#like two months to find a swatch that would go with the bedding I ordered

[jovnie]

The king's arrogance | Namjoon

Summary

The King had knowledge on everything and one in his castle, however he knew nothing of the kingdom he ruled before him. That was till one day he left and found you a street merchant.

Words 5k

Namjoon king au! Reader civilian!

Warnings: fluff, cocky joon, medium amount of smut, mentions of parent death, creampie, oral ( female ), big-dick Joon, nonconsensual touches, creampie, rough sex, lot of plot. Very quick relationship.

I beg that you listen to The mary go round from the moving castle [ slowed ] when reading. I think you'll enjoy it even more with it in the background.

Namjoon sat on the throne, laid back and legs spread apart as a servant read him his to-do list for today.

"Well sir, today starts the month planning of the ball. We have a few colors I'm sure you'll enjoy, however, I'm sorry to inform you that the family members that shouldn't be named threatened third way onto the guest list" the man spoke in fear, nodding and sighing namjoon dismissed the servant with talks of the guest later.

"Mrs. Pot is the tea almost ready?" He asked kindly as the elder Korean lady nodded with a bright smile. Smiling softly, the older lady pinched his cheeks softly.

"I still remember when you were a baby and your late parents running you from tea session to tea session. Oh, how I'm sure you miss them as much as I " her smile faded, as she poured the tea on the table in front of him.

"I do, it's been 18 years now. Since I was 10 I believe, so right 18 years. I'm sure they would've loved to taste this freshly poured tea once again" he reassured, rubbing her back and once done taking a sip with her.

"I'll make sure to clean the alter table later and pour some tea with them" she smiled delicately, as took a drink of her tea.

That was right this year would make it the 18th anniversary of his parent's passing ever since the flood. It was heartbreaking, as his eyes dimmed in sadness the older lady pinched his cheek as he smiled with a tear down his cheek.

"Now don't go soft on me Namjoon, you have to stay strong for those who can't and I know it all hurts. But they'll be watching you like garden spirits. I know your mother is very proud and your father knowing how much a man and a king you have become. Now I have to go, it's time for me to go tend the gardens. Goodbye joonie" she waved, after collecting the empty teacups snd pots. Watching her wheel everything away, namjoon felt comforted by her words and took a deep breath before getting up and moving on with his day.

He spent the day testing and looking at fabrics, color swatches, and paper samples. The ball, gala, or celebration was very important for the kingdom. They only three one when it was important and this time it was a celebration of life once lived aka his parent's death date. September 4th. This day celebrated life and death, just like fall. He loved the metaphor behind it and hated how true love ended so quickly in his eyes. However he too wishes to be able to die with the one he loved dearly by his side, he hated how romantic it sounded and how bad he wanted it. Love wasn't an easy game and not once could he find someone who commented with him in a deep, if not spiritual way.

Itching the back of his head, he walked on and into his room. He had another busy schedule ahead of him. Sometimes he just wished he could live amongst the people for a day. That's what he'll do. Looking around for his leather satchel, he put together what he called a commoners bag. A bag that contained money, an id, and a diary. Looking around for clothes that seemed passable for a commoner and changed into them. From there he grabbed his stuff and snuck his way out of the Castle through the bag. He made sure Mrs. Pot knew where he was just in case this would get him in trouble. After all, the family would show up unexpectedly most of the time and he had people watch his every move as well.

Making sure his hat covered all of his hair, he walked into the street lights and found a carriage ride who was going home or into the city. He paid the guy and let him into the buggy and the city.

Namjoon did this for a weak till he knew the ropes of running out of the kingdom St night, he tried his best to avoid getting caught with the knight guards and the pesticide workers who showed nd yelled deals in his face. He also learned patience along with that, another valuable lesson needed as a king or so he was taught.

One night he went into a low-lit bar with entertainers. Majory we're female and drove the men in the room wild. He's had his fee share of women, but not when it came to this level. He found it charming and often sent gifts to them for their hard work. From the kingdom's guards and not him personally. Still, he ordered rice wine snd some jerky, before leaving. leaving a lady much shorter than him, bumped into his shoulder.

"Guards there's the thrift!" A younger woman pointed, as the men ran after her. Wanting to know what was up, he walked up to the merchant and simply asked. You explained that the woman was a theft, they would steal all her family food at night to make their profit.

"I'm sure you can be more um what are these?" He asked, picking up the food he's never seen before.

"Fruit?" You questioned grabbing the lemon out of his hand. "Well shops closed sir, come back tomorrow and you can buy our lovely fruit," you said kindly, walking up the stairs in this wooden place. Following you, namjoon closed the door behind and also walked up. Namjoon didn't know much manners, but he had the basics for a king. However, to a common person like you, he was a pest, rude, etc.

"Um, what are you doing?" you asked folding sheets for your bed up.

"It's nighttime aren't you gonna ask me to stay and wait till morning?" He asked raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I supposed. By the way, there's a futon bed over there. I'll make dinner soon then!" you welcomed, as namjoon looked ok confusion at what the blanket on the floor was trying to imitate. Taking off his shoes, he placed his bag on the 'futon' and hung his jacket and hat on the hanger by the door.

Arriving back you blushed hard, as a beautiful looking man was now clear in your view. Luckily for namjoon, you had no money to spend on papers like everyone else or let alone money to go to the balls either. Therefore you had no clue that this man was a noble, let alone the king. If you did you would've just died at how you just treated him.

"It's beef and seaweed soup, with carrots and onions" you listed off as you placed the bowl on the floor diner table. Placing a spoon and a napkin on the side, you forgot the drink. Walking away you grabbed him a cup and poured lemonade in, before walking back. On your arrival, you saw him going to town on the meal. He slurped and moaned as he complimented your cooking. Chuckling, you sat the glass of lemonade down and took the napkin to wipe his chin and cheek. Placing it down, you watched him continue and enjoy it. Although there was only enough for his, you still had something to eat. You simply had bread and butter with some lemonade as well.

It took him a bit to notice you didn't have a bowl which made him feel a bit guilty but instead handed her 30 ₩ which was a lot during that time. Not wanting to take it, he "accidentally " dropped it down your bra and smiled.

"Well it's late, we should sleep and then go out to shop for food and new clothes" the man spoke.

"I'm sorry but I don't know you, how do I not know you're not trying to kidnap me or steal or worse kill me!" You mentioned as the older man stripped off his shirt.

"You don't have to, just know ill help you and accept the gift" he spoke, pitting his clothes beside him.

"Excuse you, you don't come in someone's house and act like this. Do you even have manners?" You added in frustration.

"I paid you, it wasn't a gift. It was a payment and I can tell you've never gotten one" he snickered, laying on the futon snd taking your cover. Annoyed at the man, you crossed your arm as he mouth "you have a problem?"

"Yes, I do! What's your name to begin with?" You asked, laughing it off he closed his eyes.

"Surprised you don't know and it'll stay like that for a bit darling" he whispered, moving over he patted next to him. "Sleep with me"

"No! I don't sleep with strangers like that, unlike you I have honor " you mentioned, getting up to go change into something appropriate for bed. Once done, you came back and he was still in the same position as before.

"I think I demanded that. besides I can ruin this little shop of yours if you don't. " he threatened, looking at his nails snd then at her. Well dressed and groomed man, you could visibly see the power he likely had. This was your mother's business and you promised her you would take care of it. Saddened you laid down next to him and whispered "please don't, this is all I have left."

"So we're on the same page I believe, no?" He asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Yes," he replied. She felt uncomfortable and annoyed at the fact she had to do this for a business. Let alone a man, then again the men weren't always so kind to the women here, most always. She sighed and just accepted it, as he covered the two up.

"Call me Joon, " be whispered in your ear. Nodding, his hands traveled up and down your wist. Coughing, he halted then stopped after finding a comfy place to lay his hand.

"Do you do this with every woman?" You asked, curious.

"Well the last time I had a woman in my arms, she tried to advance me in marriage" he mentioned, putting his neck in-between your shoulder and neck.

"I do however have experience If that's what your aim is?" He said softly.

"Not really, I mean if a stranger just threatened your job and made you do this. Along with inappropriate touching for people who just met, I'd believe you'd be the class below poverty. Not a king not noble" you told, unexpectedly holding his arm between your breast.

Noticing, namjoon's cheeks flushed red. Luckily the lantern. Was behind him and not in front, so she couldn't see. "Toché" he replied.

"However I can see you've had a bad experience with men hmm?" He asked, softly brushing his nose on her neck.

"So you're not around here I see, well yes every guy here is just shit. Rude snd ignorant as you" you huffed, as raised an eyebrow.

"I'll give you that, feminist huh. Cute, haven't met one till you" he smiled, intrigued. "It seems like I've violated it huh, touching you snd acting sloppy" he added, moving your hair out your face.

"Glad you noticed, now turn the candle out!" you demanded, closing your eyes. Doing just that, he then wrapped his leg around you snd kissed your cheek.

"Good night"

Morning came, as the two of you laid there comfortable in each other's embrace. With him being the first to wake up, he tapped your shoulder and you woke up soonly after him. Yawing and stretching, you made sure your hand hit him on purpose.

"Sorry," you said coy, as he rolled his eyes up and shrugged it off.

"So when's breakfast?" He asked, getting up as you realized he had just worn cotton briefs. One's that we're expensive and that added more mystery to him. Why was someone who could've been from a noble family be here and threatened for his stay? Then the thought of maybe it's all stolen.

"The time?" He asked waving his hands over your face as you realized you had zoned out.

"Sorry, we have to go get food and we can buy food at the square." You mentioned.

"Where's the bathroom?" He asked, you pointed to the medium-sized room across from him. The place was small and combined, so you could see the kitchen from the bed area and a mini living room. Nodding off he grabbed his clothes snd began using the pump to pump water into the bath.

"Don't use all the water!" You yelled.

"I can and make you join me" he yelled back, smirking.

"No ill make you get more water from the lake behind here" you replied, itching your hair.

"Don't you have to get more water anyways, less work" he mentioned, leaving the door open and sitting in the tub? This man was quite weird when it came to flirting, it somewhat seemed motherly and innocent. However on the other hand, overly sexual and mysterious.

"Fine" you huffed, striping and walking towards the tub. That's when that harsh look he had softened and turned into a stare. There you were in front of him, naked snd he took every moment to vies your body. He saw how thick your hair was and how curvy your body was. He liked that, he paid attention to how big your breast was and the fact it looked like you haven't trimmed in a week. Which meant you looked old enough for him to do special things with.

"How old are you?" he questioned.

"I love how you did all of this without asking' she rolled her eyes, trying to muster a pony 0tail with the length and thickness of her hair.

"Turning 20 next month!" she replied excitedly.

"28 next month as well" he replied, breathing out the air he had subconsciously kept in. Getting in, she sat in front of him, covering her chest with her knees.

"I can still see you!" he laughed, grabbing the soap from the tray. Washing his body first, he took his hands and spread her legs open and washed below and around her arms and chest.

"Open," he said, waiting. Opening your arms you rolled your eyes and he splashed you with water. "Manners young lady " he mentioned. Knowing he's right, you sighed. Your father once told you the same when he was alive and because of that "Joon" reminded you of your father a bit. He acted mature and young simultaneously.

Washing your arms and your thighs, you washed off the soap on his neck and took the plug out to drain the dirty water. Placing the soap down, he spread his legs open and you accidentally saw something you shouldn't have. Frightened and embraced, you blushed. Taking his hand and pushing your gaze to meet his. He smiled softly.

"It's fine, just don't get too threatened by it. I'm aware of the size," he mentioned, looking you in your eyes. Nodding, you this time pumped the water until it was all out. Cleaning the both of you, you couldn't help but feel shy snd flustered. He felt the same, only he knew how to hide it. But not everything he knew or wanted to hide.

He looked in your eyes, noticing a soft dismal look on you to which he replied with "tell me are you okay?" Thankful for the concern, you told him about your parents passing and the shop's importance to you was. He understood automatically and exchanged his parent's passing in less detail. He didn't think he'd meet with someone with such a familiar background as his, even if they were below Noble.

He took her hand and placed it on her chest. "They're here, I'm sure your mother would be proud of how you came out to be. So leave it at that" he smiles wildly, with his eyes closing shut a bit as he did. You were glad to hear that and he never thought that Mrs.pot's comfort would come in handy, but he's glad to say and share a similar message.

"Speaking of do you have an altar?" He asked gently, unplugging the water and helping you stand up. Nodding you pointed out the door to a small corner. He thanked you and grabbed both of you a towel. Getting dried and dressed you did your hair as he went over to pay the slightest respects. Smiling at how kind the gesture was, you walked over to the rack and tripped over your foot trying to hand him his stuff. You saw a journal fall out and your eyes met his.

"You're a journalist?" You questioned, fixing your dress and hair before getting up and handing his stuff.

"Yeah, not from here tho," he lied, dusting dirt from your shoulder. Nodding you both made your way down the stairs, as he took your hand. Noticing it, you smiled. You wondered why he was being nice to you all of the sudden, however, that all changed when a guard walked past by and he brought you to a kiss. Confused and his eyes waiting for them to go, you kissed back hesitantly. Letting go, you looked at him worried he shrugged it off and you walked him to the square.

Hand in Hand, you brought namjoon to the bakery. Looking around, he pointed out the most expensive bread on hand and paid. Thanking him, he leads your hand to the vendors outside. Lucky for you, he knew about gardening and what was good. He helped and taught you the basics snd you learned you've been scammed for years. Thanking him, you took him to a cart of flowers and smelled the fresh roses, looking up at him. He paid for the golden yellow rose bouquet. Now it was for his favorite part of the day, clothes shopping. But beforehand, he pulled you into a cafe.

"Two bags of your finest coffee," namjoon ordered, by now you shouldn't have been shocked at how much he could spend. But seeing him use more money than you've sent your entire life was a sight to see snd each time you were thankful. You had enough food and supplies to last week if not a month. Holding you close by him, you realized you warmed up to him and small gestures like that felt comforting to you. He noticed and did it more often.

Soon it was night and there was only, one dress store open. In there was a beige dress that sparkled in the shop's lights. Running to the window to look, you smiled. Feeling a hand on your back, he took a step in and pulled your hand in with him.

"Welcome to Gezels tailor and shop" the owner greeted. He was an older man with gray hair a fragile smile.

"Well take that dress in the window snd tailor it to her size. His much is it?" Namjoon asked, pulling his wallet for the last time today.

"₩ 10,000" the man spoke, paying upfront the older man invited you to the back room and told namjoon to stay upfront. Nodding, you walked ahead and namjoon sat in the chair. He had a diary to write about today's and yesterday's adventures. He started up about the bathtub time you shared snd imagined your body once again. If only he knew his to draw, he'd paint a pretty picture in the book. Soon after finishing his entry, you walked out with a note.

Note: the dress will be ready for you miss before dusk, come back tomorrow with your lover -Gezel tailor and shop

You handed it to namjoon and he read it, as the two walked out. Suddenly loud commotions of horses snd guards ran through the city with lights.

"The king's missing!" The horseman yelled into the square. Namjoon in a panic rushed you two into the forest nearby. Confused, but following him. You wondered if he had something to do with it, besides this wasn't the first time he ran away from the guards today.

"They can't find me or ill be in trouble, act like a lover, please. I'll pay you in gold when I can" he begged on his knees with his hat on his chest.

"Don't pay me, think of it as a token of my gratitude. I'll help, but you have to explain everything when we get back," you murmured, taking his hands and helping him out the dirt. Making you drop the food and his bag.

Suddenly, he gripped your body and jumped both of you in a lake as he heard the sounds of horses clamping. A sound you didn't even hear. Holding your head under the water, he waited for the light of the torch to leave the lake area before swimming the two of you up.

Taking deep breaths of air, the two of you swam to the doc snd he helped you up first before himself. Luckily, the food wasn't damaged. Frustrated, you grabbed the food and his bag as you walked home. Walking in, you kept the lights off snd went to the second floor.

Stripping you of your clothes snd placing the bags down, you watched him do the same. Forgetting you had to pump the water, he suggested he'd go do it and you nodded giving him directions snd within 30minutes he was done. Striping once again, he hugged your body to his chest. You soon felt tears on your neck and small crys, you rubbed his back snd just stood there till he let go.

"What's wrong?'" You asked concerned.

"I could've killed you!" he cried, remembering the look his mother gave him before dying in his arm. His father did the same thing to his mother, only on a ship in the middle of the sea. Hugging him, you rubbed his back and placed a kiss on his lips. Holding you to his chest, kissed you back, and laid back so your bare body laid on his.

"Let's wait to shower" he suggested, kissing your neck. Nodding your head no, he flipped you over on your stomach softly and trapped your legs with his. "Please?' He asked, leaning down on your level on the floor snd holding your chest in his hand. Agreeing, knowing what's about to happen you loosened up snd he turned you on your back.

His hands ran around your chest and thighs, leaning down to kiss your naked body as a slight moan came out. From there, he moved his lips to your mouth and softly moved yours to his hair. Taking note, you ran his fingers through his dark brown ones as the two of you danced with each other's tongue. Namjoon removed his lips snd traveled down south, gripping his hair in pleasure you moaned grinding your hips. Meanwhile, he took in a natural aroma, one he found arousing. Moving his tongue around the bud, he softly kissed your thighs leaving bruises.

Looking at your head tilting back snd eyes closed with heavy to light breathing. He took his pointer finger snd rubed softly in circles, moving his body to tower you with one arm. Noticing the shift of best around your neck, you felt his warm breath move down your neck and by your ear.

"Let me tell you something darling, I'm not who I say I am" he kissed around your neck, papering it in kisses. Hearing you moan, made him aroused by the minute. However he knew it was time to go back to the castle, only he wasn't going empty-handed. As your hands rubbed his back, he whispered "I'm Namjoon, they're looking for me, darling. Tonight the last night I can spend here so let's make it count" in a raspy tone.

In shock, he gave you a minute to calm down as he could hear your heart. "I'm sorry" he apologized.

"No need, but for whatever this may be for you. Just know I haven't done anything like this with anyone," you admitted. Humming he moved to the other ear and whispered "I like that, just know it will hurt after a few minutes snd then feel better or the pain could feel good!" he warned. Taking his warning, he gently rubed you as got on his knees and opened your legs wide. Watching as he did, you noticed he was fully erected at this point and ready. You closed your eyes snd tensed your muscles as he began to simply grind his tip into you.

He was right there was pain, which caused you to bleed a bit. However, it was enjoyable without a doubt. Soon he was able to put 6/9 inches in as he trusted slowly. Moaning under him, he moved his in circles biting his lower lip as looked at your fuller lips and leaned over and wrapped your legs around his waist. After a few moments of waiting for you to adjust, you thought about today snd how it was so obvious he was the king snd yet it flee by.

As you moaned loud, his thrusts began to speed up snd the two of you could hear the sounds of his hips banging into yours snd your ass as he went faster.

"Ah, baby!" He grunted, grinding into you deeply as your hands rubed into his hair. Morning louder, his lips conceded back to yours as you held on snd then to your neck where you heard his heavy breathing. Your body was tightening around him, as he went in deeper now putting himself in. Not to mention you began to pool around him which gave him more speed in the end.

"Namjoon!" You moaned in his ear, holding his back tightly as your legs unwrapped snd opened wider for him. Cursing under his breath, he went harder as you began to arch your bag in pleasure. He held onto your back as your head went backs and the build of pleasure built up quickly.

you held onto his muscular shoulders while he moved you closer to him to go deeper. With that sending you over the edge, you screamed his name in pleasure as yours and his breathing began to match in heaviness. Shopping for a second, namjoon looked you in your eyes and thrust slowly as he was too close and it felt too good.

"In close, but I don't wanna cum yet" he grunted, thrusting deeply in and out.

"Then cum when you can't hold it!" You urged, outta breathe enjoying the depends. "I'm fine with children" you explained. Nodding, he continued and went harder this time.

His mouth roamed your chest, sucking and pulling on the bud as your back arched and mouth open in response. You this time, grinded back cgroundhim to jolt forward and start panting.

"Fuck don't do that unless you-" you interrupted doing it again. Pushing your legs back and open wide he started hammering into you as you began screaming in both pleasure and slight pain. You scratched his back and he immediately let go of your thighs snd pushed your hands back. As your body began to shake under him, he went faster as his chest heaved in breathing and yours became flushed with red. He started to let his enjoyment show more and tilted his head back with his eyes close as he went faster. He allowed the sounds of your whimpering snd moans to fulfill his urge as his balls smack your body hard causing a loud moan to come out from him.

Moving his hips to go at a slightly different angle than before, he noticed you started dripping more and more causing your heat to became more and more pleasurable on his end. He leaned down to your chest and held you as he began moaning in ecstasy as a thick load covered your walls in white.

Stoping and catching his breath, he mouthed something so simple but daring and that was simple.

"Don't leave me"

To which you replied softly. "I won't"

Soon the both of you gained the energy to get in the tub. There you two conversate on what it was like for him to be the king and all, what he planned on doing, and where he wanted to do next.

"Please come back to the castle with me tonight?" He begged, holding his hands with yours.

" I don't wanna be a drag" you looked down.

"You won't, I promise you'll enjoy your new life" he stated happily as ever.

"Namjoon don't you think it's too fast, we just met and all." You mentioned.

"Right, that is an undeniable truth. However, I know you felt the same way I did snd I know this isn't a fairy tale. But I truly feel like we could have a life" he spoke, holding your hands to his chest. Yes, that was true, you did believe in fate snd everything. But this was soon and so much.

"I'll go, but you have to let me have the ability to leave, " you said sadly, bring you to his chest he nodded and turned your body around in the tub.

From there you two did what was needed and packed a small bag of hygiene snd the coffee from earlier to go. You two had to walk back to the castle without being seen or heard at all. Which called for a few close times of being caught, from there he showed you a secrete gate entrance that led straight towards his room. From there, he tried his best to pick you up and take you to his room. there which Mrs. Pot sat praying

"I'm home and I brought a guest" he mentioned putting you down. As she recognized Mrs. Pot, she immediately went to hug her.

"It's been a while, my dear, I remember when you were both sized. I see you ran into the king, ah I knew he would've found you. I mean he's always had an eye on elegance and beauty" she mentioned embracing you tightly and pinching her cheek the same way she did with namjoon.

"I'll tell the guards your home" she looked at namjoon winking. Itching his head as he smiled, he turned to you and stripped naked again.

This time he leaned on the top of you again and you immediately kissed back. "It's a yes" you knew immediately as he took off your clothes once again that same night. Only this time, he focused on filling you up till he couldn't anymore.

"Fuck, this is amazing" he cursed, moving his hips harder as you who was behind sensitive began moaning his name louder and louder. Your legs opened wider and pools of arousal soaked the bed, making him lose control once more in you before pulling you close and moaning in your neck. Spilling once more, he simply uttered

"I love you"

"I love you too"

#namjoon smut #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fics #bts fanfction #bts angst #bts #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon fanfic #namjoon #namjoon angst #namjoon x you #joonie

[boymeetsweevil]

SS6 - MYG, FLUFF, 2900w

For @bangtancentricsblogsmain​ because i wanted her to suffer :)

At 3pm, on a Thursday, there’s a knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He had come through that very same door not an hour earlier to lock himself away from the world after a particularly draining day. After dropping his bag somewhere on the ground, he showered, removed his contacts, and pushed the laundry waiting to be folded over to the other half of his bed in record time.

Normally he would have joined his roommate and their mutual friend circle who were seated on the couch in the communal living room, eating snacks and watching a game. But this time he begged out with a quiet mumble about needing rest.

When Hoseok knocks, Yoongi makes a feeble sound to signal he’s still, unfortunately, awake.

“What,” Yoongi grumbles. 

