely drained. You hadn’t expected that part - the crying. You thought it was just sweat until you heard rattling breaths and a hiccup.

You watch him breathe silently from your place in his arms, unwilling to leave the small cocoon of warmth. You’re the opposite of him, and right now, you’re wired. You’ll probably end up crashing sometime later in the day, but for right now, you’re content to just watch him sleep in your bed, on your pillows, smelling like your body wash.

You’re too old to be scared, and yet this moment fills you with dread; that once the spell of sex and yearning was broken, everything would tilt back to its regular axis, and you’d be all alone again. If you were younger, you might have up and left already. Leave him before he leaves you. And it’s not like you haven’t done that before. Your entire relationship with Yoongi is always filled with one person leaving behind the other one because nothing about the two of you ever lined up properly.

But this time, you’re too tired to run away. So you close your eyes and pretend to sleep until it finally comes to claim you.

#bxebxee comeback season #lol jk #drafts #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yes its vague #yes it can be about anyone #but i just have a lot of thoughts and feelings and maybe i'll have another part

569 notes · View notes

jackoshadows · 3 years

Text

Eddard Stark is back in a big way in book 5, A Dance with Dragons. He’s everywhere in the North and even gets a mention as far off as Essos, where Ser Barristan informs Daenerys that Ned was against the proposed assassination attempt.

Bran beyond the wall travels through the Weirwoods to the past and sees his younger father:

Then all at once he was back home again. Lord Eddard Stark sat upon a rock beside the deep black pool in the godswood, the pale roots of the heart tree twisting around him like an old man’s gnarled arms. The greatsword Ice lay across Lord Eddard’s lap, and he was cleaning the blade with an oilcloth. “Winterfell,” Bran whispered. His father looked up. “Who’s there?” he asked, turning … - Bran

Lord Eddard seemed much younger this time. His hair was brown, with no hint of grey in it, his head bowed. “… let them grow up close as brothers, with only love between them,” he prayed, “and let my lady wife find it in her heart to forgive …”

At the wall, conversations between Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon center around Ned Stark’s bannermen - what they would do, who they would side with.

“If Your Grace wishes to lose all of my lord father’s bannermen, there is no more certain way than by giving northern halls to southron lords.”

Jon and Stannis each have knowledge of the other from Ned. They use this to haggle with each other for castles and information.

“A turncloak would tell you what you wished to hear and betray you later. Your Grace knows that I was fairly chosen. My father always said you were a just man.” Just but harsh had been Lord Eddard’s exact words, but Jon did not think it would be wise to share that.

“Lord Eddard was no friend to me, but he was not without some sense. He would have given me these castles.”

Never.

Similarly Alys Karstark heads to the wall to get the help of a son of Ned Stark:

“I did not know where else to turn but to the last son of Eddard Stark.You are my only hope, Lord Snow. In your father’s name, I beg you. Protect me.” -Alys

Jon manages to convince Flint and the Norrey of his plans to let the wildings south of the wall, due to his being a son of Ned Stark:

“None but them whose sires displeased the Kings o’ Winter,” said The Norrey. “Those came home shorter by a head. So you tell me, boy … if these wildling friends o’ yours prove false, do you have the belly to do what needs be done?”

Ask Janos Slynt. “Tormund Giantsbane knows better than to try me. I may seem a green boy in your eyes, Lord Norrey, but I am still a son of Eddard Stark.”

On the march to Winterfell, when Stannis’ southron army protest the grueling march, we see the loyalty of the Northerners to Ned:

But the wolves insisted; Roose Bolton could not be suffered to hold Winterfell, and the Ned’s girl must be rescued from the clutches of his bastard. So said Morgan Liddle, Brandon Norrey, Big Bucket Wull, the Flints, even the She-Bear. Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen. “This march was madness. More dying every day, and for what? Some girl?” “Ned’s girl,” said Morgan Liddle.

“Ned’s girl,” echoed Big Bucket Wull. “And we should have had her and the castle both if you prancing southron jackanapes didn’t piss your satin breeches at a little snow.”

“Winter is almost upon us, boy. And winter is death. I would sooner my men die fighting for the Ned’s little girl than alone and hungry in the snow, weeping tears that freeze upon their cheeks.

Back at Barrowtown, Roose Bolton is well aware of this loyalty and plans to use it to his advantage:

Let Stannis march on us. He is too cautious to come to Barrowton … but he must come to Winterfell. His clansmen will not abandon the daughter of their precious Ned to such as you.

The vengeful Barbrey Dustin is team Bolton because Ned did not bring her husband’s bones back like he did Lyanna’s and tells Theon this tale of woe. But she is well aware of the dynamics of the different houses present in Winterfell:

What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned’s precious little girl. Lady Arya’s sobs do us more harm than all of Lord Stannis’s swords and spears.