He attempts to sit up on one pale elbow and then decides against it. Hoseok’s lips twitch up at how cranky Yoongi is pre-nap before sinking back down as his expression darkens into a pitying and somber mix.

“She’s here. And, uh, she’s asking for you.” Hoseok’s eyes dart back to some unseen spot in the living room.

“Tell her I’m asleep.”

“I know you’re not asleep, Yoongi!” Your voice rings from outside the bedroom and Hoseok cringes sympathetically.

“I’ll just leave,” Hoseok says when you shove your torso through the crack in the doorway.

You wait to start speaking until the bedroom door is shut and the noises from the TV outside wash away.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” is all you get.

The backpack you carry drops unceremoniously to the ground with a thud and any dregs of sleep cloying to Yoongi’s brain vanish with the sound. It’s with a valiant effort that he shoves his face deeper into his pillow. You cock your head to look at your best friend and snort at him.

Yoongi’s glasses are skewed across his face. There are thin pink lines marring the left side of his face from lying pressed to the wrinkled sheets with glasses on. The platinum blond waves of his hair, normally coiffed styled, are squashed flat against his forehead. Rarely ever does he look this rumpled and it’s hilarious.

“That’s okay, I’ll just tell you what I wrote in the texts,” you say as you make your way further into Yoongi’s small room. 

A look down at your feet shows him that you’ve shoved your feet into the pair of bunny slippers he got for guests you when he and Hoseok first moved in almost a year ago.

“Basically,” you continue. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Pick one.” You help yourself to his desk chair and swivel it so it faces him.

“Bad news first,” Yoongi says after some deliberation. He pulls the covers up to his chin more securely.

“Smart choice,” you nod sagely. “The bad news is I’m gonna have to paint your face.”

“What the hell,” Yoongi barks.

“But the good news is that I have a new job as a face painter at the kids’ section of the farmer’s market this season!”

“How is that good news for me?”

“It means I’ll be slightly less broke and I can stop asking you to buy me breakfast before our 9am.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or to cry. Firstly, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you paint his face. You’ve always been shit at drawing and letting you showcase that on his skin doesn’t do him any favors. Secondly, he’s in his twenties and he doesn’t even go to the farmer’s market. There’s no reason for him to set foot on the town commons during sunny Saturdays for local produce, much less to get his face painted next to a pen full of smelly goats and screaming kids. He’s just not seeing the connection between you getting this job and him getting his face painted. He stares at you with the hope that you’ll back off but he finds that you’re just blinking back at him with a huge, proud pretty grin.

For a moment Yoongi wants to smile back like things are normal. He wants to put on a groan and act like he’s annoyed that he’s been “forced” to order you sugary coffee drinks and muffins using his own money for longer than he can remember. He wants to gently muss your hair to see you make that cute shocked face you always make. But he can’t. 

Because if he does all that, he might slip up again like he did last weekend. 

At 10:24pm, Friday of last week, Yoongi told you he loved you while one small bottle of liquid courage was sloshing away in his stomach. After seconds of silence ticked by like the bangs of a gong, you replied. A sing-songy ‘Aww. I love you too, Yoongi’ and a light pat on the arm. Your words were basically the mirror image of his, but somehow also starkly different. Disappointment walked him home early that night and embarrassment laid him low the following week.

But it was just a week, he’d reasoned with himself, you’d hardly notice anyway...

“Yoongi? You okay?”

“No,” he hisses and shakes his head gently to dislodge memories of that pathetic weekend.

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you need to paint my face?”

“For practice! The market doesn’t open for another month but I need to get good. Jungkook said that if I do it really well the parents will leave bigger tips.”

“So Jungkook is behind all this.”

“Yeah,” you chirp. “He’s been really helpful in the last week. Usually I’d vent to you about how broke I am but since you were so busy, I ended up hanging out with Kook. He’s honestly really resourceful and he got me the job really fast.”

The hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck bristle at the mention of the younger “peer”. Jungkook was a constant presence at group hangouts for a long while but Yoongi could only ever think of him as a friend of a friend. There was something smarmy about the guy’s smile that he didn’t like. And the way he was always draping himself over you, teasing you, buying you food that was all his job. He can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but something about Jungkook always put Yoongi in a shit mood.

Yoongi curses under his breath. “Why couldn’t he get you a job at the cotton candy station or managing the photo booth or something?”

“What’s up with you lately? Do you really hate the idea of helping me that much?”

“It’s just annoying,” Yoongi huffs childishly from under the blanket.

“Fine, I’ll just ask Jungkook, then.”

“No! Wait!” Your eyes flash with hope. “I’ll do it. Just—don’t bother him. Since he already gave you the job, I mean.”

“Oh, thank god. I felt really bad about asking him for even more help.”

You turn around and pull out a face painting kit from thin air and begin scooting the desk chair towards the bed. When you’re close enough, you frown.

“What?” Yoongi sniffs at his sheets for good measure. All clean.

“Nothing. It’s just...” You look down at the ground and then the chair and then at Yoongi before looking at the chair again. “I usually practice on shorter surfaces so I can get used to working with the kids.”

“Oh, just pull the little lever underneath the chair. Raising and lowering the chair is Hoseok’s favorite thing to do when he comes in here, I swear.”

You reach under the seat like Yoongi instructed, find the little lever, and tug. There’s a low hissing sound before the seat suddenly drops 5 inches. You let out a yelp while Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh at your terrified expression.

“I guess—I guess Hoseok pulled the lever too much,” Yoongi’s voice creaks with laughter. Even when you flick him in the forehead he keeps laughing.

“Yoongi, this isn’t funny. I need to practice.”

“Just so you know there’s no way I’m getting on the floor. I’ve changed my clothes and I’m actually in the bed.”

He knows he’s being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he’s only trying to rile you up. He’s not expecting you to start to get up on the bed after flipping him off. The laundry he placed on his bed that morning to force himself to fold now laughs at him from its position shoved against the wall.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I need to be higher than you to paint your face. And you’re not getting up, right?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So this is where I’m gonna work.”

You shrug like it’s not a big deal that you’re straddling him. Like it’s not a big fucking deal that your soft thighs now rest on either side of his torso, that you casually rest a hand on his ribcage while setting up the painting kit along his sternum. He hopes your hand stays further south only to prevent the rapid beating of his heart from being discovered under your palm.

“What design do you want,” your voice is quiet now that you’re closer. 

Makes sense. No need to yell. But it still drives Yoongi crazy that you’re basically whispering in his ear as you lean over him to grab at the unused cup of water behind the bed frame. You revive your paints with the water while he tries to keep his breathing in check, lest he cause your paints to tumble off his torso and stain his sheets in a pastel rainbow.

“Uhh, how about an old style tiger?”

“Really,” you deadpan, “I tell you I’m just starting to learn to paint and you ask for a tiger?”

“Fine. Stars, then.” He gulps when you look right at him, face flushing to create the perfect pink canvas.

“Oh, I can do that. No reference needed.”

It seems deadly quiet in Yoongi’s room. The sounds of the living room long since died down when a crowd favorite started playing and captured everyone’s attention. Now there’s only yours and his intermingled breathing and the sound of your brush tinkling against glass.

You lean down from your perch to focus on carving out a swatch of night sky to blanket Yoongi’s stars. Your breath softly puffs low against his left cheek at the same moment the wet tip of the paintbrush hits his skin. His breath hitches a little and he’s not sure which is the culprit.

“Hold still, okay?” Your words come out in a whisper. 

“Okay,” he whispers back.

Minutes pass and two shaky stars are born on Yoongi’s cheekbone. You shift around on his chest to stabilize yourself and in your movement you lose your footing a little, your right leg slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Ah—”

“I got you,” Yoongi grunts a little as his hands fly to your hips.

He easily stops your momentum and your paints, clutched desperately in your hands, remain safe from the ground. The pads of his fingers are still dug lightly into the meat of your hips and waist. In that moment you remember just how big Yoongi’s hands are.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem.” 

A slow grin spreads on Yoongi’s face when he notices that suddenly you can’t make eye contact like you were just a few moments prior.

You do your best to continue, but your gaze keeps flitting to his, only to find that he’s already looking at you. It sets something hot aflutter in your chest. The points of the stars that you thought you had a handle on turn soft and wobbly once more. 

“Look up,” you ask when you’re out of other options and keep having to paint over your work.

Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at how jittery you seem. It feels good to know that the effects of this proximity are mutual, that you’re feeling just as lightheaded from sitting in his lap as he is from having you sit in it.

“You almost done?” He drawls. He’s been counting the small irregularities in the paint on his ceiling to keep entertained.

“Uh, yeah, almost.”

He feels the cold kiss of the brush tip once, twice more before it returns to its makeshift home of the water glass with a clink.

“Do you...wanna see what it looks like,” you sit up then. 

There’s a small hand mirror across the room that you’re eyeing. But he stops you with a squeeze to your hips, reminding you that his hands have been resting there this whole time.

“Just use my phone,” he nods to the device lying abandoned in the sheets. “Take a picture.”

“Okay.”

For some reason, your hands are shaking even with the paintbrush gone and the need for focus lifted. Mechanically you wake Yoongi’s phone from sleep and access the camera app to take a photo, shifting your weight to your knees to get above him and snap a pic. Curiosity makes you open the photo album app to see the photo you just took instead of showing it to him first. The result takes your breath away. 

Yoongi looks blissfully content, almost smugly so, as he gazes up at the camera. The stars under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose look like glowing yellow freckles amidst the banner of deep navy and rich purples you used to craft the sky across his cheekbones. The paint looks good and it’s probably even your best job yet, but you can’t help yourself from looking elsewhere.

Yoongi’s tousled bed head, soft sleep shirt, and dreamy eyes bring a cloud of butterflies to your stomach. The final killer touch of the photo is the fact that your knees just barely enter the bottom of the photo. Yoongi’s hands rest on each one like they belong there.

“Yoongi.” You breathe his name like a sigh and that’s when he surges up, as if to catch his name on your lips.

The kiss takes you by surprise and you tumble down to him in a soft pile of limbs. He hums a long, pleased sound when your weight settles on top of him. The hands he had on your knees suddenly grow restless and they amble up your thighs, up your waist, around your back. His hands are ever busy gliding over as much of you as they can in the moments that you let your lips press firmly against his.

Idly you pick out the details you notice with your eyes drifting closed. Yoongi’s breath leaves his nose in puffs against your face and his sighs echo quiet in your ears. His hair is soft between your fingers and so is the collar of the worn shirt that he’s wearing. The sheets that have raised around you like makeshift linen mountains smell just like Yoongi’s sweet soap, warmed with sleep.

“Shouldn’t we—”, he plants a kiss on your mouth, “shouldn’t we talk about this,” you mumble against his lips.

Yoongi’s hands stop in their tracks along the midpoint of your spine. The sigh he lets out is long suffering.

“Sorry. I just—I got carried away.”

“I mean, you don’t have to apologize for it. I just...thought you saw me as a friend.”

“Do friends confess their love for each other? That’s new.”

“L-love?” Your eyes turn wide and starry. “When have either of us ever confessed our love?”

“Well, I did. At the bar. Or did you have to block that memory out?”

Your brow furrows at the self-deprecating turn his smile takes and you clasp one of his still-wandering hands.

“You mean—Yoongi, I thought you were just being mushy. I thought you meant, like, ‘I love that we’re all here together as friends right now’. If I had known that was a real confession,” you trail off.

“You what?” 

Yoongi’s mood elevates once more, enjoying the sudden turn your rambling is taking. Teasingly he bucks his hips under you, startling you out of your bashful silence and forcing you to press two hands to his chest for balance. A cute little sound leaves your lips and he’s tempted to do it again.

“You were saying,” he grins up at you and his hands start to wander once again.

“I would have—”

“Baby, speak up.” He’s all coos but there’s a little venom in his voice. He likes how embarrassed you are.

“I would have left with you that night. If I had known.”

His shirt wrinkles up where your fingers twist anxiously. Normally you trample through Yoongi’s space, no shame or hesitation in the way you leave him on his toes. It had always been a fun game for you to see how close you could get before he’d have to draw a line, before his besotted smile would become too hard to hide. But now you’re not so sure you can handle it directed at you in all its glory.

“That’s a nice idea,” he says. 

In one moment he looks like he’s really weighing the idea, serious in his appraisal. The next moment he’s tugging you down when you least expect it, bringing a corner of the blanket to envelope you both. Under the cover of weak darkness, he threads a hand through the hair at the base of your neck. 

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

#btscreatorscorner #hyunglinenetwork #networkbangtan #bangtan scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagines #yoongi fanfic #bangtan imagines #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fluff #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts fanfic

[snelbz]

The Ranch {19}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @snelbz​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

Nesta stood in the paint department and looked at the wall of samples in front of her. She wanted something light, but something that stood out, too. She didn’t want anything like her father had chosen back in the nineties and-.

She shook her head, trying to free her head of the deja vu that washed over her and chuckling quietly. She had been here before, had done this before. Things were just...a little different this time.

As if she wanted to remind her mother of this fact, Nesta felt a sharp pain against her ribs and she inhaled sharply through her teeth. Beau looked up at her, brown eyes wide. He hadn’t left her side since the beginning of her third trimester and Nesta had learned to love the constant, comforting presence.

“Your sister is using my ribs as a punching bag,” she told him, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t understand her. He opened his mouth in what Nesta swore was a smile and his tongue hung to the side.

He always smiled when they talked about the baby.

Nesta was floored as she realized how different her life had become in twelve months. A year ago, she’d been deciding whether or not she should give up everything she’d ever wanted, to move home and run her father’s crumbling dream of a bed and breakfast. Now she was about to have a baby, her perfect, little girl, and she was going to marry the man of her dreams, the man who gave her the gift she never thought possible.

“Nesta?”

She froze, recalling how someone had called her name the last time she’d been here, who it had been when she turned. But it wasn’t Tomas, just Azriel standing in his old, torn jeans and black hoodie. Out of all of them, it was Azriel who looked the least the part of a rancher, but he sure as hell knew what he was doing.

“Cass said you were running into town, but this was the last place I thought I’d see you,” Azriel said, when Nesta said nothing. 

Nesta, collecting her thoughts, gestured to the wall of paint samples. “Nursery color.”

“Ah,” Azriel said, huffing a laugh as he stopped next to her and looked at the wall. Beau brushed up against his leg, and he gave the pup a loving scratch behind the ears. “What about purple?”

Nesta frowned, looking at the endless samples of purple. She had gone over the lavender hues ten times already. “Too predictable. Pink, too. I’ve ruled them both out.”

Azriel chuckled. “Fair enough. Cass wants to paint it green.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. She had to admit that she had her eye on a neutral olive color, but it didn’t seem right, it wasn't special enough.  “So I’ve been told. I told him no, though.”

It was true. In fact, the night before they’d had a heated debate over what color the nursery would be. It ended in them making love on the nursery’s carpet, but that was irrelevant. 

“How about blue?” Azriel suggested, picking up a few different swatches. “There are a ton of different shades of blue, surely there’s one you two can agree on.”

It was her favorite color, but it limited her decorating choices. Both the camouflage and rodeo nursery ideas were nixed last night as well, and Cassian was still pouting about it.

“I’ve been leaning towards a softer yellow or orange.” She lifted a buttery yellow card from its slot. It was too bright, too rich. She added it to the stack, knowing it may look different away from the fluorescent lights. “Like the sunrise. First light.”

Azriel was nodding. “Why don’t you ask Feyre to paint the sunrise?”

Nesta was going to blame her stupidity on pregnancy brain as her eyes went wide and she said, “I hadn’t even thought of that. She’d love that.”

Azriel just smiled, softly. “Feyre would be honored, if you asked her.”

Nesta nodded, slowly, then picked out a couple different shades of yellows and oranges. “Since you’re here, please take me to get some tacos. I’ll buy. Might even bring some home to Cass, if he’s been good this morning.” Azriel’s grin widened as they began walking toward the exit. “A little cranky, I must say, but I think that’s just because he’s hungover.”

Nesta snorted. After their fight over paints, he’d indulged himself - one beer too many, perhaps. “It doesn’t take much to be hungover when you wake up at five a.m.”

“True,” Azriel agreed. “I could do tacos, though.”

“Good,” Nesta said, putting the paint swatches into her purse as she and Azriel walked out onto the sidewalk, Beau close behind. 

It wasn’t until they were down the street at a taco vendor’s food truck that Nesta asked, “So, when the hell are you going to ask my sister to marry you?”

The bite he’d been in the process of taking nearly came back out. Nesta didn’t even flinch. She’d spent so much time throwing up in the past eight months that partially chewed food didn’t even phase her. She blinked and waited for him to collect himself before he took a drink of the Corona in his hand.

“You just go straight for the balls, don’t you?” He laughed.

She raised her eyebrows. “Have you met my fiancé?”

“Fair enough,” he laughed, but he sighed. “You want the honest truth?”

Nesta suddenly realized she wasn’t sure. She was meddling and the only person who hated meddling more than she did was Elain. But she nodded.

Az took a deep breath and said, “I’ve had the ring for almost six months.”

“What?” Nesta’s eyes must have nearly bulged out of her head, because Az backed up a step. “And why exactly haven’t you proposed?”

His smile was soft but proud, as he said, “I don’t want to take this time from you, or from Cassian. You’re having a baby. Like, Nesta, you’re growing a literal human inside of yourself.” He chuckled and smiled fondly. “Did you know that even when we were in high school all Cass wanted from life was to rope and have a family. You’re giving him one of those things and I can’t ever thank you for making my brother so happy. And I don’t want to take that spotlight from y’all. I want you to have your moment, so that when the time comes, Elain can have hers.”

Nesta hated Azriel for making her cry over her taco, and yet, tears were sliding down her cheeks as she set her taco back down onto her plate and observed him. Eventually, she cleared her throat and said, “Elain is a lucky woman.”

Azriel just shook his head as he took another bite. “That woman deserves the world. If anyone’s lucky, it’s me.”

Nesta found herself completely overwhelmed. A year ago, she hadn’t believed love existed, but now? Her and Cassian, Elain and Azriel, Feyre and Rhysand...this type of love was rare, Nesta was sure of it, but somehow they all ended up in a fairytale romance. Her sisters were happy, she was happy...it was perfect. 

“Don’t tell your sister that I made you cry,” Azriel went on, shoving the last of his taco into his mouth. “She’ll kick my ass. She’s scary when she wants to be.”

She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with a scratchy napkin. “She’ll understand when you knock her up. I cried yesterday during a Christmas commercial.” Azriel waited, knowing that was somewhat common. “A commercial for cattle feed.”

He nodded. “I believe you. Doesn’t change the fact that your sister will punch me in the dick if she finds out I was the cause of your tears.”

They both laughed and Nesta smiled. “Thank you for making her so happy.”

Az gave her that full smile that so many rarely saw. “It’s my pleasure.”

Nesta finished her tacos and ordered some for Cassian for the road. “Word of advice,” she said, getting into her car. Beau already patiently sat in the passenger seat. “Don’t ask her on a holiday. Girls don’t want to share their special day.”

Azriel’s eyebrows raised. “I...hadn’t thought of that.”

Nesta chuckled. “You were going to propose on New Years, weren’t you?”

He nodded once. “Yes, I was.”

She laughed, full and bright, and said, “How about this? You tell me when it’s time, I’ll plan a family dinner and voila, you’ve got yourself a fiancée.”

“Really?” Azriel asked, stopping in front of the driver’s side of the truck’s door.

“Of course,” Nesta said, crossing her arms, the bag of Cassian’s food hanging on her arm. 

“Thank you,” he said, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he meant it.

Although they were going to the same place, they said their goodbyes and Nesta drove home, slowly. By the time she made it back home to the ranch with her paint swatches, Cassian was mowing the lawn. He was shirtless, of course, and was chugging a bottle of water as he rode the lawn mower across the grass. As Nesta pulled into the driveway, he was waving and putting it in park. 

He was covered in sweat, but Nesta still didn’t stop him as he pressed his lips to the side of her head. “The grass was long.”

Nesta nodded. She had wanted to ask him to mow, considering she was too pregnant to do so, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt his daily plans. “I brought you tacos.” 

“Mmm, that’s exactly why I’m marrying you,” he said, pulling her onto his sweaty lap and opening the box in her hands.

She squirmed out of his arms, as best as she could at eight and a half months pregnant and said, “I’m going to go hang the swatches on the wall, come see when you’re done?”

He nodded, shoving an entire taco in his mouth.

She chuckled, but shivered as a brisk wind blew by. “Cass, I know the sun is straight on you, but it’s forty-five degrees out. Don’t you think you should put a shirt on?”

He finished chewing and said, “How else will I keep my tan year round?”

She shook her head and said, “I’ll be inside, call me if you need me. I love you.”

He smiled at her, those hazel eyes sparkling from the joy he felt inside. “I love you too, darlin’.”

She turned and started up the porch steps and heard, “Hey.”

Nesta looked back at him and he asked, the sparkle replaced by his usual mischievous glint, “You got any green swatches in there?”

Nesta rolled her eyes as Azriel pulled the truck in next to her little car. “No.”

She continued up into the house, laughing when she heard Az ask why the hell he wasn’t wearing a shirt. She pulled the swatches out of her purse, including the couple of greens she’d snagged on their way out, along with her phone and she and Beau made their way up to her old room.

The room that she grew up in was the same room her daughter would too.

As she was taping swatches to the room, in various lighting, she called Feyre, putting her phone on speaker.

“Hello?” her sister answered a second later.

“Hey,” Nesta said, looking around the room. “I have a favor to ask.” “Ask away,” Feyre said.

Nesta admired the swatches she had chosen before clearing her throat. “Would you mind...helping me paint the baby’s nursery?”

There was a slight pause, then Feyre’s quiet voice came through, “Of course.”

“I was thinking the sunrise,” Nesta continued, trying not to cry for the tenth time that day. “Bright, cheery, calming.”

“I can do that,” Feyre breathed. “I can come by this weekend?”

“Perfect,” Nesta agreed. There was a few seconds of silence before Nesta said, “Thank you.”

“Anything for my niece,” Feyre said, then added, “And anything for you. And that idiot fiancé of yours.”

Nesta peeked out the window where Cassian was still mowing without his shirt on. He always acted like it was spring, even in the winter. Although their town stayed pretty mild, winter-wise, there was still a little chill in the air. “Idiot he is, but he’s my idiot.”

Feyre chuckled. “Still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Nesta promised. “I’ll see you then.”

They said their goodbyes before Nesta was left alone, in the silence, observing the room around her. Five minutes of planning in her head passed before heavy boots padded up the stairs and Cassian appeared, now wearing a hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “Can I help with anything?”

She was admiring the colors in the direct sunlight. “You can tell me which of these you like best.”

“Hmm.” He came up behind her, pressing his big hands against her belly. Even as round as she was, even at over eight months pregnant, his hands still covered most of it. But then they slid upwards until he was cupping a breast in each hand. He made a show of weighing them and squeezing them gently, and said, “I don’t know, I think I’m pretty partial to the left one.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, and pushed away from him, walking towards the wall. “I meant color, baby.”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” he snorted, coming in closer as well.

It turned out that it was, in fact, not easy.

After forty-five minutes of arguing and an almost silent quickie with the door open to make up, they had narrowed it down to New Spring Chick and Frosted Tropical Apricot.

They would let Feyre make the final decision in the morning.

“Don’t you have to get back out there?” Nesta asked.

Cassian shook his head. “For now, Az has it covered, it’s been an easy day. I was thinking you and I could go out to dinner, though.”

Nesta lifted a brow. “Dinner?”

Cassian nodded, then gestured to her belly. “We only have so much more time before baby comes. We should have a date night while we can.”

Nesta watched him for a moment before saying, “Okay, fine. But does this mean I have to get dressed up?”

Cassian grinned. “You could wear fucking sweatpants for all I care, but I’m taking you out.”

She wouldn’t wear sweatpants, but she also didn’t plan on wearing another real pair of pants until after this baby was out of her.

Cassian pressed a soft kiss to her stomach, which he did every chance he took, and left to go take a much needed shower. Nesta got ready, slipping on a pair of comfy black leggings and a baggy sweatshirt. Cass ended up dressing nearly identically, except he did wear sweatpants.

They hopped in the “play truck” and right before they left, Cassian said, “Shit, I’ll be right back.”

Nesta sat straight up, hands forming a protective cage around her stomach. “What? Is everything okay?”

He jogged into the house and came back out a minute later, backpack tossed over his shoulder. Climbing back into the truck, he tossed it in the backseat and put it in reverse.

“What is that?” she asked. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“This,” Cass replied, putting his free hand in Nesta’s and rubbing soothing circles into the back of her hand, “is our emergency bag. It’s got everything we’ll need in it in case you go into labor. Clothes, insurance paperwork, phone chargers, snacks.” He began a smooth back and forth motion. “Diapers, binkies, onesies, little socks and blankets, and everything else our precious girl is going to need.”

She blinked, and hated that tears were, once again, rolling down her cheeks. “You have truly thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Cassian shrugged. “You’re literally growing my child inside of you. As your baby daddy, it’s my job to take as much stress off of you as possible.”

Nesta leaned over the center console and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He grinned, fully satisfied with himself, as he pulled onto the road and headed into town. They drove to a little Italian restaurant because Nesta had mentioned she could use a plate full of breadsticks. Cassian ordered it to go, though, and hopped back into the truck before driving a mile down the road to the old high school. He parked in the parking lot before hopping out and putting down the truck bed.

“Come on, babe,” he called, already taking the boxes of pasta out of the bag. When Nesta came around, he helped her onto the back of the truck before joining her there, his thigh brushing hers.

She ate her alfredo happily, indeed chowing down on an insane number of breadsticks that Cassian swore he didn’t count.

He was rubbing her feet when she asked, voice quiet, “Are you scared?”

He looked at her, at how she was staring off toward the football field, pretending not to notice him staring at her. “Am I scared of doing something stupid? Yes. Am I scared it’s going to be a lot more than we’re expecting? Yes. Am I scared we’re going to get in over our heads? Yes. Am I scared that there’s about to be a miniature version of you running around? Hell yes.” He turned her face toward his, forcing her to look at him. “But am I scared to be a father? No. Am I scared to meet our daughter? No. Am I scared to do this with you? Absolutely not.”

She whispered, “Quit making me cry.”

But he shook his head, softly. “I love you, Nesta. And yeah, I am scared, but I can’t wait. This little girl already has me wrapped around her finger and she’s not even here yet.”

A tear slid down her cheek that he quickly reached up and brushed away. “Are you scared?”

Nesta took a moment to think about it, but then she sighed. “Yes, and no. It’s complicated.”

Cassian chuckled, in full understanding.

“I’m scared because I don’t know what to expect,” she said, after a minute. “I’m not sure how to handle the not knowing.”

“That’s why we have each other, sweetheart,” he kissed the top of her head. “Come on, let’s get home. I have a shitload of furniture to build tonight.”

The egregiously overpriced infant's bedroom suit that Nesta had seen online had been delivered that afternoon. Cassian couldn’t understand how Nesta could justify spending as much as some people spent on a vehicle on furniture that was just going to get covered in shit and baby barf.

Not to mention that it had been shipped from overseas.

They packed up their trash and got back in the truck, heading for home.

“While I carry all of the boxes upstairs, why don’t you take a nice bath, baby?” He asked. “And then when you’re done, you can read me instructions that I won’t listen to while I figure out how to put it all together.”

Nesta shook her head, unable to stop herself from chuckling. “At least you’re honest.” 

He took her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “I am that.”

Nesta had to admit that the thought of a bath sounded incredible, though, so she didn’t argue. Once they got home, Nesta was making her way, slowly, up the porch, inside, and up the stairs while Cassian got to work on gathering the boxed nursery furniture. They had a changing table, a bookshelf, a dresser, and a crib, all of which Nesta had bought from a small French boutique that had always caught her eye in Paris. When Cassian asked why they couldn’t just go into town and buy something that was already assembled, Nesta’s answer was simple: she was getting what she wanted, and she wanted the modern, white, sleek furniture she’d on her walk to work every day.

Cassian didn’t argue. 

While she was soaking in the tub, she could hear Cass moving around in the other room. She’d hear a thump as a box was dropped or something would start dragging across the floor. At one point, she heard a loud bang followed by Son of a bitch!

Nesta laughed quietly to herself and smoothed a hand over her belly, which stuck out of the water by a considerable amount. “Daddy’s getting your room put together, sweet girl, and then we’re ready for you to get here whenever you are.”

She leaned her head back against the cool, porcelain tub, sighing happy. Life had become so crazy lately, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be stressed about it.

Her phone vibrated on the small table by her head and when she leaned up to glance at it, her hand slipped on the slick surface. The table knocked against the tub and Nesta gasped as her phone fell into the water.

“Shit,” she breathed, grabbing it out and tossing it onto a nearby towel. She decided that was the end of her bath and got out drying herself off and getting dressed.

She tried to power her phone back on, knowing she shouldn’t but hoping it hadn’t been in the water long enough to do any damage. The logo popped up in the middle of the screen then it went black and began to make a whirring noise.

“Damn it.” She sighed and made her way downstairs, throwing it in a bag of rice to see if it could be salvaged. Otherwise, it looked like she’d be going into town the next day for a new phone.

Cassian was padding down the stairs a moment later, his brows furrowed. He took one look at Nesta and froze, then looked down at her phone in the bag of rice. “Your phone take a bath, too?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe.” With a deep sigh, she leaned back against the counter. “I’m pissed.”

“Me too,” Cassian mumbled, throwing open the fridge and grabbing two beers. “I’ve decided that I hate France. Or at least French furniture. Fuck France and their fancy furniture.”

Nesta snorted and came up behind him, attempting to wrap her arms around his waist, but over her giant bump, she hardly managed to reach around his sides.

Cassian's body shook with silent laughter as he turned to face her. “Bump in the way?” He asked, before setting one of his beer cans on the top of it, which only made Nesta roll her eyes.

“It’s not a table,” she laughed. 

“Seems pretty convenient to me,” he shrugged, popping open a can and chugging it down. He brushed his hand over her bump, and just when he touched, baby girl kicked wildly from inside, which only made Nesta groan. 

“That either means that she loves me, or that she’s telling me to fuck off,” Cassian said, which made Nesta laugh. After he kissed her forehead, then the bump with the wild, little Nazari inside, he said, “Alright, baby mama, come upstairs and watch me struggle.”

She smirked and headed for the stairs as he tossed the empty can in the trash, opened the second and grabbed a third to take upstairs. “I already do that on the daily. What’s so different about building furniture?”

She heard him mimic her words in a mocking tone and she laughed as she topped the stairs and made her way into the nursery.

It looked like a styrofoam factory exploded. There were pieces everywhere and screws littering the little catch-all tray he pulled from his tool box. She sighed, realizing it was going to be a long night.

But when she looked out the window, into the starry, cloudless night, and screamed Cassian’s name, she forgot all about furniture and messy packing materials. She forgot all about her phone lying useless on the kitchen counter. She even, for a moment, forgot her own name.

Because the stables were catching on fire.

Cassian was instantly behind her, his eyes wide as he swore violently. “Stay here,” he ordered, and then he was gone, pulling out his phone on the way out the nursery door. 

Nesta could only stare in horror as Cassian's dark figure, only outlined by the light of the moon, sprinted down the path that led to the stables.

It was quickly going up in flames, all consuming, raging flames. Nesta didn’t understand how it could have happened.

Only moments ago, she had been down in the kitchen and the stables were fine.

Then, the thought that had her heart stopping entered her mind. It hadn’t been an accident, couldn’t have been an accident, but that didn’t make any sense. 

A slow panic crept into the pit of her stomach, she was breathing heavier, her heart beating wildly as she sobbed, holding onto her bump, the only thing that allowed her to keep her sanity.

Nesta remembered that Az had told her he’d put the horses in the pasture this morning, since it wasn’t supposed to rain, and she was thankful to whatever god whispered in his ear and told him to do so.

She needed to call someone, needed to get the fire department here. Needed to call her sisters, to call Az. Without thinking, she turned and ran from the room, carefully making her way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Her phone wasn’t on the counter where she’d left it and she frantically looked around the kitchen. 

She plunged into near darkness as the lights went out and a frightened scream burst from Nesta, followed by a sob.

She needed Cassian.

She screamed his name, her voice full of shaking terror as she reached around, trying to find something to hold onto. Eventually, her hands found the edge of the counter and she told herself to breath, in and out. Stress wasn’t good for the baby, panic wasn’t good for the baby.

But she couldn’t help it, and as if the infant in her womb knew that something horrible was happening, she kicked wildly.

Nesta felt the need to puke but she couldn’t move, not in the darkness, not as far from the city as they were. Even as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she couldn’t see through the endless tears.

She tried one more time to scream Cassian’s name, but her voice came out broken, terrified, and it was no use, he was too far away.

She thought she heard a door open and close across the house and she froze. Her voice cracked as she called, “Cass?”

There was no answer.

Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong. She held onto the counter as she quickly ran for the back door - only to find that it was jammed shut, a two-by-four under the doorknob preventing it from opening.

She began to hyperventilate as she realized that this, all of this, was deliberate. The fire still blazed outside, and Nesta heard a creak from the old, wood flooring in the other room. Her blood chilled as she realized that she wasn’t alone in the house.

She ran for the front door, finding it stuck shut as well. “Please, please, please!” She sobbed, pulling on the door as hard as she could. There were unmistakably footsteps from the dining room and she cried, “Please, I’m pregnant, please.”

She hurried back to the kitchen as quietly as she could and silently opened a drawer, pulling out a large knife. She held it out, blindly as she took shuddering breaths.

Then he appeared, in the doorway, wearing a dark hoodie, the hood pulled up. He was tall, his shoulders broad, but slim.

She knew who it was.

She would be foolish to convince herself it wasn’t him. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted from her, had stalked her for months without saying a word. He didn’t come any closer.

Nesta did not lower her knife.

She tried to convince herself to look unafraid, to sound calm, but she couldn’t help the tears that continued to stream down her face.

Inside of her womb, the infant became utterly still.

Nesta swallowed and lifted her chin. “Leave,” she ordered, the demand echoing in the silence. “Or I will kill you, and I will not hesitate.”

Even as she said the words, she wasn’t convinced they were true.

Cassian couldn’t breathe. There was smoke in his eyes, it was unbearably hot, and he couldn’t stop coughing, but then he was out in the fresh night air, his back hitting the soft grass.

He knew that Az had led the horses out before he left today, had watched him take them out one by one, but he had to make sure. He had to verify that there wasn’t one down somewhere.

He found nothing, not a horse or person inside.

Except the overwhelming smell of gasoline.

This fire wasn’t natural, it was intentional. This fire was set.

He’d called Azriel before his feet had hit the landing of the stairs telling him what was happening and asking him to call the fire department. He didn’t know what else to do. It’s not like he could turn on the garden hose and put it out. With as much accelerant was used, it would burn all night.

He knew exactly who it was, he didn’t try to delude himself into anything else.

A truck door slammed and Feyre and Rhys were running toward him.

“What happened?” He asked, helping him stand. Cassian saw that his arm was covered in soot. “I have no idea. We were building baby furniture and the barn was fine, came down to the kitchen so I could grab a beer, and when Nes got back upstairs it was in a blaze.” He coughed, but continued, “Smells like a damn Mapco in there, there was so much gasoline dumped.”

“Gasoline?” Feyre asked, covering her mouth in horror.

Cassian nodded. “Tomas did this.”

Rhysand stilled as Feyre’s face paled.

“I have to go to Nesta,” she breathed, backing away from the fire, even though she wasn’t close to it. She glanced back at the dark. “Is she down at the cabin?”

Cassian’s face fell as he glanced up at the big house, then, he was sprinting.

If Tomas had done this, which Cassian was sure he did, he would still be close. He ran without stopping, without a breath, until he was up the back porch. The door was wide open, a piece of wood sitting off to the side.

Cassian was inside of the kitchen before he screamed, “Nesta?!”

There was no reply in the dark house, no movement or creak or whisper. He frantically flicked the light switch, nothing happening.

“What’s going on?” Feyre called, catching up and coming up the stairs.

Cassian opened his mouth to reply, but there was a banging from the front of the house. “Nesta?!”

He was running through the dark house immediately, finding Azriel and Elain on the other side of the front door. It was jammed closed as well. “Move!”

They did as he said and he put all of his weight into the motion as he tried to shove the door open. On the second try, it gave way.

Elain was already crying when she and Az ran in. He said, “Fire department is on the way.”

Cassian was about to say something when Rhysand’s shaking voice called out from the kitchen. “Cass… come here.”

The sound of his voice chilled Cassian’s blood. He hurried back, could see from the glow that either Feyre or Rhys was using their phone’s flashlight function.

He stumbled into the kitchen, nearly tripping over himself and ran to the other side of the island.

He froze.

One of the kitchen knives was missing from its spot in the open drawer, but it laid on the floor, just a few feet away.

There was so much blood.

She was gone. He took her. By taking her, he took them both.

Cassian heaved over the kitchen sink, everything within his stomach emptying out. He knew he was crying, but he didn’t care. He knew he was sobbing, but no one tried to comfort him. Knew no one was sure how.

Nesta was gone. His baby girl was gone. Tomas had taken them. They were gone, the only hunch of where they had gone written on the kitchen floor: a long kitchen knife and a puddle of blood. 

Cassian was ready to set the world on fire.

“I have to find her,” he breathed, he cried, as his face fell into his hands next to the kitchen sink. “I will find her.”

“Cass-.”

“No,” Cassian interrupted Rhysand before he could even say a word. “He’s out there, and he has my fucking fiancée and child!” 

But Rhysand only shook his head. “I know. I’m coming, too.”

“Me too,” Azriel agreed, then looked to Elain, who nodded.

“We'll take care of things around here,” Elain promised. “Go to the police. Now.” 

Cassian was already near the front door, just as a fire truck pulled onto the grounds. 

“I’ll go talk to them,” Feyre said, and kissed Rhysand quickly on the cheek before hurrying out the back door, Elain close behind. 

Cassian was looking around the house as he walked, even though he’d already searched the entirety of it. Rhysand and Azriel were on his heels as they exited through the front door.

Rhysand’s truck had the most room, and they knew letting Cassian drive wasn’t the smartest. The first logical place to go was the Carlson ranch, only to find it deserted. Cassian looked at the window, where he’d hurled the brick back at him.

“Where would they go?” Azriel asked, kicking something aside as they searched through his workshop.

Rhysand’s phone rang and he answered it. A quick conversation took place, and Feyre said the police needed to talk to Cassian.

They loaded back up into the truck and went back to the ranch. The police were there, along with the fire department and an ambulance, and the second Cassian’s feet hit the ground, questions were being asked.

“What happened?”

Cassian replayed the situation, from the second Nesta had noticed the fire blazing up until the point he realized they were missing. 

“You have to find her,” he told the police, after he told his story. “She’s thirty-eight weeks pregnant, nearly ready to go into labor, you have to fucking find her.”

“We will do everything we ca-.”

“Find her!” he yelled, grabbing the cop he’d been talking to by the shoulders. No one reacted, everyone stayed calm, even the cop that was being grabbed.

The young cop simply took a deep breath before saying, “We will look for her, adamantly, starting now.”

Cassian released his shoulders and nodded, and said in a quiet voice. “Thank you, just… I have to get them back.”

He looked over to where the stables once stood. Now it was a smoldering pile of wood and cinders, all that time put in, all those memories. Gone up in a blaze.

They told Cassian he couldn’t stay in their house that night, that they’d be combing through it for any evidence.

He asked a passing officer, “Will you please, please tell me if that’s her blood?”

The dark red hair, the amber eyes. He was a Vanserra, no doubt.

He nodded. “As soon as we know something, we’ll let you know.”

They let Cassian go in, accompanied by Elain, to get what he would need for the next few days. 

Elain did most of the packing, although she cried the whole time. Cassian couldn’t stay focused though, couldn’t concentrate on anything other than her.

All he could think about was Nesta and their baby, where they were, what he was doing to them.

But per the cops request, Cassian went home with Azriel and Elain to wait for further word.

But he didn’t sleep, didn’t rest.

And he wouldn’t until he found them.

Nesta, and his baby girl. 

#theranchnessian #sharacollab #snelbz tacmc collab #snacmc #nessian

[madeyed]

(   *  💀  /  aria shahghasemi, cis man, he / him  )  —  is that alastor moody i just saw rushing down the corridor ? i hear they’re a twenty-one year old hufflepuff, returning for their seventh school year, but their friends would tell you that they are protective & astute as well as paranoid & disagreeable. if you want to know more about them, i guess i could tell you that they’re pureblood, and from what i hear, they’re currently allying with the order. when our divination professor looks into their crystal ball, they see: a well-worn journal, locked & spelled shut; empty firewhisky bottles lined up along the windowsill; dark circles beneath suspicious eyes; the fading shadow of youthful bravado; a supple leather coat that still smells like home.  —  ( kit, she / they, 23, cet. )

tw — parental death ( murder ), assault & violence, mourning, alcohol mentions, allusions to mental health issues & addiction, hospital mentions. 

basics ,

full name.  alastor jawed moody. known as.  alastor, moody, al only to select friends. age / date of birth.  twenty-one / september 19th, 1958. year.  seventh year. blood status.  pureblood. house.  hufflepuff. alliance.  the order. gender / pronouns.  cis man, he / him. orientation.  bisexual. extracurriculars.  beater for the hufflepuff quidditch team; member of the charms and toothill duelling clubs.  additional stats.  click here. pinterest.  click here.

early life ,

alastor moody is born at home, in a small brick house by the seaside that has been in the family for generations; the yard is quaint, if somewhat overgrown, the wooden window frames spiderwebbed and peeling white paint, the chimney billowing smoke in the winters. although he often longs for a sibling, he remains an only child all his life. at the time of his birth, his parents are early in their careers as aurors, and thoughful, foresightful people above all; with their demanding schedules they think no more than one child is best. it’s not a terrible decision, by any means, and there is enough love in the household to go around.

he is raised with strong values, and a strong sense of duty, family, and respect; he is made aware of the weight of the world at a young age. or, his parents try to impress this upon him, making the world appear darker and heavier than it seems to the young boy. he loves and respects his parents, but he tends to disregard their warnings, to play more recklessly than they might like. 

although his parents always make time for the shabbat, for birthdays and holidays, their job is by necessity demanding, and alastor learns independence at a young age. an only child, he longs for meaningful friendships, but struggles to make friends with muggle children in the village; instead, though he does his best, he spends much of his time alone or with children of his parents’ friends. 

he thinks almost all his life that he is ready for death. it was a simple and honest truth in the moody household that their work, though important and necessary, was dangerous. he sees narrow brushes with danger all his young life, accompanying his parents to too many funerals to count; he learns protection charms before he learns to tie his shoes. and so he thinks of death as a family friend, a familiar acquaintance, and foolishly pats himself on the back for being so well-adjusted, for accepting reality instead of fearing it.

hogwarts ,

when he first arrives at hogwarts, he is calm, unassuming; he doesn’t arrive, like so many purebloods do, with the weight of countless expectations upon his shoulders. nor does he feel like he is escaping some restriction, and finally free; if anything, he is less independent here, under the watchful eyes of prefects and professors, and he grates a little against rules he thinks are foolish or unnecessary.

when it’s his turn to be sorted, the sorting hat only hesitates for a moment between gryffindor and hufflepuff; he is brave, yes, fearless to the point of recklessness, but when the hat poses the question, all alastor can do is shrug. his mother was a slytherin, his father a hufflepuff, and so he doesn’t really mind either way; he knows who he is, regardless of what house colors he wears, and that is enough for the sorting hat to know where he belongs.

he fits in well in hufflepuff, but doesn’t restrict himself to just that; he’s never felt particularly inclined to draw harsh lines in the sand, and makes friends across houses and even years. it helps that his name commands some respect — not from some purebloods, who sneer and consider him and his family all blood traitors, but from the rest, who read the headlines about aurors apprehending dark wizards and are pleased. 

in his second year, though, the headlines change. he is called out of history of magic class — something he had almost enjoyed, at the time, and still hates himself for — and brought to the headmaster’s office, where he’s made to wait until his mother arrives. he’s sixteen when he hears of his father’s death, and it feels like the unshakeable world comes crashing in. he thinks he can prepare for death, steel himself against the pain and struggle through mourning with a straight spine and dry eyes, but he’s a fool, and just a boy at that. 

he’s outgrown his childhood funeral suit, so he wears his father’s mourning robes to the funeral; they’re well-worn, mended at the hems, and alastor finds two knuts and a sickle in the pockets. he leans on his mother, and she leans on him, and she seems both stronger and more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her. they sit shiva together, the two of them in their little seaside home. alastor’s always felt distant from the muggle locals and neighbors, friendly but unable to connect, but they show up all the same. in twos and threes they arrive with their food, condolences, well-wishes, their offers to weed the yard or pick up groceries for the mourning family; it’s their good will that helps the moodys through their grief, more than the ministry’s stiff condolences and posthumous honours.

he returns to hogwarts changed; more anxious, more wary. his heart leaps in his throat every time he receives a letter, fearful it will be news of his mother’s death. he grows harder, less tolerant of snide anti-muggle comments even when they’re almost innocuous. he’s always been a relatively serious boy, but now he hardly laughs at all, and when he does, there’s a bite to it. he excels in school, working doubly hard, already certain he must become an auror and insistent upon achieving it, but there’s no pride in it, no competition; he just knows what needs to be done.

but as months turn to years the passing time lulls him into a false sense of security; at some point, the pain of loss turns from a sharp agony to an ever-present but dull ache. alastor joins the quidditch team, the duelling club ( where he quickly gains a formidable reputation ), has his first of many hogsmeades dates, and feels, foolishly, that life might simply carry on, without too much effort on his behalf. even as war brews on the horizon he assures himself it will be an easy victory, that strength and righteousness will always win out. he prepares, but with a youthful foolishness; he thinks this might be the chance to avenge his father, to protect the weak, to prove himself a warrior. 

the summer between his sixth and seventh year, his mother is so busy she’s barely in the house; when she is, it’s never long before she’s called to yet another meeting, yet another raid. he visits her office often, tea and sandwiches in tow, memorizing the names and faces that are pinned up around the auror office, the most wanted, the suspected conspirators, the known associates. the writing is on the wall: danger approaches. the house is reinforced, protection charms everywhere, locks re-spelled, alarms at all entrances, but at the same time, life goes on.

it’s a rare evening when the two of them are home together, barbecuing kebab in the yard in the late summer sun, a moment of peace among all the concern. they share a bottle of firewhiskey, reminiscing, and laughing together, and making plans to weed the front yard, paint the window frames, and mend the fence — helpful little things alastor can do over the summer while his mother is so very busy at work.

he crawls into bed drunk and at peace, thinking about paint swatches, warm breeze through the open window, the cat curled up at the foot of his bed — and startles awake hours later, still half-drunk to the sound of crashing, glass shattering, the very foundations of the house trembling. the smell of something burning rises from the stairs, and despite his fear he jumps up instantly. there are death eaters in the house ( alastor counts four but thinks there may have been more ), in their black robes and silver masks, and by the time he’s halfway down the stairs his mother is already dead. he fights back as well as he can, but he’s alone, unprepared, and is hit with a curse before he can do much of anything. 