Meanwhile Jon wonders if it’s a fake Arya used as a trap because Ned did not trust the Roose:

What if Bolton never had his sister? This wedding could well be just some ruse to lure Stannis into a trap. Eddard Stark had never had any reason to complain of the Lord of the Dreadfort, so far as Jon knew, but even so he had never trusted him, with his whispery voice and his pale, pale eyes.

At the Three Sisters, Davos’ fate rests in the hands of Lord Godric, who recalls a tale with Ned Stark being stranded, siring a bastard child and in danger of losing his head and then using that incident to let Davos go.

‘This Baratheon is fearless,’ I said. ‘He fights the way a king should fight.’ Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, ‘In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it’s true … but what if we prevail?’ My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. ‘If you lose,’ he told Lord Eddard, ‘you were never here.’ ”

Later, Davos reaches Lord Manderly where there is a plot to restore Winterfell to Ned’s son Rickon because ‘The North Remembers’.

In effect, Eddard Stark is everywhere in the North in spirit. He looms large in every plot in the North. He is a factor, a cause, an effect. He is still driving the plot despite being dead for 4 books. That’s the power of the Ned. Northerners rallying around Ned’s children Lady Arya Stark and Rickon Stark. Northerners seeking out a son of Eddard Stark for help.

Tywin’s death down south is a spur for everyone - Stannis Baratheon, Jon Connington/Young Griff, Varys, Davos, Doran Martell, Jon Snow etc - to think that the Lannister regime has been weakened and to plot to topple it. Ned Stark on the other hand is the spur to get rid of the Boltons and restore the North to Stark rule.

This is why I strongly feel that the next leader of the North, whomever that maybe, will be someone who embodies Ned’s ethos, values and leadership. It is Ned’s values and the person - often derided on the TV show as being stupid - that the people of the North respect and honor. And it will be the Stark who reflects those values who will be the Stark in Winterfell at the end.

#Eddard Stark #ADwD #The North

40 notes · View notes

fantasy-so-far · 3 years

Text

Fluster

Note: The following is not a canon story for Searsha, but I really want to write something for the Naadam events of Stormblood. I don’t think the story contains any spoilers, since Searsha isn’t near the main action, but just in case, this story takes place during the events in the Azim Steppes.

After Searsha failed her mother’s trial, Ariia Noykin intervened. While he had agreed to let Ourania raise any daughter that may result of their coupling, he would not allow the witch to kill his child. Word traveled fast when his daughter’s condition took a turn for the worst, he took wing with five other warriors to wrest his daughter from her mother’s wicked talons. The battle had not been bloody, the Tahla clan put up only a half-hearted fight, but before Ariia left, while cradling his daughter to his chest, Ourania spit blood on his feet and sneered at him.

“Mark my words, male, you have sealed your fate. She will be the death of you, you will die in her place,” she hissed.

Searsha, weak and delirious from the neglect of her condition, believes that to be the only time she ever saw her father truly angry. He didn’t say a word, but he trembled with fury before gently placing his daughter on the back of his yol and leaving Ourania behind.

--16 years later--

Searsha had trained hard for the trials before her. She had been given the time and training necessary to achieve her dreams. For that reason, Ariia was only mildly anxious as he waited for his daughter to emerge from the trial grounds. He held his bow between his hands, polishing the the wooden grip rather than wringing his hands as he traded between watching the entrance and watching the grasslands for threats.

After several hours of waiting, Searsha emerged. She was wounded, limping and bloody, but in her fist, she held up the yol whistle with a wide grin on her face.

“You’ve done it!” Ariia crowed when Searsha exited the trial grounds.

Through blood and tears and jumped into his arms when he reached out to her. “I will fight alongside you in the Naadam! We will claim the Dawn Throne for the Noykin!” She wept.

There was no way for either of them, Searsha nor Ariia, to know how very different Searsha’s life turned out when she was raised by her father. She expressed a full range of emotions and felt secure within her tribe, and she didn’t even know that they were things she was taking for granted. Ariia loved his daughter and showed it by nurturing her passion for providing protection and challenging her so that she could grow to her full potential. He was proud of her, and his pride pushed her further toward a promising destiny.

But destiny can be a fickle thing.

--Morning of Naadam--

Ariia and Searsha climbed the rickety wooden tower at the edge of their camp and watched the fields below. They were waiting for the Mol to scatter the soul and ignite the the great ovoo, marking the start of the battle. The winds were biting, casting sand and fog off to the surrounding grasslands. The haze was thick from soil to sky, so they knew it would be a challenge to see the beacon when it was lit. Still, they watched the Steppes.