they leave him there, unconscious in the slow-smoking ruins of the sitting room. something about not unnecessarily spilling pure blood, and he’s only a boy, and clearly no threat. he is awakened as other aurors arrive, his parents’ colleagues and friends, and he’s so out of sorts he must be petrified and sedated before he can be taken to st. mungos. this time, he is drunk at the funeral, hiding red eyes behind sunglasses, and he sits his shiva alone, permitting no visitors. he takes what he needs from home: clothes, books, heirlooms, the sneakoscope and foe glass and his father’s old coat, and leaves, renting a room at the leaky cauldron for the rest of the summer.

he returns to hogwarts changed once more; furious, pained, burning the candle at both ends trying to find a way to win a war that hasn’t even truly started yet. 

personality , hcs , etc. ,

alastor has always been confident, wavering between self-assured and simply cocky, depending on who you ask. he was raised to respect and value everyone, and that includes himself, but he has always also thought of himself as a little more clued in, a little more worldly, than most others. this is in part because his parents confronted him with the reality of the world at quite a young age, and in part because of the horrors he has himself witnessed. although he isn’t usually a dick about it, he does tend to think he’s the most aware, clued in person in the room, or the only one who really knows how the world works.

he’s also quite concerned with projecting the image of strength, not because he’s really that concerned with what other people think, but more because he believes pretty strongly in the whole ‘fake it till ya make it’ idea, and feels like showing weakness means you are weak. plus it makes you a target.

has a fat orange cat named fried egg, or just fry for short; she’s four years old, and the grandchild of the same cat his father had when he was at hogwarts. she’s a hellish little demon cat who does her best to catch rats, frogs, small owls, bowtruckles, bag charms, and pretty much anything else she can get her little paws on. can and will claim a whole couch in the common room by stretching out right in the middle. if there’s a small dead creature in the hufflepuff common room or dorms you know who to blame. 

alastor enjoys quidditch, but isn’t particularly competitive; he likes playing beater as it’s a pretty good release for aggression. he plays an aggressive match especially against slytherins, and will more use quidditch as an outlet for his personal vendettas, rather than that it informs them. absolutely fearless on the pitch, and has broken multiple bones, including his nose. don’t play chicken with him, he can and will run straight into you just to prove a point.

although he’s something of a duelling prodigy ( or rather, he’s been well trained since a young age ) and excels at defense against the dark arts and transfiguration, alastor’s top favorite class is care of magical creatures. he just thinks they’re neat. is he a bit of a dragon fanboy ? maybe so.

deeply paranoid, suspicious, and untrusting, especially now. he keeps a notebook of notes, newspaper clippings, observations and overheard conversations, helpful spells and countercurses, and a running list of which classmates and families he suspects of being death eaters, and of which students he fears might become targets. it’s well-spelled to keep out prying eyes, but you can often find him scribbling in it when he should be taking notes in class. 

more to be added ! 

plots ,

just wanted to say first of all that i love plotting, hc’ing, brainstorming, etc. so please hit me up ! if nothing here works i’m super happy to think of something else. also, every single one of these is open to all genders unless specified ! i also especially love plotting based on other connections ( i.e. muse a and muse b are friends, muse b and muse c are exes, therefore muse a and muse c do not get along, or smth ) idk i just have a lot of ideas !

best friends.  any house, but preferably for seventh years ? should be either order aligned or neutral but sympathetic to the order. these would be the very few people in the world alastor is still somewhat vulnerable around, and the few who can still get him to smile these days. also the only people he will take any shit from. the people he considers family, now that he has none of his own left. 

other order members. the options here are so many ! people who fully share his convictions and with whom he can share his theories, who problem-solve and discuss together. people ( particularly muggleborns or younger students ) whom alastor feels very protective of and worried about. can be annoying and overbearing or he’s just keeping an eye on them from a distance, or maybe helping them train. or people who are in the order but whom alastor doesn’t trust; pretty much any pureblood / slytherin / anyone with death eater family would fall under this. lots of options ! 

family friends.  alastor’s parents were very well-respected in the wizarding community, upstanding citizens, well-known and talented aurors, and all around good people; they could have gone to hogwarts with your muse’s parents or otherwise gotten to know them from work or through pretty much any other avenue ! this could go a few different ways, either they can be good long-term childhood friends, or perhaps they never got along but had to suck it up because their parents were friends, etc. 

enemies.  listen, i’m sure alastor has a ton of these ! gimme all the baby death eaters, slytherins, and pureblood supremacists. or even just characters who are just neutral but tangentially related to anyone who might be a death eater. alastor doesn’t discriminate between hatefulness and cowardice, it’s all the same to him: two sides of the same self-serving coin that gets other people killed. he can and will cause problems for them on purpose. absolutely will not hesitate to cause physical injury, or curse someone if they are out of line; you use the word mudblood in his presence and he can and will hex your tongue in a knot or, idk, turn you into a ferret. 

people involved in his family’s deaths.  ok this would definitely be quite a heavy plot and would need to be discussed quite a bit, but i think it could be neat ? alastor’s father died in the line of duty and may or may not have been targeted, but his mother was explicitly killed by death eaters because of the threat she posed. that could have been your muse’s death eater parents, or the hit could have been part of your character’s death eater initiation ( and maybe even the reason why al was allowed to live ? idk man just gimme the drama ) but either way ! alastor is investigating, angry, suspicious, and there will be hell to pay if he figures it out. think it could b a cute terrible dramatic plot.

exes.  gimme a handful of these, with a bit of variety, please, i love them. something short-lived and intense over the course of one semester, that ends when one or both of them gets a little too far into their feelings ! something sweet and quaint in their early years, with first little hogsmeade dates and hand-holding ! a former fwb thing with bad communication that falls apart and leaves them both with some hard feelings ! good friends that think they have feelings for each other, date for two weeks, and then give it up and go back to just being pals ! honestly especially when he was slightly younger and less paranoid, depressed, etc. alastor was definitely weak as fuck for a pretty face. 

the one bad ex-ish.  listen i just very specifically love the idea of alastor having some insanely intense chemistry with a death eater aligned character, that enemies to lovers ( who are still definitely enemies ) vibe. every time they hook up they both regret it intensely, and are to embarrassed to ever tell their friends. they both kinda think they hate the other person, and know they’re on different sides of a brewing war, but also. brain empty very sexy.

crushes / unrequited / un-acted-upon feelings.  ok listen, correct me if i’m wrong, call me out, etc. but alastor’s a whole 6′2″ of broad shoulders, gorgeous hair, green eyes, he’s all tall dark and handsome and also tortured, also a quidditch player, intimidating, etc. and i love the idea of people having crushes on him bc he’d be either annoyed or oblivious and that amuses me greatly. what a man tbh. also love the idea of him having feelings for someone, perhaps even over a longer period of time, but absolutely not wanting to tell them bc he has a bit of a martyr complex, is afraid of losing the people he loves, and also thinks he’s no good and gonna get them killed ! also could just be someone he had a crush on earlier and no longer does, but still thinks they’re just incredibly cool and admires them. could go lots of ways tbh.

study buddy.  so, honestly, alastor’s not concerned that much with school beyond needing the qualifications to become an auror. this would probably be someone with similar aspirations/goals; someone who wants to get the grade but spends more time researching obscure defensive spells and countercurses and hex reversals which will never be on the test, because those are ultimately more important. they both just help support each other academically to make sure they get where they need to be, and practice and work on more advanced combat magic together as well.

neighbors.  kind of, not really ? after his mother’s death alastor’s been living in a rented room in diagon alley, avoiding his family home at all costs. this could be someone who either lives there or in london more generally who he keeps running into over that summer. he’s probably deeply unpleasant particularly at that time so forgive him in advance pls.

drinking buddies.  does alastor have a drinking problem ? maybe. but he also has much, much bigger problems he has to solve first, hence the drinking. he’ll manage just fine on his own too, but that doesn’t mean it’s not nice to sit in relative silence next to someone. he prefers the quiet and general Bad Vibes at the hog’s head over the three broomsticks, but isn’t that picky. 

duelling rival.  a member of the duelling club who alastor absolutely hates, and who hates him. they absolutely drive each other to perform better and push each other hard, but that’s not because they’re trying to help the other improve; it’s because when they duel they are actually straight up trying to kill each other, while making it seem like an accident.

#revelio.intro #⧽ constant vigilance ∖ development . #parental death tw / #death tw / #murder tw / #alcoholism tw / #assault tw / #mourning tw / #wow lots of tags for this one oops #also this is ... not great and def will be edited/added to but i just wanted to get smth out so i can also get started plotting !

[00thisandthat]

Anything, Please!

the little puppy begs for painful pleasure and gets exactly what he wants (and a little extra).

contains: rope, a vibrator, begging, mommy kink, sub!jeno, dom!reader, petnames (baby boy, love, puppy etc.), slight choking, mentions of eating the reader out, praising, slight degrading

—

"come on, please?" jeno begs, tugging your sleeve and looking up at you, desperate for an answer.

"baby, im scared. we've never done anything like this before, you know?" you brush your hand through his soft, fluffy hair, your thumb landing on his cheek, carressing it softly.

"i know but i could always tell if its too much. just, please," he presses his forehead on your arm. "please, i need something," his breath shakes. "a-a vibe or a-a spank, just something, please, mommy..." the last word came out as a whisper.

you two have always been quite sexually active. but you never dared to go anywhere further than your shared mommy kink.

you do love the idea of a breathy, sweaty, blushy jeno, strapped to a chair, legs spread wide, showing off his glory, shaking due to the vibrator attached to his dick. his abs contracting, his jaw hanging open and his hisses. bringing him to his limits until he cries and begs for permission to cum.

you're just scared to hurt him. jeno's a sweet boy, he would never try to have your feelings hurt. he'd try to endure the harsh edging you're into just for you to be happy.

"mommy," he whines "please, i'll be okay. i promise i'll tell you if its too much. i-if you don't want to be too rough, it's okay, i just want a little challenge."

you sigh, instilling your trust in him. "you promise okay?"

he nods. "promise, mommy."

you first start planning, scanning the room to find anything you can possibly tie, fuck or spank him on. and then your eyes land on his desk chair. yeah, he'd look real nice with his legs spread open and cumming nonstop.

"okay, i have an idea." you hold his hand, standing up from the bed and leading him to his chair. he follows behind like a little boy in a shopping center. he sits obediently, fingers fiddling with each other, eager for your next move. "stay right here, got it?"

"yes, mommy." he smiles.

you turn your back and head towards your closet. you've never told him about your collection of sex toys, so when you do get them, they end up hidden underneath your stacked clothes. you feel the rough texture of the bdsm rope you ordered a month ago and pull it out. you also pick up a small, pink vibrator to match his adorable build.

you meet him back in the bedroom, sitting straight like an obedient puppy.

"did you do anything while i was gone?" you ask, untying the cord holding the coiled rope together.

"nope, none." he says, proudly.

"good boy." the peachy blush spreads across his cheeks. i wonder if it'll be as pretty on his ass.

"okay, i'm gonna tie you to the chair, arms and ankles and you're going to be the goodiest boy for me when i play with the vibrator i'm gonna attach to your dick, is that okay, sweetheart?"

"yes, mommy. very okay actually..."

you walk behind him, kneeling down and tying his hands to the wooden post on both sides. you continue by also tying his ankles on to the corresponding posts.

you pick yourself up from the carpet, in awe of the art in front of you. who knew such a big man would look so little in front of you?

"you know, jeno, red suits you well." you climb onto his lap, sitting still with your arms wrapped around his neck.

"thank you, mommy." he smiles. the way his eyes curve into little moons make your stomach crazy.

your eyes travel from his lips, to his chest and down to the growing bulge below you. you bring your hand on top of the tent, palming it with applied pressure. you earn a groan from the pup, bucking up to fuck your hand faster like a slut. you slap his dick, which was followed by a hiss mixed with a high pitched whimper.

"baby boy, don't be doing things i don't allow you to do. you wouldn't want to be bent over and teased, would you?" you said lowly, your lips just inches away from his burning red ear.

"y-yes, i'm sorry mommy."

"is it feeling okay?" you whisper.

"mhm."

you decide to slide your hands inside his shorts and pull his delicates out of its cloth shell. it was very stiff, veins angry, needing to just cum all over your hand.

you spit on his dick, glancing up at him when it finally fell on the tip. he exhales the moment the warmth spread to the rest of the head. you get to work, your hand rubbing just the head, not even warming up to get faster. just straight up abusing his beautiful delicates.

the needy puppy buries his face in your neck, staining it with his warm pants. you feel his thighs squirm and twitch right under you.

"f-fuck, please spit on it more, please, mommy?" his hand lands on your thigh, squeezing it.

"since you asked so nicely." you kissed his forehead. you spit once more onto his throbbing dick. he throws his head back when you press the warm saliva on the tip. when you remove your thumb, precum begins to leak out his slit, coating the head with a thin white film.

"looks like you're gonna cum soon, darling."

"y-yeah, i'm really close." he manages to speak.

jeno's face had sweat dripping from his forehead down to his neck, the tips of his hair soaked. his chest contracting from the orgasm that's slowly building up. his dick, red and throbbing. it's honestly breathtaking, you could just choke him and ride him and mark his neck and his chest. that's for another time though.

you had other plans. you can't just let him cum easily. it's no fun. and jeno doesn't like that.

you take your hand off of his dick and reach for the pink vibe that sat on the carpet, waiting for you to use it. jeno snaps out of his dazed state and questions why you stopped. "u-um, is that a vibrator?"

"mhm." you turn the dial and the first setting looks and sounds promising.

you press it on one side of his dick. he jolts from the immense pleasure and moans loudly. he bites down on his lip, repressing the moans.

you notice the muffled sounds and decided to dial it up a little to further stimulate him. he's forced to moan like the little slut he is, enjoying the vibrations roaming around his dick. "i'm sorry love, but you can't hold your precious moans back, you wouldn't want to get punished now, would you?"

he heaves. "n-no, i'm good, i-i'm a good boy. please don't punish me." his hands switched from being wide open and balled into fist. his legs shaking from the sensation his orgasm brings.

you feel a warm and sticky fluid slowly coat your fingers. the tip was oozing with precum, oozing more than before and almost a pure white. "m-mommy...ah..."

"hm?"

"can i please cum now? please, please? i-i really need to," he hisses. "i really can't hold it back anymore~"

you imagine the messy and sweaty state he'd be in after he cums. his eyes rolled back, panting, sweat covering his sculpted chest and cum splattered all over his thighs and coating his now glossy dick. your daydreaming is interrupted when he begs once more. "mommy~ please! i need to cum now, please please please please."

you push your hand onto his neck, squeezing lightly to create a little tension. you lean towards him, looking down at his pleading eyes. "then cum. you're going to cum lots for me, aren't you?"

he nods, he hums, he "yes, yes! i promise, i will!" speaks.

you stimulate him further, jerking him off ass well. tears start rolling down his soft cheeks. his moans escalate a note each second until he reaches his high and you feel his warm cum explode all over your hand and wrist.

you look down in awe at the mess he's made, his cum still leaking out bit by bit. "what a messy little boy you are~" you giggle.

"you...y-you told me to make a mess."

"it's okay. i like it." you swatch some cum on your pointer finger and slid it inside his mouth. his puffy lips looked pretty resting on your finger.

"taste good?"

he hummed.

"i sure hope i get to taste you soon." he mumbles.

"why wait?"

his eyes glisten.

#yes this is way overdue #im so sorry #but i hope its still good #sub!jeno #sub!jeno smut #jeno smut #lee jeno smut #sub!nct #sub!nct dream #nct dream #nct #smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #dom!reader

[izzy-b-hands]

Mark the Date, Pt 2

Okay, so a part three will be in order, if only because more keeps happening!! These boys will be the death of me. 

Wanted to note their wedding colors as well; used this website to get to them because I needed to be as picky as possible and play with colors: https://coolors.co/. 

Specific hex codes are: F6E27F and A9B18F!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

He was sleeping hard enough that he only just registered the sound of knocking on the front door, and the persistent ringing of the doorbell.

He shot out of bed. “Snafu! Get up, he’s here!”

Snafu raised his head, one eye still closed. “Mhm? Who?”

“The tailor?”

The closed eye shot open, and he groaned. “Fuck. I haven’t showered, and I have to, I am disgusting.”

“I got this. You shower quick, I’ll let him in, get him sat down with some coffee, then when you come down, I run up here and shower,” Eugene said as he pulled on a T-shirt and the first pair of slacks he could find, a belt looped through whichever loops he could actually find as he rushed.

Snafu was out of bed and in the shower before he even made it out of the bedroom, half slipping down the stairs as he ran down them.

“Hi, Mr...” Eugene panted as he opened the door, and held a hand out to shake.

“Taylor,” the tailor replied tersely, a hand reaching up to smooth his already perfect grey hair, styled carefully to one side. “Our appointment was for seven sharp. It is now ten minutes past.”

“My apologies. We slept through our alarm clock,” Eugene replied, nervously pulling his hand back as Mr. Taylor walked past him and into the house like he owned it, his dress shoes clacking on the floor.

“Taylor. That’s a heck of a last name, considering...y’know,” Eugene tried again as Mr. Taylor settled himself in a chair in the sitting room, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his suit.

“So I’ve been told. Did the coffee sleep through its alarm as well?” Mr. Taylor asked, setting his leather bag by his feet.

“Of course not, give me just a moment,” Eugene replied. He didn’t remember this man for the life of him, and wondered how on earth his father knew him. Or why he’d want to spend time with someone so...strangely rude.

“Okay, your turn,” Snafu was behind him suddenly, skidding into the kitchen, his shirt buttoned incorrectly.

“I’ve got to take him his coffee first,” Eugene replied calmly, gesturing to the bag of coffee grounds he’d only just pulled from the cupboard.

“I can do it, you go,” Snafu said.

“Fix your shirt first,” Eugene laughed, and continued to make the coffee, watching as Snafu looked down, and sighed.

“Didn’t even notice. How is this guy anyway? Your dad said he’s...different.”

“Different is one way to put it. My mother would say rude, I think,” Eugene replied.

“Great,” Snafu muttered sarcastically as he finished rebuttoning his shirt and took over the coffee. “So I should be prepared to bite my tongue?”

“Think we’ll both be doin’ that,” Eugene said as he kissed his cheek and left to run to the shower.

It was a quick one, but any time away from their guest made him feel unsettled. What weird things might he be saying to Snafu? Had he gotten upset all together and just left, ready to call his father and condemn them both as terrible to work with?

He could hear Snafu and Mr. Taylor talking as he jogged back downstairs, his hair still slightly damp even though he’d done his best to dry it as much as possible.

The sight of them was more to take in. Snafu was standing in the sitting room half naked, looking mildly panicked with Mr. Taylor crouched between his spread legs with a tape measure, muttering to himself.

“Eugene! So glad you’re back! I promised Mr. Taylor here you wouldn’t be long,” Snafu was over-enunciating, as best he could with his accent, clearly looking to escape.

“And yet long he was,” Mr. Taylor remarked dryly as he stood up. “Off with your shirt. I take measurements from what you’re wearing, as well as of the body. Pants we’ll do after. And I presume you have swatch samples for me as well?”

Eugene tried to process everything as quickly as he could, but it was a struggle. “We...Mr. Taylor, can I be honest with you?”

“I should hope you would be, or we’d be wasting your time and mine,” Mr. Taylor replied as he jotted notes down in a notebook set on the coffee table, and motioned for Snafu to sit.

“We haven’t done anything like this, really. I mean, we’ve both been fitted for things, but not...wedding things. And this was meant to be an anniversary surprise, so I just found out about it yesterday,” Eugene laughed, hoping Mr. Taylor would as well.

He didn’t.

“Um. So I hope you can bear with us, during this appointment. For the things we don’t know, or don’t expect. Like the swatches, I don’t know if we-”

“We do have those,” Snafu interrupted. “Mary brought them to me a few days ago, at work. She’s a lifesaver.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Taylor replied. “Are you going to bring them to me, or shall I hunt for them myself?”

Snafu snapped up and ran out of the room like he was on fire, flashing Eugene a frightened glance as he left. 

“Mr. Taylor, if we’ve somehow offended you, then I am very sorry. And I know, we’re green at all of this and it must be irritating to deal with, and-” 

Mr. Taylor held up a hand to interrupt him, and motioned to one of the chairs. 

Eugene sat, and started to unbutton his shirt as Mr. Taylor motioned at the buttons. 

“Young man, the only irritating thing to me is that your father didn’t reach out sooner to me. By his own words, your husband had asked him to call me months ago, but he’d forgotten until your mother reminded him. That is why I am here at such an ungodly hour, so terribly close to your wedding, when really I should only need to come around for a last minute check of the fit by this point. Other tailors might do it differently, but by god I have my method and it works,” Mr. Taylor replied as he pulled a pipe from his bag, sorted it, and lit it. “You both deserve something fantastic, not last minute. So I’m going to do the best I can, but never fear, my best is incredibly good. Did my own wedding, actually. John and I were quite a picture together, if I do say so myself.” 

It took a moment to process, but once it clicked it hit like a hammer. “My father-” 

“Was one of the few people at my wedding,” Mr. Taylor interrupted. “Tried to get him to be a groomsman, but he feared he’d be called away by a patient and didn’t want to leave me hanging.” 

Eugene nodded as he pulled his shirt off, making a mental note to ask his father about Mr.Taylor later. 

Snafu jogged back into the room, and handed the swatches over without a word, sitting only when Mr. Taylor motioned him towards a chair. 

“Alright. I can work with this,” he said, looking over the yellow and green swatches. “A bit muted, but that’s sensible enough. After all, you’ve been married how long?” 

“Three years, in three more days,” Snafu replied quickly, a hand reaching out for Eugene’s. 

Mr. Taylor only smiled as he set the swatches aside, set his pipe on the coffee table, and stood. “Up with you, Eugene. I’ve already humiliated Merriell with the process, your turn now.” 

It was humiliating, if only because Mr. Taylor was rather rough. He moved limbs and prodded and measured as if he was measuring furniture, not a person. But he seemed to relax as they finished and sat again, watching them both with softened eyes. 

“So. I don’t mean to pry, but I do love weddings. How’s the rest of it going?” 

“Sn-Merriell’s done the majority of the planning,” Eugene replied. “But it seems, well.” 

Snafu nodded, his hand having returned to Eugene’s as soon as he was sat back down beside him. “Got decorations and all that ready for the backyard, comin’ in a few days. Gonna finish the gazebo later today, hopefully.” 

Mr. Taylor nodded. “And vows?” 

Snafu turned to Eugene, and shrugged. “Um. The usual ones, I suppose.” 

“Oh boys, that won’t do,” Mr. Taylor tsked. “You mean to tell me neither of you has even tried writing your own vows?” 

“I’d like to stress I’ve only known about this for half a day, so,” Eugene interjected. He hadn’t even considered vows. 

“Maybe so,” Mr. Taylor replied. “But I’d bet you’ve thought about all the ways you love him and would want to tell him over and over again, in a thousand different words.” 

Eugene nodded and squeezed Snafu’s hand. “That’s true.” 

“Then there are your vows!” Mr. Taylor chirped. “Just narrow it down to a few big statements, keep it clean for the family, and for god’s sake do not set it to music. The ones that do are almost always the ones who shouldn’t; that’s not me trying to insult either of you, I’m just being honest.” 

Snafu giggled, and the tension broke a bit more. 

“Are you that type? Romeo with a lute, underneath Mercutio’s window?” Mr. Taylor giggled right back. 

“Nah, nah. Unless he asked me,” Snafu replied. 

“You’d write a song for me if I asked you?” Eugene smiled. The thought was an interesting one. Snafu didn’t have a bad voice, but he pondered what he’d write. 

“Do a lot of things for you if you asked me, darlin’,” Snafu said. 

Mr. Taylor squealed, and they both jumped. 

“You two are so sweet; I cannot handle it,” he continued. “It’ll be close, but I promise I will have everything done by the morning of the wedding. I’ll come by, make sure you’re all fitted right, then-” 

“Stay?” Eugene asked. “I mean, if you don’t have other work to attend to. We’d love to have you as a guest at the wedding.” 

Mr. Taylor was glowing. “And I would be honored to be there. That’s the plan then! I can’t wait!” 

He’d gone from the rudest stranger Eugene had ever hated having in the house, to someone he wanted to invite to stay for dinner (if nothing else, he pondered what stories of his father he might have.) But he left after a few more bits of conversation about the colors and pocket squares and bow ties, and the house seemed alarmingly empty then. 

“Vows...” Snafu murmured as he meandered outside, stripping off his shirt as he retrieved his toolbox from its place by the back door. 

“Are we allowed to show them to each other, you think? Once we’ve got them all written, I mean,” Eugene asked as he followed him outside. 

Snafu shrugged. “Probably not, but I don’t see why we couldn’t. Gotta make sure you include a passage about how amazing my cock is.” 

“You remember he said to keep it clean?” 

Snafu shrugged again. “Can have clean or honest, not both.” 

“I think I can manage both,” Eugene chuckled. “You really wanna talk about my cock while my parents are sitting there, watching us?” 

“Good point,” Snafu replied as he started to work. “You go on in, ‘fore the sun comes up high and burns ya. You can get to writin’ your vows and I’ll start back up on this. Hope Sid gets here soon.” 

“I’m sure he won’t be long,” Eugene said. “Be careful, okay? Call for me if you need help before he gets here. Can’t marry you if you’re in the hospital.” 

“You would anyway,” Snafu smiled. “Bet I coulda proposed in a foxhole, and you would have said yes. Not sure who coulda married us...” 

His smile fell a bit. “Maybe Ack Ack. Think he would have come, if we’d invited him to this and he was...” 

Eugene nodded, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. “Yeah. I think he would have.” 

Snafu nodded quickly, and Eugene left him to it. He didn’t need to look to know Snafu was fighting off that same urge, to sit and dwell on the thought of all the people they wanted to invite, but couldn’t. The full set of groomsmen they could have had, loud and boisterous and happy to celebrate with them. 

He did his best to move those thoughts to the side as he sat down in the study with a pen and paper. Vows couldn’t be that hard. He told Snafu how much and why he loved him all the time. All he had to do was write that out. Easy as pie. Hell, by the time Snafu and Sid were back inside for the night, he could have them done, and by god, he would! This was the one part of wedding planning that would be simple.

#text post #LeeH writes #Sledgefu #god this part took forever to write I'm so sorry y'all #now I gotta get part three done #like don't get me wrong I'm still having fun its just like #I'm sort of half actually planning a wedding to do this fic w/out actually having to book anything thank fuck #but also I'm not married so I gotta look shit up about that #then look up historical shit cuz I want to at least be on the edge of accuracy if I can #so this one is fun but More Than I Anticipated

[lizacstuff]

This is a @cssecretsanta2k18 gift for @edgeofrealms  It was such a joy getting to be your CS Secret Santa and I’m so sorry this is so late. Shall we call it a New Year’s gift? This little fic was inspired by our conversations. You said you liked fluff and you said:

“I wish we couldve seen more of their life post- the final battle. like emmas pregnancy and how they adjusted to being married.”

So that’s what this is, I hope you enjoy!

Title: Making More than Pancakes

Summary: Emma’s pregnant and a wee bit cranky, Killian’s bent on reading pregnancy books and feeding her nutritious food and the Charmings have decided it’s time to decorate the nursery. Set post 7x02, a heartwarming look at a day in the life of Captain Swan while they’re expecting.

Fanfiction.net     AO3

xxx

Emma looked down at her breakfast and sighed.  She loved her husband, she really did, but she did not love pasteurized Greek yogurt with vegan, gluten-free, protein-rich granola for breakfast.  At least there were some berries on top. Where did one even get organic, vegan, gluten-free, protein-rich granola in Storybrooke?

She looked over to where he was bustling around the kitchen wearing a ‘Pirates have more fun’ apron that a then 16-year-old Henry had thought a hilarious Christmas gift. “Did you cross the town line to get this?” she pointed to the bowl on the table in front of her.

His eyes lit up, clearly delighted with himself. “Aye.”

“Why?”

“The market in town has insufficient selection. I read-”

“Oh boy,” Emma interrupted and put down her spoon. “I’m going to take the internet away from you.”

His eyes widened in horror at the thought. “The computer contains much useful information on your current state, Swan. You and the baby need calcium and protein and nutrients and-”

“They have granola at the market here in town,” Emma pointed out practically, before adding, “And you don’t have to drive an hour to get it.”

Killian shook his head. “The brand at the local market is full of sugar and very few nutrients comparatively.”

“Why does it need to be vegan if you’re putting it over yogurt anyway?” Emma asked practically.

“It doesn’t, but this brand was rated the most nutritious in a variety of categories.”

She looked at him with the sweetest smile she could muster. “You could make me a pancake instead.”

His smile in return was affectionate, but he shook his head.

“Why?” Emma whined.

“Because they are nutrient free and last time you put chocolate chips and whip cream on them. Empty calories. Pancakes are for special occasions. A treat.”

“It’s Saturday, Saturday should be a special occasion.” Emma replied with a note of irritation in her voice. Then she motioned to her husband, “If you won’t make me pancakes, then why are you wearing that apron? All you did was put yogurt in a bowl.”

Emma had been showing flashes of annoyance as the pregnancy progressed, however he’d read several pregnancy books and they informed him this was normal, having something to do with hormones. With a smile, Killian moved towards her until he could lean around and drop a kiss on her forehead. “I’m wearing it because it reminds me of our lad.”

“Oh.” Emma’s frustration crumbled and she felt her heart squeeze at the mention of her son. Their son. She missed him fiercely. “I miss him, too.”

“I’m sure we’ll see him soon,” Killian said with more conviction than he felt.

“You know what would help with the missing?” Emma asked with a bit of a sniffle.

“What, love?” Killian asked with twin notes of curiosity and eagerness.  

“Hot chocolate.” Emma supplied hopefully.

Killian leaned back against the stove and cocked an eyebrow at her, but before he could respond, the front door banged open.

With a start, they instantly found the source of the intrusion. Storybrooke might have been quiet these last few years, but they were still both in a state of constant readiness.

Emma sighed with relief and a bit of exasperation. “Mom, we’ve talked about knocking.”

“Pfft, you’re almost nine months pregnant, what would there be to walk in on?” Snow chuckled, as she made her way into the living room, carrying a large laundry basket filled to the brim.

Emma gave her a pointed look that was supposed to convey that her mother was wrong, but internally she winced. It had been awhile since there’d been anything to interrupt.  

“I’m sorry it’s so early, but we dropped Neal at soccer practice and since he has a play date afterwards with one of his teammates, we actually have some free time this morning.”

“What’s all this?” Killian asked as he wandered towards the couch and peered into the basket now sitting on the coffee table.

“Swatches, paint samples,” Snow explained eagerly, before adding, “It’s time to make some decisions on the nursery.”

“Killian and I were thinking we’d wait until the baby comes, since we don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl.”

“Nonsense,” Snow waved that idea away with her hand. “You don’t want to bring a baby home to an unfinished nursey, trust me you will not have the energy to decorate after the baby is born. There are plenty of wonderful options that are gender neutral. Besides, who ever heard of a color having a gender anyway? Personally, I like this one,” she pulled out a card with bright, sunshine yellow paint on it and brought it over for Emma to inspect.

Emma turned the card over in her hand. “It’s a bit much.”

“Yellow is a happy color,” Snow replied brightly.

“I did read that on the computer,” Killian agreed. “There was a study of children and the color of their living quarters, children in yellow rooms were happiest.”  

“Yeah, but our infant will need sunglasses in order to sleep and I don’t know where we’d find ones that tiny,” Emma retorted sardonically.

“Well how about this?” Snow pulled another paint chip from her bag, this time a deep turquois.

“We agreed that we were going to offer to help, not force our taste on them.” A voice from the door sounded.

“Dad,” Emma smiled at the welcome sight of her father and started the arduous process of pushing herself up from the table.

Her father gestured for her to stay put, instead he walked over and dropped a kiss on her head and then looked to Killian, “Nice apron.”

“An old gift from Henry.” Killian replied without a trace of self-consciousness.

David paused for a beat and then nodded, a sign he understood the impetus behind Killian wearing the apron. Then he clapped his hands together. “I hear you have a crib that needs to be built, lead me to it.”

Killian glanced to Emma with a raised eyebrow. “You called your father? I thought you wanted to help me assemble it?”

“I did, but that was before I got so uncomfortable that I can’t even sit on the floor. Dad and I assembled Neal’s, so he knows what to do.”

Killian didn’t show either emotion, but he was both relieved and disappointed. In the last trimester of her pregnancy, Emma had exhibited less patience than usual. With David, he would make quicker work of the crib than he would with Emma, but it had been something he was looking forward to doing with his wife.  There was also the fact he was exhausted and had been planning to go back to bed after breakfast. It had been a late night, or rather early morning, of sheriff duty and he’d gotten less than two hours of sleep… but perhaps working without sleep would be good practice for when the baby came.  Resigned to his fate, he looked to his father-in-law. “The boxes are in the nursery, as are an assortment of gadgets and tools, do we require anything else to complete the task?”

“A cold beverage?” David suggested with a grin.

“Beer?” Killian asked with surprise. Over the years, the two had spent a lot of leisure time together and Killian knew that when David referred to a cold beverage he meant beer.

“Sounds great.”

“David!” Snow admonished with a scandalized expression. “It’s not even 9am.”

David shrugged, but relented and pointed to the coffee pot. “Then I suppose a bit more caffeine wouldn’t hurt.”

Killian poured them both cups, and then offered to pour one for Snow who declined saying she’d help herself.  The expectant father started to follow David, but then turned back to his mother-in-law and said, “See that she eats her breakfast,” before disappearing up the stairs.

“Covering it in chocolate syrup is the only way you’re getting me to eat this.” Emma retorted softly enough that she knew Killian wouldn’t hear.

“Is it so awful?” Snow asked as she surveyed her daughter’s half-eaten bowl of yogurt and granola.

“No, it’s not bad, it’s just not pancakes… or waffles… or French toast… or a bear claw.”

“Ah… has he at least stopped offering fish for breakfast?”

Emma gave a huff of a laugh, “We broke him of that habit years ago, but, yes, now he only eats fish for non-breakfast meals. However, these days he’s being very careful about what fish he serves, you see apparently some fish is recommended as part of a diet for pregnant women, but you have to be careful about mercury. He’s an expert. All I know is once a week we have salmon for dinner… usually served with broccoli and spinach.”

“Well it’s not a bad thing that one of you is worried about nutrition.” Snow said as she walked to the coffee table to retrieve her laundry basket full of items. Once she’d heaved it on the kitchen table, she poured herself a cup of coffee.

Emma felt herself prickle at her mother’s comment, but instead of saying anything about it sighed, “I miss coffee.”

“I’m sure Killian would make you some decaffeinated,” Snow replied perkily.

Emma refrained from rolling her eyes, but she felt like it. “Not the same.”

“Well you’ll be able to have coffee soon enough.”

“Sure, after another six months to a year of breastfeeding.”

Snow looked at her daughter with concern. “Everything okay?”

At that, Emma looked up, “Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t it be?” Wanting to change the subject, she pushed herself up from her chair so she could take her breakfast dishes to the sink and on her way back motioned to her mother’s basket.  “Show me what you brought.”

Excitedly, Snow removed paint chips and fabric swatches and starting laying them out on the table.  

Emma looked down at the abundance of color in front of her. The paint chips made a vivid rainbow against the wood of the table. Then her eyes traveled to the fabric swatches. There was a swatch with ducks, one with whales, and one with frogs. Other samples had themes ranging from clowns to sail boats to the moon and the stars, some had the same patterns, but in different colors. Overwhelmed Emma plopped back down in her seat.

Snow sat down next to her and started explaining the colors, the differences in tone and hue, which were complimentary, which would work with the fabric.  When she finally stopped talking to take a breath, she glanced expectantly to Emma who in turn was looking a little dazed.

“Emma,” Snow nudged her gently, “What do you think?”

“What do I think? I don’t know.  I don’t know what to think. Other than… how am I going to be a good mother?  I don’t eat right and I can’t even pick a color for the nursery!” Emma replied, startling even herself.  Instantly she felt a hot sting behind her eyes.  She sat for a moment willing herself not to cry, she did not succeed.

“Oh honey,” Snow said as she searched for a tissue. Finding a napkin, she handed it to Emma before reaching over and rubbing a comforting circle on Emma’s back. “Where is this coming from? You’re already a wonderful mother.”

Emma just looked at her and blew her nose.  

Snow knew what she was thinking, and a bit how she felt. Henry had been an adolescent when Emma came into his life, mothering an infant was different.  “You’ll be great with an infant; you were great with your brother when he was a baby.”

“Babysitting is not the same… also there was a time when you wouldn’t even let me hold my brother.”

Snow grimaced guiltily at the memory. “Oh Emma, you’re not letting that bother you, are you? Those were very special circumstances for a few days while you were having trouble controlling your powers. You’re perfectly in control of them now; it’s no longer a concern at all.”

Emma shrugged as she let her gaze drift down to her stomach. “Maybe, but this little one is going to depend on me for everything. There’s so much more responsibility with a baby.”

Snow looked at her incredulously before saying, “The Savior, who had the weight of the world, the weight of everyone’s happy endings on her shoulders, and won, isn’t responsible enough to care for a baby? Hogwash.”

Emma snorted at her mother’s colorful language. She hadn’t thought about it like that, she had shouldered a lot of responsibility in the not so distant past. Even if it wasn’t the same. She’d never asked to be the Savior; she’d just done what was necessary when thrust into the role. However, she had asked to be a parent; she’d tried to get pregnant for a very long time, and now that the time was almost here, she was afraid she wouldn’t be up to the task.  

“I don’t know. There’s so much to think about… you said it yourself.” Emma sounded a bit defensive as she mimicked her mother’s words from a few minutes earlier. “‘It’s not a bad thing that one of you is worried about nutrition.’ See, I can’t even be trusted with what I eat.”

Snow shook her head, but replied gently, “Are you kidding? Emma, you are eating healthier than 90% of pregnant women I’ve ever seen.”

“But that’s just because Killian has been doing the shopping and the meal prep, if it was left to me; I’d be eating onion rings and pancakes.”

“Then have a pancake. You deserve it.  Killian might be going a little bit overboard with the nutritious eating, but it is good that one of you is worrying about it. You balance each other out, and you will continue to balance each other out as parents.”

Emma sat back and thought about that.  Maybe that was true, maybe they did balance each other, he shored up her shortcomings and vice versa.

While Emma was pondering that, Snow’s mind went in a very different direction. After a minute, she swallowed roughly and said a truth that none of them confronted very often. “Emma, one thing we know for sure, your baby is going to have a much better mother than you had.”

Emma looked up quickly and met her mother’s eyes. “Mom, don’t say that.”

“No, it’s true; we both know it’s true.  I think you know how much I wish things had been different, but I wasn’t there, but you will be. That is the most important thing. Being there.”

Emma bit her lip, and then in a rough voice, said, “I do worry about that, about something going wrong again. I know I won’t have to make a decision like the one I made with Henry, but I do worry about something happening outside our control…”

Snow brought her hand to her daughter’s belly. “You will be there for every moment with this precious gift, and I promise you, your father and I, and Killian, of course, will do everything in our power to make sure nothing separates the two of you. If Henry or Regina happen to stir up more trouble while they are off adventuring, and goodness knows what Rumple is up to, then we’ll deal with it as a family, but there will be no separating of babies from their mothers.” Snow’s eyes were full of unshed tears, but she smiled brightly, “I decree it as Queen. And President of the Storybrooke Town Council.”

“Then it is done,” Emma replied with a laugh and reached over and gave her mother a hug. It was silly, there was no kingdom in Storybrooke, but her mother’s words gave her comfort.  Unlike when she was pregnant with Henry, she was surrounded by people who loved her, supported her, and would help her keep this child safe.

“You know what?” Emma asked with a sniff as she turned back to the table. “Maybe I can pick a color. The yellow is growing on me, if kids with yellow walls are happier then why not… but not that bright yellow you showed me before, is there something a bit softer?”

“How about this one?” Snow fingered through the pile until she found the one she was looking for. She handed the card of pale, buttery yellow to Emma.  

Emma held out the chip in front of her and tried picturing the room they’d designated as the nursery painted in the warm color.  Yes, this could work, cheery, but not overwhelming.

“It’s called duckling yellow.”

Emma smiled, that sealed it. “Perfect.”

Xxx

“You’ve resorted to force-feeding your wife, huh?”

Killian looked up at David from where he sat on the floor looking at the directions that came with the crib. “Force-feeding? I’m doing no such thing. I’m providing plenty of nutritious sustenance for Emma and our unborn child.”

“Right, well, I found when Snow was pregnant that she had cravings and it was best to let her have whatever she wanted.”

“Of course, I want Emma to have her heart’s desire, but if left to her own culinary devices all these years, she and Henry would have subsisted on a diet of pop tarts and items that are breaded and fried.” Killian frowned disdainfully.  “It’s even more important now that Emma is with child that she is supplied with an abundance of healthy food.”

“You might slip in a hot dog now and then, is all I’m saying, to keep her happy and sane.”

Killian looked at him in horror. “I will have you know that processed meats are not recommended for pregnant women.”

David looked at him, actually impressed. “You have studied up.”

“The internet has been most enlightening and I’ve read several books.”

David nodded as he organized the assortment of screws that came with the crib, and then cleared his throat before stuttering, “Um… I… have something… but… uh… I don’t want to offend you…”

That stopped Killian and he looked up from the crib directions he’d been reading.  “That’s an ominous beginning.”

David shrugged before launching into an explanation.  “Recently, I was throwing the ball with Wilby and it sparked an idea. I ordered some things and played around with them in the barn. Long story short, I made you something that might come in handy, but I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you around my grandchild.”

“Ever more ominous,” Killian knit his brows together, but said nothing more.  He had his own trepidations about what kind of father he would be, he wasn’t sure he was ready to listen to Emma’s father list his inadequacies, especially if it had to do with him not being fit to be around his own child.

David reached in his pocket and pulled out a small rounded object that appeared to be made of some sort of rubber.  He handed it to Killian.

Killian turned it over in his good hand, “What is it?”

“It was a rubber ball, I cut open a bunch of them trying to find one with the right consistency, and then I shaped it and cut it down to size.  It’s to blunt the sharp end of your hook while you’re holding the baby. Honestly, I thought it might give you confidence and comfort, especially when you have a newborn. I know I was nervous about holding my kids as infants and I don’t have a sharp appendage.”

Killian studied it and saw that there was a slit on the flat end of the object. He squinted in concentration as he brought it to his hook and slid it on.  He turned it one way and then the next surveying the bulbous pink object and then tried it out several times by knocking it on the hard wood floor. His hook bounced off the surface, damaging neither the floor nor the ball.

David pointed to his handwork, “See I put tiny reinforcements in the slit so that the hook wouldn’t slice through the softer material.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Killian said feeling quite gratified.  “This is… this is great. I… I, it would be a lie to say that I haven’t been apprehensive about it, I thought I’d switch to the false hand I wear when I need disguise, but I’m more comfortable in the hook, so… I… thank you.”

Pleased that his gift had been taken in the spirit it had been intended, David nodded and said, “You’re welcome. One less thing for you to worry about and now that I’ve figured it out; I can easily make another if you need it. Let me know.”

“I appreciate that.” Killian said before gulping. A moment later he added, “You’re right, these days… a lot of things cause me worry.”

David looked at him quizzically; it wasn’t very often that his son-in-law opened up to him. “Well that’s very natural at this stage of the game. Every expectant father who is only weeks away is worried.”

Killian nodded, but then added, “Not every expectant father has my history. It’s not… well, you know better than anyone, I don’t have a great history with fathers.”

David took a deep breath and then shook his head. “Killian, that’s all behind you and you’re not going to make the mistakes our fathers made and you’re not going to go back to being the person you were. You have experienced more than most people would over several life times and it has brought you to a place where you are not only a changed man, but a wise man.” David them slapped his son-in-law on the back. “Plus I know you are going to be a great father, look you’re sitting there in a silly apron just because Henry gave it to you. You’re already a great father, and you’re a great husband. And if you’ve convinced me that you’re good enough for my baby girl, you know it’s true.”

Killian swallowed roughly, met the other man’s gaze, and gave him a nod of acknowledgement.  Then a grin stole over his face as he held up his hook. “This is a fetching pink color; you must think we’re having a girl.”

“Actually, the ball that had the right density just happened to be that color.  It’s just a plus that you get to walk around with a pink accessory.”

“As with my apron, I will wear it with pride.” Killian said and he meant it.

Xxx

The crib assembly took longer than anticipated, but eventually was complete.  Snow left hours earlier only to return with Neal, so it wasn’t until early afternoon that Killian and Emma finally found themselves alone.

By mutual agreement, they headed to the bedroom… to sleep.

xxx

With a slightly suspicious smile and a mischievous gleam in his eye, Killian moved silently across the kitchen, until he sidled up behind his wife, simultaneously sliding his hook arm around her midsection and pressing a kiss just below her ear.

“Hi.” Emma relaxed back into him, still keeping an eye on the stove.

“Hi, my naughty wife,” Killian murmured into her ear, pressing his nose to her temple and taking in her scent.

“Naughty? I don’t remember doing anything naughty recently; did I miss something during our nap?” Emma sighed and closed her eyes, briefly enjoying his embrace, before getting back to business and flipping a pancake with practiced finesse.

“Love, you know why you’re naughty, you shouldn’t be exerting yourself in this manner. It’s my job to feed you while you’re eating for two. If you were hungry, why didn’t you wake me so I could prepare dinner?” With his free hand he rubbed the shoulder over which he was not leaning.

Emma gave a quick shake of her head. “Because you were resting. You barely slept last night, between me tossing and turning and then you having to go out on that 2am drunk and disorderly – we really need to do something about the dwarfs,” she flipped another pancake with her right hand as her left came to caress the hook that was resting gently on her belly. “You should have slept in this morning, but instead you got up to make me breakfast, which was unnecessary by the way, and then my parents showed up. I wanted to let you sleep, and besides I’m not an invalid, I can make pancakes, and you won’t make me pancakes,” Emma said the last part with a note of defiance. She set the skillet on an unused burner and turned off the stove. “However, if you want to get naughty that can be arranged,” her voice was seductive as she turned in one fluid motion and searched for Killian’s mouth with hers, intending to deliver a searing kiss.

Or at least that had been the plan. However, as soon as she turned, her swollen stomach hit Killian’s midsection knocking him back so forcefully that his feet tangled and he fell back, his behind hitting the tile of the kitchen floor.

Killian chuckled good-naturedly as he reached to steady himself on the floor, but Emma burst into tears.

His laugh died instantly on his lips, and his heart dropped at the sound. He scrambled to his feet and in an instant was wrapping his arms around her from the side, pulling her to him. “Love, please don’t cry, what’s wrong?” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m huge,” she sniffled after a minute, “And not sexy, and probably couldn’t get naughty even if you wanted me.”

He squeezed her gently, “Love, you are 36 weeks pregnant with our child which is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and not a moment has gone by since the day we met that I haven’t wanted you.”

“You’re just saying that,” she sniffed.