“No matter what happens today, survive,” Ariia advised. “I know that victory is what you crave, but today will serve as the final lesson that I can teach you about battle. Today, you will know how to live on because there are people who depend upon you. You are my legacy, daughter. You will be both a proud protector of our tribe, but also a horsewife for our herd. You must survive to fulfill that destiny.”

Searsha sat, still and silent, as she listened. It was not a new lecture, but she was still patient and respectful as she listened. Unlike some other tribes, the Noykin participated in the Naadam as a dedication ritual. To win the Dawn Throne was only one goal for them, and it wasn’t the primary goal.

“I understand, father. I will survive, but so will you,” she said with certainty.

Silence filled the moments that followed, at least until horns sounded across the Steppes. Someone had spotted the great ovoo and the soil had been scattered. Without words, both of the warriors scrambled down to their horses. While a yol was required to mark a champion of a tribe, the Noykin rode horseback into battle.

As Searsha and Ariia raced across the grasslands, they were joined by others of their tribe. Some fell into formation and others led the way. Overhead, the yol’s of other tribes screamed and somewhere in the distance, the early sounds of conflict rose with the morning chill.

“Ariia. We are pursued. Oronir and Buduga together. They have already broken off our rear ranks,” a warrior reported as he rode up.

The elder Noykin frowned and looked at his daughter.

“We must turn back and face them. We will not abandon our brothers and sisters,” he reported before slowing his horse to turn it back.

Searsha, hungry for violence of any sort, did the same without protesting.

When the band arrived, they found that some of their kin had already suffered defeat at the hands of the powerful warriors, but that did not deter the reinforcements from throwing themselves into battle. They charged in on horseback and used curved swords and bows to attack the other warriors. It was effectively intimidating and managed to fluster the other forces. However, the battle was not won so easily. Eventually, some riders dismounted and met their foes hand to hand.

Searsha was one such combatant.

With arrows to drive their opponents away from their wounded, the Noykin advanced. Searsha met the heavily armed Oronir and danced around the Buduga shaman. She was a skilled fighter, so Ariia kept an eye on her, as he circled on horseback and fired arrows into the melee, but he was not worried about her.

The winds shifted, though.

During the battle, Searsha grew overconfident, and as she pursued a wounded mortally wounded shaman, she turned her back to a Oronir warrior who did not hesitate. The blow from his axe sent her tumbling across the earth and robbed her of her senses for several breaths. Ariia fired an arrow at the warrior and another at the shaman. His change of focus left his horse vulnerable to a dying spearman’s last thrust, and Ariia was thrown to the ground a few feet from Searsha. The warrior, having broken the end of the arrow off, was once more stalking toward the wounded woman. Ariia, though injured as well, found the strength to draw his bow and fire another arrow at the warrior. Since the shaman was seemingly inert upon the ground, the protective fire poured all his rage into protecting his daughter.

“You have lost!” He taunted. “You will never see the Dawn Throne again. The more of you that face us in the wilds, the less there are to claim the great ovoo. Such fools you are in your bloodlust!”

The warrior snarled and broke off the new arrow as well. He turned on Ariia and hefted his axe, but as he took a step toward him, Searsha appeared behind him and drove her daggers into the soft, exposed pits of his arms. The blades found purchase in vital organs and the warrior fell instantly.

“Father, are you alright?” Searsha asked while scanning the area.

“Hurt. We should retreat,” Ariia winced as he pushed himself to his feet. “What of you?”

“My chest is on fire. I think my ribs are broken,” she reported.

The two leaned on each other and turned to find horses on which they could retreat with the other Noykin who had claimed their battle victory. As they walked, though, the elder Noykin felt the earth shift unnaturally. His instincts shrieked alarm and without warning, he shoved Searsha away. The earth rose around him and, in a clap like thunder, crushed him between the slabs. The shaman’s final act was meant to kill the one who had killed him, but he had failed.

Instead, Ariia died in her place.

“Father!” Searsha cried out as she crawled to him after the earth receded.

His breathing was shallow and his bones were severely broken, but shock allowed him to have a few final breaths with is daughter. Unnervingly, though, he chose to use those breaths laughing weakly and imparting one last comment to his daughter.

“She…said you’d be the death of me,” he rasped, grinning with bloody teeth. “But…she…was wrong. You, Searsha…. were the life of me…”

The words haunted Searsha as grief set in, but miles away, Ourania felt her curse snap back and it soured her mood ever further.

[ Master Post ] ||| [ Prompt Source ] ||| [ Challenge Carrd ]

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #1500 words #i really like this #what life could have been like

13 notes · View notes