Killian let go of her only long enough to reach over to the kitchen counter and grab a tissue. Tenderly he dabbed her wet cheeks. “I promise you I’m not and I’ll happily prove it to you if you doubt my veracity, but for right now why don’t we get you off of your feet and I’ll finish… dinner.” With his chin, he nudged her cheek towards the kitchen table.

Instead of moving to disentangle with him, she relaxed more into his embrace.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me… that’s the second time I teared up today.”

“The second?” Killian asked with concern, “When was the first?”

“With my mom, it was silly… just feeling a little overwhelmed with fabric and paint choices.”

Killian leaned back slightly so he could see her face. “Darling, it’s totally natural. According to the pregnancy book your hormone levels are changing and many women find that they cry more easily during pregnancy.”

“I haven’t finished the pregnancy book.” Emma admitted.

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “That’s all right because, I have.”

That made Emma smile. Her mom was right; they did balance each other out.  

“I suppose you’re going to throw those out,” she looked longingly at the pancakes on the stove, “and instead feed me a skinless, organic, free-range chicken breast over a bed of quinoa with steamed carrots and green beans.”

“Of course not, Swan. If you want pancakes, pancakes you shall have.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He kissed her temple. “Emma, I want to take care of you. I want you to have everything you and the baby need. Perhaps I went overboard with the healthy eating.  I want you and our baby to be happy and if pancakes make you happy, so be it.”

Instead of moving to sit down, Emma turned her face and pressed her forehead to his. “Thank you, I love…”

With an expectant grin, he leaned back and waited for the end of her declaration.

“…pancakes,” she finished with faux earnestness.

Killian chuckled, guided her to her chair at the kitchen table, and then bustled around getting plates utensils, butter, and syrup. He even sprinkled chocolate chips over the inviting mound of pancakes on her plate. Emma looked ecstatic.

As she dug in to the feast, Killian sat across from her and said, “I had a talk with your father this morning. He encouraged me to relax a bit on the healthy eating.”

Emma swallowed a mouthful of the delicious food and admitted. “And my mom encouraged me to appreciate how you balance out my tendencies towards junk food.” Emma held out her glass full of orange juice to Killian as if to offer a toast. “Here’s to balance.”

“To balance,” Killian clinked his glass against hers. “Speaking of your parents’ wisdom…” He leaned back in order to rummaged around in his pocket, before pulling out his new pink, hook protector. “Your father gifted me with this.”

“What is it?” Emma asked curiously.

Killian placed it on his hook and then brought it to tap against the table, “It’s to protect the cygnet.”

Emma shook her head, “Our baby doesn’t need protecting from you.”

Killian thought about that for a second, he certainly hoped that truer words had never been spoken. “No, never, but your father’s instinct was right, I’ll feel more confident holding our infant, changing diapers, feeding, if I’m wearing it.”

“Okay, whatever makes you more comfortable is good, because you are going to change a lot of diapers. I mean… a lot… mountains upon mountains of very, dirty diapers.”

“As you command, Captain,” Killian replied unfazed.

Emma smiled brightly at him and then remembered what else she talked to her mother about that morning. “Oh, hey, after I stopped crying, I actually did find a color for the nursery.”

“Aye?” he cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

She nodded, “If you agree, of course.” Then she pushed back her chair, grabbed the paint sample from the counter and came around the table. Killian was a little surprised when he realized her intent to sit on his lap, but he dutifully pushed back his chair from the table to give her room. She plopped down, put one arm around his neck, and showed him the swatch by setting it on her pregnant belly. “It’s called Duckling Yellow, it’s not nearly as intense as that first yellow mom showed us, but it’s cheery like you said, and warm, and it would go with a lot of other colors and-”

“It’s perfect.” Killian interrupted.

“Are you sure, I don’t want to make the decision without you.”

“You’re not, I love it.”

She pressed a kiss to the apple of his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re the father of my child.”

He crooked his neck back in order to get a better look at her.  “Well, Swan, we’ve been married for five years so I hope there’s no question about that…”

She laughed but shook her head. “No, I mean it. I know I’ve been a bit… cranky lately.”

“My, love, you are growing our human inside of you, you may be as cranky as you wish.”

Emma smiled and kissed him again. “That’s why I’m so grateful.”

“You’re grateful you’re cranky?”

“No,” she nodded as one hand caressed the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m grateful I have a partner who doesn’t care that I’m cranky and who wants to be there with me every step of the way, and who reads pregnancy books and goes to a lot of effort to feed me healthy foods. The last time I did this, I was terrified, alone and in a cell.  Now I have the most wonderful man in the world getting up in the morning after two hours of sleep just so he can make me a healthy breakfast. It’s… it’s wonderful and I appreciate it. I want you to know that.”

He leaned in and stole a kiss. “Well, Swan, I’m glad that you’re the mother of my child. We’re in this together.”

Emma beamed at him, brimming with happiness. They were in it together.

“But…” Killian’s face contorted into an exaggerated wince.

“But what?” Emma asked with concern.

“Darling, you have to get up my left leg is going to sleep.”

Emma pouted as she stood. “See, I’m huge, I knew it.”

“Nah, I just needed you to stand so I could do this.” Killian abruptly stood and then in one fluid movement, he easily picked her up– one arm behind her back the other under her knees– and headed towards the stairs, intent on a bit of naughty time. Emma shrieked and giggled the entire way to their bedroom.

The End.

#captain swan #cs ff #csss 2018 #cs secret santa #cssecretsanta2k18 #emma swan #killian jones #cs fanfiction #making more than pancakes #my fic

[realmonstersrp]

❛ i exist too much, i feel too much,  think too much. reality is crushing the life out of me

INTRODUCING RYU HANBYUL, OUR NEWEST STUDENT WITH THE POWER OF TELEPATHY.

WELCOME TO GUMI INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL FOR THE POWERED.

WHO ARE THEY?

PERSONALITY

(+) kind, captivating, earnest (–) overtrusting, insecure, clumsy

BACKGROUND

i.

here is a boy swatched in gold- the world at his fingertips.

ii.

ryu hanbyul is born in the dead of winter: a frail little thing, two months too early, but with a surprisingly strong set of lungs to make up for any future health complications he might end up with. he comes out kicking and screaming, red in the face, and it makes his father’s lips flatten in displeasure before his features smooth into an impassive gaze. despite being a wailer in the beginning, he’s quite the docile boy. perhaps a little too soft and lacking the proper bite needed to survive in a world like this, but he doesn’t consider it to be problem. that is, until he realizes that he’s destined to become the heir to a corporation he could care less about instead of his darling older sister. it doesn’t make any sense to him. she handles everything with far more grace than he ever could, like she was meant for it. her back held taut and eyes looking straight ahead- his own, slouched and looking anywhere but here.

his father’s expectations weigh on him far too heavily to even try to refute it. his critical eyes pinprick the back of hanbyul’s neck as he sits down with private tutors, trudges through the arduous piano lessons, and reads about a culture steeped in tradition. in summary, he learns how to be the perfect son and more.

it’s overwhelming and exhausting, but he should be happy because he has everything he could possibly want.

( what he truly wants is to be able to live his own life, and that’s the only thing his father can’t give him. )

iii.

the minute he rolls out of bed, something feels off. a low buzz sits at the base of his skull, and everything sounds muted. his mouth is dry and he aches all over, but he chalks it up to the onset of a cold, or maybe a mild flu, and doesn’t think that anything is amiss until he takes a step inside of school. almost immediately, it’s like he has been hit by the invisible force of a freight train. or at least, his head has. it’s the sort of agonizing, splitting pain one would associate with a migraine, and it comes literally out of nowhere. a swarm of thoughts begin to rattle inside his head, each one louder than the last.

he must look like an idiot standing in the middle of the hallway, a total deer in the headlights, so he all but hurries to the nearest bathroom stall to lock himself in and tries to fight the urge to vomit. the headache dulls into a bearable throb. the thoughts that aren’t his lessen, no longer fighting for his attention.

with shaky hands he takes out his phone to tap a quick message to his noona: something’s wrong with me. help.

in the heat of the moment, it’s inconsequential that he doesn’t know where exactly he stands with his older sister at times. there was no one else in the world he would go running first to other than her.

iv.

they become best friends through sheer force and hanbyul’s dogged persistence. he hasn’t quite managed to find the right frequency for tuning out other people’s thoughts completely. especially when they get too loud. so he ambles up to the other boy with a crooked grin ( the real one, not the practiced one ) and says, “hey! you’re trying out for the soccer team, right? let’s practice together.”

he doesn’t expect it to fall apart so quickly. hell, he didn’t expect for it to fall apart at all.

the thing is, he’s not even mad about it. who would be, when your best friend saves your life? his extended stay at the hospital is just a small blemish- because his heart is still beating and that is a miracle in itself. the doctors tell him that he’s lucky, and he’s got the scars to prove it. thin fractals of puckered pink flesh that go out and fade into tendrils.

so it kind of hurts that he never bothers to visit and laugh at the dumb jokes he cracks that the nurses can only smile politely at as they fluff his pillow. it’s not the same.

he can do the practiced smiles, the manners fit for a prince, the words that run smoothly off his tongue. but pretending not to care, he thinks, is someting he’ll never manage to perfect.

v.

home is where he’s hanging precariously on a precipice and doesn’t know how to let go. compared to home, gumi is a breath of fresh air he didn’t know he desperately needed. hanbyul is a natural disaster in the making, barely contained at the edges.

sure, he doesn’t get to study what he wants. he still attends business meetings with his father and has to hide how bored he is at all of it. but when he doesn’t make it into his father’s desired legacy, all the man does is sigh and shake his head. the disappointment in his voice is palpable when hanbyul finally works up the courage to tell him.

maybe falling will be easier than expected. all he needs to do is take the plunge.

WHAT CAN THEY DO?

TELEPATHY is the ability to mentally receive and transmit information. it involves being able to read, communicate with, or manipulate one’s thoughts.

— through mind reading, he can predict his opponent’s attacks before they even have a chance to occur. during this time frame, he is able to react quickly and put his team and himself out of harm’s way. this allows him to always be five steps ahead of everyone else and is useful as a strategist.

— he is able to implant false thoughts inside a person’s head. they must comply with his demands or what he asks for as long as it is simple and straight to the point. once done, the person will shake out of their stupor and realize that the impulsive thought was not done out of their own free will.

— although his power is primarily a defensive one, he is able to project psionic bolts of energy to overload a person’s mind. this does not cause any physical damage, but rather mental, knocking them unconscious.

WEAKNESSES —

— the thoughts of other people are always constant; as a result, his power does not work well in large crowds because he can easily get overwhelmed by being overridden with too much information. while he is able to tune out most people’s thoughts, it becomes increasingly difficult when there are a large amount of people near his vicinity.

— he needs to be within 25 feet of another person in order to use his power on them. subsequently, while he is able to filter through several peoples’ thoughts at once, he can only focus on one person at a time if he wants to manipulate their mind specifically, whether it is through illusions or another one of his tricks. because this requires concentration, he leaves his own body vulnerable to attack.

— more passive applications of his power can be used for longer without any obvious strain, but the ones that require his imagination or projections can only be done for up to three hours before fatigue sets in.

— those with physic shield or immunity are impervious to his power. likewise, mindless beings such as monsters do not have thoughts that can be read, and can only be subjected to the more offensive aspect of his power. as of now, he is only able to use his telepathy on other humans.

DID YOU KNOW?

looks like a total idiot, but is actually in the top of all his classes.

#rmaccepted #alpha #hwiyoung

[expectyaytions]

Can you do #49 and #51 for SweetVee? Preferably in the same Drabble bc I think it’s funny contrast lol

Sorry, this is a few days late!

-//-//-

#49 - “Your voice is sexy.”

“Your ass is sexy”

&

#51 - “Seriously the chimney?”

“The squirrel can’t win.”

He woke up early, starting the coffee pot and unloading the dishwasher. He was still tired from baby proofing their apartment the night before. He hadn’t realized how many electrical outlets there were, or how hard it was to install a baby gate. He poured a bowl of cereal and added cream to his coffee. He could hear the shower turning on upstairs. Jughead and Betty would be by in less than an hour to drop off Ophelia. He headed upstairs, almost falling over the baby gate. He stepped out of his boxers and opened the door to their master bathroom. The sound of “Penny Lane” filled his ears. His wife’s nude body was blurred by the foggy glass. He opened the glass door and joined his wife under the warm spray. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, “your voice is sexy.” He whispered into her ear. She turned smirking,” your ass is sexy.” She proved her point by grabbing it. He wrapped an arm round around her and pulled her in for a passionate kiss. His other arm held the wall for support. She moaned into him and he was a goner. They spent the remnants of their shower connected at the hip. Sweet Pea pulled on a pair of jeans and a black tea shirt while Veronica verbalized the pros and cons of wearing leggings, jeans, a skirt or dress. He made the bed while she pulled out options. When she was finally quiet he voiced his opinion.

“Well you know we’ll be keeping up with Ophelia all day, so I’d wear something comfy that you don’t mind getting dirty.” She nodded, hanging up the dress and skirt.

Betty and Jughead showed up at 8:00am on the dot. They were the punctual people around. Their eight month old was tucked into her car seat sucking on a pacifier. Veronica had just finished her yogurt and granola when the doorbell rang. Sweet Pea was pulling out the toys and baby swing they kept in the living room closet for whenever their friends visited. Betty and Jug let themselves in calling out, altering their arrival. They convened in the kitchen.

“Veronica, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in leggings before.” Jughead commented looking impressed and puzzled all at once. Betty rolled her eyes at her husband. She pulled out a sheet of paper detailing Ophelia’s usual feeding and sleep schedule. There were doctors numbers on the back along with FP and Alice’s cell numbers. Betty had also added the best way to warm up her breast milk and reviewed it as she piled it into the freezer and fridge.

“We’ll be back before dinner!”

“Take pics!”

“Duh, we’re going to need your input on which house is the best.” She gave Veronica a hug before squeezing Sweet Pea. “You guys are life savers. Thank you so much.” Jughead had put the car seat on the table. Both parents kissed her cheeks and smoothed her hair before being pushed out the door. Ophelia just stared at them sucking her pacifier and clutching her blankie.

“This going to be easier than I thought.” Sweet Pea said.

“You probably just jinxed us.” She smacked his chest with the back of her hand before reaching in and unbuckling the baby. She rested her head on Veronica. “She smells so good.” Sweet Pea rolled his eyes but indulged his wife leaning down to smell the top of his god-daughter’s head.

“Do all babies smell like that, or is it just organic, all natural, earth is best stuff Betty uses?” Veronica shrugged. They walked to the living room and sat on the couch. Ophelia was a quiet baby, she always had been. Veronica put her on the blanket they’d laid on the floor they scattered toys around it for her to reach and explore. She was just starting to get an itch to crawl.

“Do you care if I go to the office and make a few calls? I want to make sure everything is in order for the upcoming week at the office. Sweet Pea nodded reached for his coffee beside him. Ophelia played and gurgled with her toys, he joined her on the floor making noise with the hard plastic rings and his fingers. She’d smile and giggle in delight. At 11:30 he picked Ophelia up and they headed into the kitchen for her first feeding. He followed all the instructions, checking the temp, before finally giving her the bottle. He headed to master bedroom and sat in their fancy chaise while she feed. She looked like Jughead, except for her hair and nose -those were all Betty’s. He’d been nervous about messing things up. He was worried he’d get everything wrong and she’d cry the entire time. But so far she was very calm. She started to drift off as the remaining milk dwindled. He lifted he’d and burped her based on what he’d seen Betty and Jughead do and the YouTube videos he’d watched last night while Veronica finished up at the store. He laid her on center of their bed surrounding her with pillows. He laid next to her, pulling his phone out to snap Betty and Jug more photos. He and Veronica had never really discussed having kids. There would be the occasional - I hope our kids don’t inherit your clumsiness, or I hope they have your nose, eyes etc. They had been married for almost two and half years. He felt himself dozing off.

Veronica completed her phone calls. She still needed to make a conference call with a designer in LA, but that wasn’t until 1pm. She walked into the living room expecting to see her husband and god-daughter, but found nothing. She searched the house before finding them both asleep on the bed. Sweets had his arm curled over Ophelia. She had both her hands above her head resting on his arm. She melted at the sight, and quickly pulled out her phone to snap pics. They looked so angelic. She sighed before deciding to get some more work done while the pair napped. She headed back to her office and pulled out some fabric swatches that had been sent to her from the Italian office.

He was awoken by a small whimper and as he opened his eyes a teeny body colliding with him. When he looked down Ophelia’s eyes were wide and her bottom lip trembling. He blinked a few times before pulling her pacifier out his pocket and into her mouth. He pushed himself off the bed and Ophelia was quick to lift her her arms up and grab for him.

He scooped her up and they headed downstairs for bottle number two and a diaper change. While the bottle was warming he laid out the changing pad and pulled out diapers, wipes, lotion and rash cream. He’d seen Jughead do it and he’d even done it a few times under the Jones’ guise of “practicing.” Now, he was happy he’d done it. After taping up the diaper and cleaning everything up, they returned to the kitchen. He talked to her in his baby voice and blew kisses on her tummy as she giggled at him. She eagerly reached for the bottle once it was in her sight. Her pacifier slipped from her mouth leaving a long line of drool. “Cute,” He muttered. He couldn’t he took a nap. He hadn’t done that since college. Eyeing the clock and noticing it was 2:15, he decided to make lunch for himself and V. He’d waited until Ophelia had finished her bottle, burped her and then went to find the vibrating chair this she liked. Once she was set up on the counter with her toys and chair, he got to work making turkey burgers. She gurgled to herself, and he sang the few disney songs he knew - most of which were from The Lion King. She laugh and drool at him as he sang into the spatula. He’d used his phone to actually play the songs. Veronica joined them, Just as he was dressing the burgers and adding chips.

“Look at you two, having all the fun without me.” She kissed Ophelia’s head before kissing him on the mouth. She joined him for the last bit of “Circle of Life” and he twirled her around. Ophelia squealed from her chair smiled at them. They settled in to eat at the countertop, turning Ophelia to face them. The chatted and made faces at Ophelia.

“Do you want kids, V?” She swallowed the chip in her mouth.

“I think so. I mean assuming you do too?” She smiled nervously.

“Yeah, I’d like to.” He kissed her. “Let’s talk details tonight?”

“Okay,” she smiled, “I’m finished with all my work, what should the three of us do for the next few hours?”

“I think Ophelia mentioned to watch the latest Disney film her godfather picked up.”

“Oh really? That sounds doable.” He picked up their plates and everything from lunch and put them in the sink, while Veronica took Ophelia out of her chair. Sweet Pea was lying to himself if seeing Veronica with a baby didn’t tug at his heart. He set up the dvd and they all snuggled onto the couch. Veronica laid with Ophelia on her chest and her feet on Sweet Pea’s lap. Ophelia rolled around before sitting and reaching for Sweet Pea. She snuggled her face into the crook of his neck and grasping his tshirt. “I guess what they is true.” Veronica piped up.

“What’s that?”

“There’s nothing sexier than a man with a baby.” He laughed and attempted a seductive wink. Ophelia stayed put while the couple watched the film.

“Seriously, the chimney?” Sweet Pea loud whispered, and shook his head.

“The squirrel can’t win.” Veronica laughed. “I’m getting a little too into this.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“I think I could get used to this. You, me, baby and animated children’s films.”

“It's not going to be this easy. Ophelia is rare.”

“I know, but still.” He beckoned her with his hand and puckered his lips. She sat up and kissed him and snuggled into his side. They stayed that way for the remainder of the film. They were watching the special features per Sweets request when Betty and Jughead called out. The couple found them in the living room.

“Well isn’t this a sight.” Betty gushed.

“She’s an absolute angel.” Veronica told her. “Did you guys find anything you liked?”

“Oh my god, let me show you these two we looked at that I loved!” Veronica stood up and together they headed towards the kitchen. Jughead sat beside him.

“How awful was it?” Sweet Pea asked. Jug just looked him. “That bad huh?

“It was so boring. Betty knows what she wants and such. I told her all I want is an office. She suddenly knows all these wood types, and colors, and types of houses like cape cod and ranch and colonial. And i’m standing there like wood is wood - how can tell if its oak or maple or cedar or whatever.” Sweet Pea laughed.

“I Tivo’d the latest Criminal Minds, you want to watch?”

“Fuck yes. I’m so sick of HGTV. Did you know there is an entire show dedicated to people buying tiny houses?”

“What’s a tiny house?

“You don’t want to know.” They settled in, Veronica bringing them each out a beer and a bag of chips before returning to Betty. “Have you seen the latest development on the golden gate killer case?” Sweets asked.

“Yeah! I can’t believe they finally caught the guy - a cop no less. You have to listen to this new true crime podcast I found - I think you’ll like it. I want to incorporate some of the banter they have into my next novel.”

“I’ll have to check it out. I liked the other you found - the Australian one.” Sweet Pea couldn’t but think maybe someday soon, there’d two babies hanging out with their dad’s watching crime tv.

[distancebeauty]

Brand Review: Tooth & Nail Cosmetics

I don’t normally do this...not to indie brands, anyway. If anything, I like to support them, uplift them and make sure to give them a fair advantage when trying them out and reviewing them...but when a company fails to even attempt to satisfy their customers while standing by their brand, I can’t sit back and let people fall into the same trap over and over again. As unbelievable as this is, I bought $66 worth of makeup while asleep. I tend to sleep with my phone right next to me in the bed. This is so when my alarm goes off in the morning, I can get to it before it has the chance to go off again or wake anyone else. I’ve texted people in my half- or full-sleep state before, so I’m not surprised that I actually bought makeup in my sleep.

I sleep-bought makeup from Tooth & Nail Cosmetics, an indie brand I never heard of. I don’t know how or where I found them, but I woke up the next morning and while checking my email, saw a receipt for a purchase I had made earlier. I opened it and saw that I bought a couple of highlighters (The Nightmare Before Christmas themed), some kind of eyeshadow or something and a couple of other things. I was floored. How did I--uhh... So I checked out their website. OK. The stuff I picked out looked kind of nice...and it was *only* $66...I’ll let it slide. Besides, who will believe me when I say I shopped in my sleep? A couple of weeks go by and I never received a package or any other notifications of the order. In fact, I even forgot about it until I was deleting emails and saw the initial one I had opened from PayPal. I decided to email them. A day or two later I got a response from a girl named Hannah Foote who asked for my order number so she could look into it. I replied to her a couple of days later and another week passed.

A little frustrated with the lack of communication, I emailed her again using the same contact email address. Finally on Easter, she emailed me back apologizing, saying she had been busy the past couple days and that she’s spending Easter with her sick mother and that my order was supposed to have been sent out before she left. Normally I would feel bad for being a bother and tell the person it’s okay, but mind you, my order was placed almost a month prior with zero communication on tracking or its whereabouts. She also was throwing a guilt trip in there, which I didn’t appreciate. Yes, I 100% understand when life gets in the way, especially the sick parents thing. Both of mine had cancer and I helped take care of both. I put my entire life on hold both times, with the second time resulting in me losing my father. So I do understand that sometimes, you just have to focus on what’s important and everything else can wait. HOWEVER...if you’re an entrepreneur with an active business, you need to take steps to ensure your business won’t suffer while you’re taking a hiatus or trying to juggle your busy life. This includes hiring a trusted person to be you in the business when you can’t, finding ways to stay in touch with clients when it’s important and making sure your jobs/products get pushed out in a timely manner. If that’s not doable, then you need to speak up, own up and figure it out.  So I fired back. As a fellow entrepreneur of sorts, I know how this all works out. So I thanked her for the guilt trip (bitchy, unprofessional move--I know) and reminded her that as someone who owns/operates a business, she needs to figure out how to get her clients taken care of in the event she cannot. Of course, I told her this in so many words and assured her that this wasn’t a personal attack, but rather one entrepreneur looking out for another. She, in the email, said she had her partner back home taking care of everything and that she’d walk her through the process in case they needed to resend my order (which was never sent out in the first place), but I am pretty sure she has no partner and she’s running this show solo.

After my reply, I heard nothing. While waiting, I did a little research and found nothing but negative posts and comments on this business! All stories seemed to be the same: packages never received and no to very little communication or packaged received with damaged items, little to no communication and no replacements offered. It seems, though, the one thing Hannah and “her team” are on top of is issuing refunds.

Growing tired of this debacle, I waited a few days before finding them on Facebook and tagging them in an edit to a post (if you follow us on Facebook, you may have seen it) I made asking if anyone has ever purchased from Tooth & Nail Cosmetics. She immediately commented and told me to email her personal email and she’d take care of me. I told her that I was actually waiting for a response from her on her business email and what do you know? Still no answer.

Finally I gave up. “Only $66″ turns into “that’s $66″ really fast. I messaged her through PayPal and told her firmly that I wanted a refund. The next morning I woke up to a processed refund and no message whatsoever. Mess cleaned, I guess.

The point of this post is simple: please beware of businesses like Tooth & Nail Cosmetics. It’s hard when you’re dealing with indie brands (and even larger brands), but just remember to do your research first and maybe even reach out to the owner to get a feel for who they are and how strongly they stand by their product. It will also give you an idea of how they might be with customer service. Kind of like a Try Before You Buy idea.

I have no products from this business to test, swatch or tell you about and that sucks. The next indie brand I find, though...I’m going to research them and hopefully be able to grab some goodies that I can test and share with all of you! I do not recommend this brand due to the headache I, and apparently a bunch of others, endured just trying to support, but take all of this with a grain of salt and check them out for yourself. 

http://www.toothandnailcosmetics.net/ XOXO Michelle

#brand review #review #brand #indie #indie makeup #makeup #toothandnailcosmetics #ripoff #communication #purchase #refund #complaints #negative review #customer service #poor customer service #solo show #ladyboss #lady boss #entrepreneur #girlboss #girl boss #distancebeauty #michelle

[lamesorrow]

Dig, dig, dig

After seven hours spent shovelling sand in the searing heat of Uldum Varius was slowly starting to think that the Thalassian reverence of the sun was severely misplaced. Thick beads of sweat tickled mercilessly as they trailed down his stomach and back, pooling in the indents between each tired muscle. His shoulders on the other hand were starting to burn despite sun-protecting ointment he slathered all over his body in the morning, unsubtly implying that he will soon be shedding peeled skin all over the place like an oversized lizard.

Still, duty was duty and as such there was nothing Varius could do but pick the shovel up himself and dig. Unsurprisingly enough, while plenty of scholars were very excited about going to Uldum to uncover priceless Titan-made artifacts, the diggers were much less eager to work in the sweltering heat.

People often had a (very) inaccurate picture of archaeology as a gentle thing, one that was all about revered scholars using tiny brushes to lovingly sweep the dust away from half-unearthed relics. The much less romantic reality was that the main tool of an archaeologist was a shovel. The bulk of the work was done by the diggers.

And what to do in the absence of the diggers? Why, the Blood Knights were the next best thing.

Varius sighed deeply. He was being very unfair now, of course; he didn't have to dig. He was technically the coordinator of this expedition after all. It's just that he's always been the kind of person who preferred to have the work done rather than undone, so seeing the untouched excavation site rubbed him the wrong way. It was more of an internal imperative than an order to follow.

Lost in thought, he almost missed the red wooden pole that the archaeologists used to mark the end of the interesting perimeter.

Varius stabbed the shovel into the sand and placed his hands on his hips. He critically regarded his work. A swatch of land had been sectioned off with red string and dotted with marker flags to identify places that held a realistic promise of precious artifacts from a bygone era.

The knight grunted and reached for a small square of cloth that he had folded and tucked behind his belt to stop the sweat trailing down from his spine. The tissue was a little damp and became considerably damper when he used it to wipe his chest and neck.

He instinctively looked around, eyeing the nearby hills for enemies and friends alike. He saw several dark shapes of sentries posted where he wanted them to be and no sight of anything else, be it the locals or the Alliance. Good. The few diggers that let the gold cloud their judgement for long enough to make them agree to join this expedition were safe to, as Lei—as surveyor Brightcloud put it, “play around in the dirt.”

Brightcloud himself was nowhere to be seen. No doubt the sight of sweaty elves insulted his delicate sensibilities. Since the expedition started Varius hadn't seen him leave the main pavilion during the day even once, and even long after nightfall the best the world could see of Leinan was just a flash of his ornate robe as he quickly made his way to his own aircane-conditioned tent.

That thought made Varius exhale softly in relief. Their relationship was short-lived and happened to fizzle out right before the Reliquary was scheduled to embark on the expedition to Uldum. It was way too late to find a replacement for either of them, so Varius had to go through this awkward post-breakup period with no chances for even a bit of solitude and privacy. The memory of Leinan's words still stung painfully whenever he let his mind wander.

You don't care enough.

You don't spend enough time with me.

You would make time for me if you loved me.

You don't make me feel wanted.

You don't love me any more.

I don't love you any more.

Varius sighed.

He was a soldier and he loved like a soldier; in the free moments, when he could afford to think about his own matters. Warmly but quietly. Without much pomp or fanfare.

That was not enough for men like Leinan Brightcloud. He wanted to be courted, fawned over, constantly showered with gifts and attention. Varius understood that, he really did, and he tried, but whenever he came home after a long night spent escorting a convoy and fending off pirates, mercenaries and thieves, all he wanted to do was take a quick bath, collapse on the bed and sleep for a week... Not go to the opera, check out that cute little bakery that opened on the opposite side of the city, make a detour to visit the botanical garden and finally walk all the way back home just to be roped into making love for approximately three hours. Oh, he forgot about the wine. With Leinan Brightcloud one never forgot about the wine. There would've been wine. Plenty of wine.

And then a repeat of that the next day. And the next. And the next.

It was a little cruel to admit, but—despite the sadness and disappointment—Varius' quality of life went up considerably since that breakup. For starters he was actually getting enough sleep to be at least remotely functional again.

He looked up again and froze when he saw the flap of the pavilion ripple and move away. For a second he fully expected to see Leinan's face—but no. It was just Melathara, armed with her white parasol. Varius felt his shoulders sag in relief and instantly felt bad about it.

Mel waved at him cheerfully and made her way across the dig site. Between a bright orange dress, an equally orange headband and kaldorei-style laced-up sandals she looked like she was on her way to attend a beach party rather than conduct important research. That unpretentious approach to life was easily Varius' favourite thing about her.

He watched her approach with a small smile that only grew wider when he noticed a large glass jug in her hand.

“I see you're being your usual overachieving self again,” Mel called out happily. “How's it going?”

“Hard to say. Difficult to make a proper test pit in these conditions, but... two more levels and I think we're going to know whether or not these are a waste of time,” Varius said, nodding towards the markers that dotted the site.

Mel handed him the jug and he almost dropped it when his tired, puffy fingers closed around icy glass. “Ice,” he whispered reverently. “Mel, I love you.”

She laughed loudly and affectionately slapped his shoulder. Then she groaned and wiped her hand on the expensive fabric of her dress. “Sunwell, you're sticky. I've changed my mind; give me that jug, you're going to drop it.”

Varius obediently let her take the jug back and took a few steps away from the dig site to avoid accidentally damaging any artifacts—there was no realistic way of that happening now, but at this point protecting the excavation was a deeply-ingrained instinct he didn't bother fighting.

He gasped loudly when Mel poured cold water over his hands. Soothing coolness breathed some life into his tense wrists and swollen fingers. Varius sighed gratefully and slowly rubbed his hands, trying to work the moisture into his dry skin.

“Bend over,” Mel said. “I'll cool down your neck.”

He obediently folded himself in half and reached for his ponytail to keep the hair out of the way. The splash of cold water over his sun-warmed skin could only be described as shocking, but in a good way. Cold droplets trailing down his shoulders made him shudder in intense relief.

“Thanks, Mel,” he sighed contentedly and straightened out his back. His friend smiled at him.

“Don't mention it. I was dying to get out of that tent anyway.”

Varius hesitated and cast a cautious look at the pavilion.

“How is...?”

“Leinan?” Mel rolled her eyes. “Drowning his grief in wine, swearing that he's never falling in love again and proclaiming that all Blood Knights are emotionless bastards. He's pretty insufferable, really, but that's his usual state of being. Once he reaps his share of condolences and consolation he's going to forget all about it. Trust me, I know him.”

Varius nodded. On one hand, that was comforting—he didn't want Leinan to suffer. On the other hand... it was a little hurtful to be made aware just how forgettable he apparently was.

Mel instantly picked up on his discomfort. She shook her head and gave him a lopsided smile. “No, Vari, don't you worry about that. I told you: I know Leinan. He's a vapid, shallow bimbo.”

Varius winced, prickled by the instinct to defend his (former) boyfriend's honour. As brutal as it was, Mel's statement was... not entirely wrong, but it was definitely not right either; those several months they had spent together had assured Varius that Leinan Brightcloud was a witty, quirky and inquisitive individual. Yes, he was a little prone to theatrics and drama, but which nobleman wasn't? Varius couldn't even blame him for being spoiled and attention-seeking, not after attending that one memorable family reunion and seeing how the nobleborn children were being treated. All shortcomings of Leinan's character were simply a product of his upbringing and to hold it against him would be cruel.

“You have a terrible taste in men,” Mel added, not at all helpfully. Varius grunted.

“Maybe I should stop trying,” he said dryly and reached for his shovel.

“Or maybe you should let me try to fix your bachelor status.”

Varius gave his friend a disbelieving look. “Aren't you the one who set me up with that Farstrider?” He asked incredulously. “The one who insisted on being called 'Wolf' and glared at everything? And smelled like damp leaves?”

Mel scoffed. “It was a trial run!”

“It was a disaster, Mel.”

The mage snorted. Even she couldn't argue that, from the looks of it.

“Okay, fine,” she agreed reluctantly. “But there are plenty more fish in the sea, you know. For example, I was thinking about introducing you to my cousin Elberan...”

Varius raised his eyebrow. “The one that spends extraordinary amounts of gold on vintage Magic: The Sundering trading card games?” he asked, feeling amusement pull at the corners of his lips.

Mel gave him a sour smile. “For a man whose love life consists of a string of awful relationships, you sure are picky,” she said dryly.

“If you want to send me on a blind date with one of your relatives then maybe don't make me listen to endless lists of things you don't like about them.”

Varius rolled his shoulders. Sunlight was already warming up the damp skin on his neck, but there was still work to be done. Cold water helped, but not nearly as much as Mel's presence did. The knight glanced at his friend and gave her a wide, shameless smirk.

“Besides,” he added, knowing full well that his next statement would be enough to make Elberan run away screaming if he ever heard it, “I've always liked Hearthstone better.”

#wow rp #wow character: varius silverstorm

[jeremystrele]

Website Optimisation · Cultiver

Website Optimisation · Cultiver

Small Business

Fiona Killackey

For this month’s Small Business Column, we case study Sydney-based homewares label Cultiver. Photo – Jacqui Turk for The Design Files.

Cultiver talks the importance of SEO and utilising analytics daily. Photo – Jacqui Turk for The Design Files.

Swatches from the successful local linen brand. Photo – Jacqui Turk for The Design Files.

Nicolle Sullivan, founder of Cultiver. Photo – Jacqui Turk for The Design Files.

‘I’ve never looked to sites from the same category as us for ideas,’ tells Nicolle. Photo – Jacqui Turk for The Design Files.

The Cultiver team monitor analytics daily. Photo – Jacqui Turk for The Design Files.

Nicolle Sullivan, founder of luxury homeware and linen brand Cultiver credits late-night online shopping with kick-starting her passion for website optimisation. ‘In my previous career, I worked long hours so the convenience of online shopping 24/7 really appealed, and I wholeheartedly embraced it early on. I spent lots of nights exploring online stores around the world,’ she recalls. It was while exploring these stores that the idea for Cultiver was born. Nicolle, who had launched a blog a few months prior to the brand, readily admits her knowledge of online retail at the time was minimal. ‘Through the blog I had a bit of practice in creating a website, but even after that I’d say on a scale of one-to-10, on my knowledge of online retail I’d generously give myself a two.’

The first step was to create a placeholder site with an image and an email sign-up field. Next, came the visuals for launching. ‘The photography for the site was the biggest project before launch. I did a shoot at home and had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Thankfully, I worked with a very patient photographer,’ laughs Nicolle. During this pre-launch period, she also reached out to friends of friends to ‘ask for advice on everything from how to import goods through to how to write a press release’ but admits she had to figure out most of it herself.

Utilising Shopify as her ecommerce platform, Nicolle was able to tap into their support network, which helped her find a developer that could refine the site. ‘It was an iterative process, and a lot of my inspiration came from observing what worked or what I liked on other sites’ she says. Stepping outside of her industry at this time was key. ‘I’ve never looked to sites from the same category as us for ideas. I typically would look at fashion sites, as they were more developed and ahead in terms of functionality,’ she explains.

Despite spending time on content, 12 months after launching, Cultiver was receiving minimal organic traffic. ‘I remember asking a friend who had an online business how to change this and was introduced to SEO and how important content on the site is to support that’.

Flash forward four years and Cultiver is now a successful online business with customers across the globe, helped in large part by quality products and constant tweaking of site content, social media engagement and investment in analytical understanding and data insights. ‘We’re on our fourth total site redesign,’ says Nicolle, ‘the changes we’ve made are based on analytics, research and feedback (direct and indirect) and customer behaviours. The biggest changes we’ve made are photography and navigation – smoothing out the customer journey and trying to answer all of their possible questions’. An example of this is the addition of an ‘inspiration’ section which allows customers to shop numerous items from one page of styled images. ‘We were getting a lot of questions about the product in the images when they were just shown as a gallery’.

Nicolle utilises tools like Google Analytics and Hotjar to measure organic search performance, customer engagement with the site and ensure the brand has a good backlink profile. Conducting an audit on what’s working and not working happens daily at Cultiver, with Nicolle and her staff checking the site is intuitive and easy for customers to navigate. ‘When checking details on a product or creating an order (for a trade client) we go through the front-end rather than the back end to simulate a customer experience; searching for items, moving through collections and checking out’.

This attention to detail has been important in Cultiver growing their brand worldwide, including into the US. ‘Our biggest obstacles have been in growing our international distribution and addressing regional differences in sizing of our main category, bedding. This takes away from some of the synergies of multiple markets as it double SKUs, production, website information etc. And SEO is also local, so that needs to be built over time in each new market.’

Now a self-taught online retail expert, Nicolle is looking to expand the brand offline. While Cultiver is stocked in brick-and-mortar stores across the globe, this year marks the first offline venture for the brand itself. ‘It’s a new chapter for us that feels right with what our customers want,’ says Nicolle, ‘and hopefully it brings new customers into our online world. I love converting offline shoppers to online!’

Shop Cultiver online or find your nearest stockist here.

‘Learn more about SEO upfront – when you get it right it still takes a long time to bear fruit so you want to be building this in the background from as early as possible – especially if you want a global presence,’ says Nicolle. Photo – Jacqui Turk for The Design Files.

TIPS FOR OPTIMISING YOUR WEBSITE

1. Don’t Make Me Think

I’m a fan of Steve Krug’s UX bible, Don’t Make Me Think, which suggests most people want to be guided when they come onto a website. Look at your website from the viewpoint of a customer journey. Where are people going? Do you have internal links showing them how to easily get back to a page, or to the next stage, on product or category pages? In-person focus groups and tools like Clicktale, Hotjar, Crazyegg and Optimizely are great for getting feedback about how easy (or not) your site is to use. For example, you might invite some of your VIP online customers to an event where you ask them to find a particular product on your website and you can view the steps they take to do so (i.e., do they use the search bar or do they use a main menu to find the category first?). By understanding how people are using your site, you can make tweaks and changes that make finding your items and purchasing them an easier process.

2. Analyse & Improve

To quote Arthur C Neilson, ‘the price of light is less than the cost of darkness’. Every website owner should be reviewing their analytics on a daily basis to see what’s working and what’s not and improving the site accordingly. Setting up simple dashboards in Google Analytics or within your shopping platform allows you to view, at a glance, any changes to site activity and pinpoint levers that help or hinder conversion and sales. If you need a head start, check out these seven Google Analytics dashboards for small business owners or check out Google’s Digital Garage to sign up for one of the many free Google courses to help you understand and utilise analytics.

3. Invest in Visuals

We’re visual creatures, which is why social media as a medium is so cut-through. Visuals can make or break a brand’s website. If you can, invest in quality photography for your product, team photos and overall aesthetic. If you’re a little strapped for this, consider working with final year photography students at your local university or buying your own camera and taking a few lessons. Brands like Orange Monkie can help you save time and aid consistency with product shots, and sites like Unsplash and Pexels provide royalty-free images you can use for commercial purposes (always check the fine print!).

4. Study up on SEO

As Nicolle says, SEO is one of the most important areas to invest in when looking to optimise your website. No longer is it enough to just have a great site, you have to be driving traffic towards it, commit to maintaining its quality (i.e., links, URLs and descriptions) and, most importantly, creating content on it that speaks to your target audience’s needs. A staggering 90% of traffic on the web starts with a search query. To find out what your audience is searching for, check out tools like Google’s Keyword Planner, Uber Suggest, Answer the Public, Keyword Tool and SEMrush. You can then utilise these words – naturally! – within your site. Check your URLs make sense (i.e. ‘mydailybusinesscoach.com/5-ways-to-stop-procrastinating’ vs. ‘mydailybusinesscoach.com/blog/october-23451-someday-article345’) and, where possible, go for shorter, not longer, URLs. Make sure you’re spending time on off-page SEO (everything you do off your website) as well as on-page SEO (everything you do on your website). This may mean checking backlinks (via Moz Research Tools and committing to outreach when creating content (i.e. asking others to share your content and link back to your site).

5. Learn to DIY

While it’s great to invest in agencies and consultants to help your business grow (I’m raising both hands here!) it’s always worth learning these things for yourself as well. This may look like a night class, a time investment in Google’s Digital Garage, a one-off workshop or simply asking your consultant to teach you the basics over a few months. While this can’t replace the skill and expertise of a specialist (particularly in web development and coding) it gives you confidence to be able to make some changes yourself and then save your spend for the areas that require a seasoned professional.

Fiona Killackey is a business consultant and the founder of My Daily Business Coach, providing information and education for starting and growing a creative small business.

 Need help with your marketing? There’s one spot left in Fiona’s Marketing for Small Business workshop TOMORROW, Saturday 28th October with Natasha Morgan of Oak & Monkey Puzzle . For info visit Oak & Monkey Puzzle.

[njawaidofficial]

Elisabeth Moss on 'Handmaid's Tale's' Real-World Parallels and How She Became an Accidental Activist (Cover Story)

http://styleveryday.com/2017/07/19/elisabeth-moss-on-handmaids-tales-real-world-parallels-and-how-she-became-an-accidental-activist-cover-story/

Elisabeth Moss on 'Handmaid's Tale's' Real-World Parallels and How She Became an Accidental Activist (Cover Story)

With her Hulu breakout scoring 13 Emmy noms, including best actress, television’s reigning (and surprisingly foul-mouthed) star opens up about Season 2 and her political awakening: “I’m a staunch believer in women’s rights. I don’t really give a s— about anybody who isn’t.”

The morning of July 13 started like any other, with Elisabeth Moss trying to eke out a little more time in bed. She is not, by all accounts, an early riser, and this sticky Thursday was no different, save for the locale, South Florida, where she was enjoying a rare few days off.

Then came the midday text from her publicist: a GIF of Chicago Cubs first baseman Anthony Rizzo, shirtless and clapping. “I knew it was good news,” says Moss, a fourth-generation Cubs fan, “because a shirtless Anthony Rizzo is always good news.”

And it was: The Handmaid’s Tale had just scooped up 13 Emmy nominations, including a best actress nom for Moss, the dystopian drama’s producer and star. In short order, she began scrolling through the 49 congratulatory texts that had already come in. Before long, there would be a lengthy email chain among the actors and a back and forth with showrunner Bruce Miller as well. By 3 p.m., Moss was still working her way through the deluge.

This isn’t new territory for the 34-year-old actress, whose pileup of critical hits — The West Wing, Mad Men, Top of the Lake and now The Handmaid’s Tale — has led to her media moniker: the “Queen of Peak TV.” She earned six nominations for what was once her career-defining role as copywriter turned feminist heroine Peggy Olson on AMC’s long-running Mad Men and a seventh for her star turn as a cop in Jane Campion’s 2013 Sundance Channel miniseries Top of the Lake. But for reasons that still confound a large contingent of TV critics, Moss has never won an Emmy. “It’s lucky number eight,” she teases, turning more serious as she continues: “But if you’ve been nominated seven times and lost seven times, you learn to be pretty excited about being nominated. You feel this sense of, ‘Well, at least I seem to be doing well consistently.’ “

What makes this round of recognition different is not simply that her odds of taking home a statuette are greater than they’ve ever been but also that the universally lauded Hulu series has redefined Moss’ career — as an actress, a producer and, at first reluctantly, an activist for women’s rights. “What I’ve learned is, now is not really a time to stand in the middle,” she says. “You’ve got to pick a side.”

Jumping so quickly into another series was not initially part of Moss’ plan. She liked the idea of dabbling in the film world, throwing herself into a string of indies within days of Mad Men wrapping, and then a second installment of Top of the Lake, which she was busy filming when her reps sent her a copy of Miller’s Handmaid’s pilot. His take on Margaret Atwood’s seminal novel — first published in 1985 and now back on the best-seller list — centers on Offred, the titular Handmaid, whose world has been overtaken by a theocratic regime under which all fertile women are stripped of their rights and forced into sexual slavery. Despite her initial hesitation, Moss, who goes by Lizzie, recognized that the opportunity was one she couldn’t pass up. Her one stipulation: She insisted on being an active producer as well.

The demand didn’t faze Miller and executive producer Warren Littlefield, who both chuckle at the mere suggestion that Moss’ could be a vanity title, as is often the case when TV stars transition to producing. “At the beginning, I’d send Lizzie five different films, and I’d say, ‘This one is just about color palette; this one there’s a tone.’ And she’s in Australia starring in Top of the Lake, and a few days later, I’d get these detailed analyses: ‘I completely see this, and I love this, and what about this woman as a production designer?’ ” recalls Littlefield. “I said to her, ‘Do you sleep at all?’ She said, ‘Well, I had a weekend here.’ ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but you could go to the gym, maybe out to dinner — I’ve been on location before. I also eat.’ She was quiet, and even though it was over the phone, I could feel her smiling, and she said, ‘This is really important to me.’ “

Some 300 emails and nearly as many conference calls followed before the trio first met face-to-face on the Toronto set in the summer of 2016. In that time, Moss also had weighed in on directors — recommending Reed Morano, with whom she’d worked on the 2015 film Meadowland, to helm the first three episodes — as well as on casting, marketing and even wardrobe. At one point, she had costume designer Ane Crabtree send her swatches of the handmaids’ robes so that she could chime in on the autumn-red hue. “I may have taken it just a little bit too far,” she laughs. (Her self-deprecating charm notwithstanding, it’s clear Moss has the instincts and the eye of a producer, which she is bringing to bear on a slew of other projects. More on that later.)

What no one involved in The Handmaid’s Tale could have predicted while filming last fall was just how relevant the drama would become in Trump’s America. Launched three months into his presidency, the series hinges on plot points — right down to the all-female street protests — that mirror the real-world news cycle with unsettling frequency. The handmaids’ robes and bonnets have become the de facto uniform for women’s rights activists, and references to the Hulu drama seem to be fueling the feminist movement. “This show has prompted important conversations about women’s rights and autonomy,” Hillary Clinton told a crowd gathered at Planned Parenthood’s centennial celebration in May, referencing a particularly poignant scene in which one character says, “We didn’t look up from our phones until it was too late.”

Along the way, the series has put Hulu on the creative map in the same way Mad Men once did AMC, and Moss, whose unflinching performance has lapped up praise as “chilling” and “brilliant,” was catapulted into the unexpected role of spokesperson — with which she’s only now getting comfortable. “I guess I just didn’t know anyone gave a shit about what I had to say,” she says with the kind of wide smile you rarely see from her onscreen.

•••

Over a late lunch at a cafe on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, where Moss shares an apartment with her two cats, Lucy and Ethel, I wonder aloud how she handles the exceedingly dark world of Handmaid’s, rife with rape and physical abuse.

Moving a bed of lettuce leaves around her plate, she recalls how famously blunt French film star Isabelle Huppert responded (during a roundtable discussion for THR) to a question about whether rape scenes in particular can be more challenging to shake. “She was like, ‘Noooo.’ Like, ‘It’s my job, and I go and do my work and I go home.’ I was literally like, ‘Praise Jesus, she is my fuckin’ hero,’ ” says Moss, whose propensity for profanity can be jarring at times. “Some of the other actresses [at the table, including Natalie Portman and Amy Adams] probably wanted to answer like that, but sometimes you feel like you shouldn’t because you should take things seriously. But I just love that she is so fuckin’ French that she just was like, ‘Noooo,’ and that’s more of the camp that I subscribe to.”

It’s an approach to acting that Morano, 40, finds herself marveling at each time the pair is together on set. “Lizzie has this uncanny ability to transport herself, and it happens very quickly,” she says. “We’d be joking around, making fun of someone on the crew, and then two seconds later I’d have a camera on her and she’d be crying in a scene.”

Moss has felt comfortable pingponging between real life and make-believe, however grim it may be, for as long as she can remember. “Acting has always just been play for me,” she says, harkening back to her debut as Sandra Bullock’s 6-year-old daughter in a 1990 Jackie Collins miniseries. “All I remember is doing the scene where I find [Bullock’s] body in the pool,” she says. By 10, Moss was being snatched from her family in the Harvey Keitel movie Imaginary Crimes; parts in other disturbing flicks, including Girl, Interrupted, starring a young Angelina Jolie, followed. “So yeah,” she says, “I’ve never really done the lighter stuff, even as a fuckin’ kid.”

Initially, all of it was just a sideshow to her first love, ballet, which Moss studied at the School of American Ballet in New York and with Suzanne Farrell at the Kennedy Center in D.C. But having picked up some early lessons in discipline and hardship, she hung up her pointe shoes at 15 and by 17 found herself back in her native L.A., auditioning for a role on The West Wing before a fast-talking man who seemed particularly at ease with the material. “Later I found out that that was Aaron Sorkin,” she says of the series’ famed creator, adding in her own defense, “I didn’t know who the fuck anyone was.” Moss was cast as Zoey Bartlet, the president’s daughter, and over seven seasons on The West Wing earned a formative education in the power of good writing.

Upon its wrap, Moss jumped immediately to Mad Men as then-awkward secretary Peggy Olson. It wasn’t the simplest decision. Back then, AMC was known for airing crusty old movies, and her agents, since replaced, were trying to sell her on a forgettable indie casting at the same time. But Moss, who was struck by both the world and the script of Matthew Weiner’s series, was insistent: “I just kept saying, ‘Do not let Mad Men go.’ ” Over seven seasons, the drama about 1960s ad men (and women) helped usher in the golden age of television, with Moss’ character ascending the corporate ladder to become something of a feminist icon. The status still tickles her, she admits, as she searches her phone for her favorite Peggy memes. She finds one in which the Mad Men character, with shades on and a cigarette dangling from her lips, shares the screen with a bonneted Offred. “I fuckin’ love this,” she says with a giant smile.

The Mad Men cast became a de facto family for Moss, who’d been home-schooled during her early teen years by her mother, a harmonica player, and father, a music manager. Most of her 20s were spent on that downtown L.A. set; and given her dedication to ensuring everyone there was having a good time, often by way of competitive parlor games that Moss frequently would win, her fellow castmembers anointed her president of base camp. “I was like, ‘I’ll pay for the flowers,’ and they were like, ‘Done! You’re elected,’ ” she jokes. Her co-star Jon Hamm, base camp’s self-appointed sergeant-at-arms, recalls Moss being critical to the cast’s morale. “For a girl who has made her bones being a very heavy and very capable dramatic actress,” he says, “she has a wicked sense of humor, and she gives as good as she gets.”

During that time, Moss married — then quickly divorced — Saturday Night Live alum Fred Armisen. The tabloids attributed the relationship’s demise to Moss’ devotion to Scientology, a theory later dispelled by Armisen when he told Howard Stern that he was a “terrible husband” and then, on Marc Maron’s podcast, admitted that he struggled with “cheating and infidelity.” At one point, Moss chimed in, too, telling the New York Post, “The greatest impersonation [Armisen] does is that of a normal person.” While she learned quickly that “if you don’t want people talking about stuff, don’t talk about it yourself,” she can acknowledge it was a good line, adding with a chuckle: “I was holding on to that one for a while.”

Though the Armisen mentions figure less prominently in her recent round of press coverage, no profile of Moss is complete without reference to Scientology, which she was reportedly born into via her parents. New York magazine once called her affiliation with the church “the strange, odd fact of her biography, the thing that does not belong in her regular-chick story,” and sites like Jezebel have argued that it’s relevant that “the star of The Handmaid’s Tale belongs to a secretive, allegedly oppressive religion.” Moss has come to expect the line of questioning, even if she consistently declines to respond. “It doesn’t surprise me [that it’s always mentioned] because I think if there was anything unusual, it would be there [in a piece about me],” she says with a shrug. “So when it was my marriage and I was going through that, it was that. If something else happened to me, it would be that. And I [understand the interest], I’m happy to read about the thing that I don’t know anything about, too.”

She tucks her shoulder-length blond hair behind her ears, and continues, now with that smile reemerging: “There’s just not a lot else to explore here. I mean, my cat has asthma. It’s something that we’re dealing with: medicine twice a day and she gets a little inhaler. You want to talk about that?”

•••

You don’t need to spend much time with Moss to see that she still has reservations about her own soaring profile and the attention that comes with it.

She talks about stars as though she isn’t one and describes her life, though it includes such things as stylists on her payroll, as devoid of any glamour. One of the last times she can remember going out at night, she says, was Nov. 8, and that was only because she expected the first female president to be elected that evening. (See sidebar on page 64.) Any free time she does have these days is spent in front of the TV (Veep and This Is Us are current staples) or out to eat with her mom, Linda, who lives a couple of blocks away, and her small circle of friends, all of whom she has known for more than a decade and many of whom she has worked with at some point during her career.

“If Lizzie had her druthers, she’d probably stay in bed all day,” says her best friend, Susan “Goldie” Goldberg, a former AMC exec who met Moss on the pilot of Mad Men. Though the two text often and share a “borderline obsession” with Disneyland, there are a handful of subjects on which they don’t see eye to eye. “Lizzie’s a diehard Chicago Cubs fan, and I’m a longtime Mets fan, so we agree not to talk about that,” says Goldberg, now an exec at Annapurna. “Or I love hiking in L.A., and Lizzie dismisses the whole notion of hikes, making fun of me and my ‘urban walks,’ as she calls them.” Other Moss favorites: Central Park, sushi and a decent Moscow Mule.

Moss is equally skilled at downplaying her professional accomplishments. Ask about her first visit to the Cannes Film Festival in May, when her indie The Square, a satire of the art world, won the Palme d’Or and her upcoming season of Top of the Lake earned rapturous reviews, and she tries to refocus the conversation on the surrealness of the festival. (“It’s like a French Fellini movie,” she says. “Everyone’s walking around in tuxedos with people taking pictures of them, and you’re like, ‘Who the hell are these people?’ “) After a fair amount of prodding, she finally accepts that her recent track record is noteworthy. “Yeah,” she allows, “I recognize that I seem to be on a streak of finding really good stuff and people liking it.”

Looking ahead, that “stuff” will include many projects that she’ll be intimately involved in from the start — such as Fever, the story of Typhoid Mary, which she acquired the rights to and is starring in and producing with one of her mentors, Annapurna’s Sue Naegle, for BBC America. She has been busy meeting with other female producers, too, including Girls‘ Jenni Konner, who calls Moss “our generation’s Meryl Streep,” about potential collaborations; and she’s in the process of setting up a production company with two other women, citing actress turned prolific producer Reese Witherspoon as an inspiration. Though female-led projects will almost certainly be her bailiwick, she’ll continue partnering with liberal-minded men, too, including filmmaker Alex Ross Perry, with whom she already has done two films. The pair is quietly prepping a third, for which Moss reveals she’ll play the lead of a female rock group who’s also an alcoholic, drug-addicted mother. “Come on,” she jokes, “she couldn’t just be a rock star.”

Like Ross Perry, most who have teamed with Moss try to do so again. Campion wasn’t interested in returning to Top of the Lake for a second installment unless she knew Moss was on board. She proposed the idea on a coaster that she slipped under Moss’ hotel room door when they were both in L.A. for the Emmys. “An actor like her is often relegated to sidekicks, characters and best friends, but beginning with Top of the Lake, Lizzie proved she could be a lead — that she had the charisma and gravitas to pull it off,” says Campion, who adds that she’s accessible as an actress and humble as a human in a way that so many are not.

Weiner, her former Mad Men boss, has been busy writing his Amazon anthology series, about descendants of the Romanov family, and while he hasn’t begun casting, he has said publicly that he’d like to have past castmembers like Moss drop in. Though she has yet to have that conversation with him, she says she’d “love to do it.” Her current boss Miller says he can’t fathom doing another project without Moss by his side. Sure, he has been blown away by her talent onscreen (“She’s a miracle to watch,” he says), but it’s her contributions as a producer on Handmaid’s that he hadn’t anticipated valuing so much. “Lizzie brings something that you don’t normally get from producers, and once you get it, you never want to not have it,” he explains. “Someone who’s an expert on actors. A lot of the work that she did the first season was just managing this cast of players and getting a great performance out of all of them.”

Of course, that doesn’t mean it has always been smooth with Moss at the helm. She famously put her foot in her mouth when promoting the series at the Tribeca Film Festival in April. When asked whether the show’s feminist themes drew her to the project, she responded, “Honestly, for me, it’s not a feminist story. It’s a human story because women’s rights are human rights. … I never intended to play Offred as a feminist.” Within minutes, the Twitter mob had pounced, and the media began blasting her “striking and somewhat baffling” reluctance to associate with the feminist movement. The experience proved a wake-up call for Moss. “I was asked a question about my character, and I was thinking about my character and about the TV show,” she says, “not that I was speaking for feminists.”

In the months since, she has warmed up to her new platform, even if it can still leave her with a pit in her stomach. “If you’re spending a year on something and you’re thinking about it, you’re reading a book over and over and you’re having to do these scenes, it sinks in, this idea of like, what happens if we don’t say anything or what happens if I don’t speak up?” she says. She has started donating to both the ACLU and Planned Parenthood and has found ways to incorporate the organizations’ pins and ribbons into her red carpet looks and her Instagram feed for her quarter-million followers to see.

After the lunch bill has been paid, I ask whether she worries about alienating the part of her audience that might not feel the same way she does on these issues. Her response is immediate and emphatic: “I’m such a staunch believer in women’s rights, I don’t really give a shit about anybody who isn’t. It’s like, I don’t need them to watch the show. At a certain point, things are more important than your job.” Which is why when you see Moss back on the red carpet at the Emmys in September, you can expect some kind of political statement. “There will probably be a pin or a ribbon involved,” she says, giggling as her mind wanders. “Or maybe I’ll just wear a giant ACLU ribbon and a really good spray tan.”

This story first appeared in the July 19 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.

[sunflowerheartwriting]

Escape: 18

I finally got to finishing this fic!! Took me forever because I lost motivation but I’m so glad it came back!! You read the previous parts here on FF.net!

Picking up books that were sprawled all over the floor, I let a distressed sigh as I frowned deeply at what I guessed was the police doing. They completely ruined my store looking for whatever they could find on either me, Gajeel or both, but did they have to make a big mess out of it? Letting out another grunt of irritation, I started to move the furniture back into place. The bright street lights that penetrated through my curtains were my only source of light as I moved around in the darkness.

“You keep making those noises and someone’s gonna hear us.” Gajeel whispered from behind me causing me to jump.

I didn’t hear him approaching, I thought he was still looking around the place to make sure we weren’t being followed or spotted.

“Sorry,” I whispered as I watched him walk toward the front door that I kept covered with a curtain at night, so no one could even think of peeking in here while I’m gone and plot to steal my precious books. “These oafs just doesn’t have any respect for people properties. Big dummies.”

He snickered as he peaked out the black curtain, searching the street once more before turning to me. “Ready to get down to business?” he asked striding towards me with feather like footsteps, that I thought would be impossible for someone as big as he.

Nodding my head, I asked, “Would you like to go down to my office?”

“Too small, I already checked it out, plus the lights from it may be able to be seen from the street even if your curtains cover up your door and windows. Is there somewhere else we can go?”

Shaking my head, I couldn’t think of anywhere but my office until I remembered. “Oh! Follow me!” I exclaimed remembering my little project that I’ve been secretly working on for a few months.

I hurried to my office not looking back to see if Gajeel was following me, knowing he was. Rummaging through the dark, bumping into a few things here and there, I searched frantically through my desk draws. Spending so many years cramped in my office made it easy for me not need a source of light.

“Ah Ha! I found it!” I smiled brightly as I plucked a key from beneath a stack of unknown papers. Grabbing Gajeel’s hand I pulled him out of my office and down a very narrow and short hallway. It took me awhile to find the door knob and the lock in which to stick the key. It took some doing but when the door opened, a triumph sigh escaped my lips as the door squeaked.

I searched to the right of the wall for the light switch, flipping it on, watching as the old bulbs flicker to dull life with a smile. A small set of concreate stairs lead to a basement with matching concrete floors and walls. A small desk sat in the middle of the room, along with an old desk chair and a small futon like bed that occupied the far corner with a small dresser beside it. A curtain concealed a bathroom for privacy in the other corner. The basement wasn’t big but it wasn’t overly small either, it was just the right size.

“What is this?” Gajeel asked as he closed the door behind us, following me down the steps.

Chuckling, more to myself than him, I said, “a small project I’ve been working on. I want to turn this basement into a children area or even like a day care, I haven’t decided yet. I’ve been working on this for a while now but of course all that’s been halted since you kidnapped me and all.”

“No, no, you’re an accomplice remember?” he smiled surveying the room with his hands in his pockets. “So, I’m guessing you sleep here too?” he asked kicking the futon with the tip of his boot.

“Mmm, sometimes when I’m too tired to drive back home. I get so focused when planning this place that I lose track of time. Everything works down here, the plumbing and of course the electricity as you can tell.”

He picked up a few paint swatches I had on the desk, snickering at the girly colors I picked. He continued to look around, even threw back the curtain to the bathroom to reveal a small shower barely big enough for him, a toilet and sink cramped into a small space.

“Are you done scrutinizing my area, so we can get down to business?”

He nodded his head, taking one more look around before walking over to the desk that I leaned on. I cleared off all the extra stuff and put them in the desk draws so he could have space to do whatever he needed. I sat out a few sheets of paper and pencils so he could use them if need be.

He plopped down into my desk chair, wincing when it creaked loudly under his weight. “Alright, I’m going to roughly draw the layout of my building then the inside and show you what to do.”

I listened to him talk for what felt like hours, as he described in immense detail every aspect of his building, inside and out. He slowly walked me through the procedure of what he wanted me to do and asking if I had any questions and didn’t mind when I did. We did this more times than I can count but I was glad he did, so we both could be sure nothing went wrong.

“Now that we got everything down, I have one question for you.” he said looking up at me as I sat on the desk with my legs crossed facing him.

“And what is that?”

“Do you own anything black?”

“Actually,” I said sliding off the desk and walking towards the small dresser. “I do.” Pulling out a black long sleeve sweater, skirt, tights and boots, I held them in my arm to show him. “Is this ok?”

“Yep, get dressed, we’re leaving as soon as-“

“Um, I’m going to shower first. It’s been awhile since I used an actually shower, so I’m going take advantage of the one that actually works.” I said cutting him off. He gave me a weird look before laughing and shaking his head.

“I guess I agree with you there, would you mind if I took one after you?”

“Not as long as you don’t mind the smell of my soap.”

He shrugged, not caring either way as long as he could enjoy the same luxury I craved. I grabbed two towels and tossed one to him and immediately turning my back to him so I could quickly make my way to the bathroom. Putting the toilet cover down, I sat my clothes on top and started the shower. The pipes gurgled and groaned a little before spurting out a blast of cold water that slowly turned warm. Stepping into the warm stream, I relished in the sensation, glad to feel the water rush over my face and body. I worked the soap into suds and washed myself clean of all the dirt, grim and sweat, mentally going over the plan to be sure not miss any tiny detail.

Once we were both done showering, I felt bad that I was the only one with fresh new clothes on, so I made a mental note to grab some clothes for the oversized guy that couldn’t fit even my biggest shirts. He ran a hand through his damp hair, combing the knots out with his fingers as he ran through the plan one more time. I was too busy staring at him, to pay attention to his words.

Why did I still like him so much, after all he have done, but yet I can’t even bring myself to hate him? I can smack him though and a small red blotch on his cheek was proof of it. I knew what he was planning to do all along. He wants me to hate him, to despise him but yet still be able to trust him. I can’t deny that I liked when he touched me, but was pissed at myself for liking it too much and pissed at him for the reason for doing it.

“Do you got it?” he asked snapping me out of my thoughts, causing me to nod my head quickly in response. “Alright then let’s go!”

We hurriedly left my shop and into the car, seeing the digital clock in the car strike 2:13 am. I guess we did talk for hours.

It took us 10 minutes to reach his apartment and park a good distance from it without looking too suspicious to the two undercover cops we spotted.

“Ok, don’t forget what I said and remember, you have about 20 minutes to get in and out am I clear?”

“I didn’t forget,” I smiled tucking stray strands of blue hair into the hood of my jacket in order to fully disguise myself. He reluctantly let go of my arm as I opened the car door and stepped out into the chilly night air.

I walked the block to his apartment at a brisk pace with my head down, both hands wrapped tight around the strap of the hobo bag I carried. I looked like all the other night walkers trying to hurry out of the cold embrace of the night and into the warmth of their homes. When I made it to the door of his apartment building, I quickly made my way inside and into the old stairwell. I made sure to avoid all security cameras and kept my head down. This building is so old it reeked of mold and cigarettes. Lucky for me the only cameras in this place were in the hallways in certain areas and in the elevator.

“So far so good,” I breathed as I eased myself quietly into Gajeels dark apartment. My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness as I stealthily crept around trying not to disturb the mess the cops made out of his apartment. I first made my way to his tiny kitchen, opening his freezer and stuck my arm deep into the back. Standing on my tippy toes, I grunted and groaned as I grasped at a Tupperware container with a dent in the lid. After the container was retrieved and placed into my bag, I quickly made my way to his couch and stuck my arm underneath once again grasping for a small box that was nestled in between the wood frame of the old couch. Once that was released, I took a quick glance at the clock to see that I had 10 more minutes. Climbing all the way to the 7th floor took a lot longer than I thought. Hurrying to his closet and dresser, I grabbed whatever I could and stuffed them into my bag. It was heavy, but I didn’t mind the weight as I made my way out. My heart was pounding hard against my ribcage as I snuck out the back door of the apartment building.

“Hey you!” a voice called out from behind me stopping me in my tracks and causing my chin to connect to chest in order to hid my face.

Taking a deep breath I slowly turned around and greeted the stranger. “Yes?”

My heart was beating a lot faster now and my lungs constricted begging for air as I held my breath in anticipation. Was I too obvious that I don’t belong here? Did someone recognize me? My fingers gripped the bag I was carrying tighter as my body shook with fear.

The stranger took one step towards me holding out something in his hand. “You dropped this.” He said as I took a shirt from his hands.

Thanking the man, I stuffed the shirt into my bag and walked away, finally releasing the puff of air that I was holding.

When I made it back to the car, I shot Gajeel a cool smile expecting him to look relieved but he only shot me an angry scowl instead.

“What’s wrong?” I asked hoping he didn’t see the scene that played out before I reached him.  

“We’ll talk about it when we get back but for now, let’s get outta here.” He sighed weaving the car back into the street.

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

I dropped the bag on the desk with a flop when we got back, taking out everything I snatched from his apartment. “I hope you don’t mind me grabbing some of your clothes, while I had the extra time.” I said separating the items into piles.

I thought he would be happy when I turned around to look at him but he only had a look of discomfort as if he ate something with a terrible after taste to it.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong now?” I asked confused by his expression.

Grabbing me by the shoulders, he squeezed them tightly, “what were you thinking? You could’ve gotten caught or worse they could’ve thought you were me and shot you!” He yelled so loud my ears rung.

“Why are you mad at me?! I was just trying to help you! And there’s no way they would’ve thought I was you! I’m too small!”

He shook his head, “That guy that stopped you, what if he was the cops or saw you? I knew I should’ve done it myself, you could’ve-“

“But I didn’t get caught and the guy that stopped me only did so, because he wanted to give me the shirt I dropped! Your shirt might I add, because I wanted to help you!” I interrupted just as furious as he was. “I made it out safely without anyone seeing me! I did everything you told me to do! I’m sorry that I felt guilty, because you didn’t have any clean clothes, so with my extra time I grabbed some for you!”

“You could’ve gotten hurt!” Pain laced his voice and hurt filled his eyes. “I should’ve left you with your friend Cana.” He said letting me go and turning his back towards, but I quickly grabbed his arm causing him to turn back around.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, and I know you care about me as much as you care about Rogue,” I softly said cupping his face in my palms. “No matter what you do or say is going to make me change my mind about you. I know you did not kill those people.”

“How can you be so sure about that, Levy?” he whispered placing his hand above mine, with broken eyes.

I’ve never seen him so vulnerable or open before. I can see how beaten, broken and tired his soul was. He may have done bad things in his past but now, I can see someone else was responsible for what happened that terrible night on the docks. I want to mend his broken heart and soul, I know I can.

Leaning in closer, I pressed my lips against his, feeling his initial shock at the sudden act but then felt his body mold against mine. My hand moved from his face to get tangled in his hair, as our kiss started out soft then gradually became rough. His lips were oddly soft and warm and his tongue tangled with mine as our kiss steadily got sloppy. Teeth bumped against teeth and tongues searched the others mouth. My mind fogged over with lust as his hands groped my butt sending tingles up my spine and heat pooled into my stomach.  

My heart was soaring and my brain was left in the dust as we both gave in to our need for each other. The need to touch, to feel.

I felt his hand move behind me in a quick motion, knocking everything out of his away and onto the ground. Grabbing me by the hips, he picked me up and placed me on the desk. I pulled him as close as I could with my legs wrapped around his waist and my hands roaming over his torso as his was doing the same. A foreign noise escaped my lips as I felt his bulge press against me and his hand ghosting over my nipple. I shivered under his touch but yet my body was on fire with carnal need for this man.

Ditching reason to the wind I dipped my hands lower to make quick work of his belt as he frantically took off his shirt, tossing it to the side. He did the same to my shirt and pulled my skirt off of me nearly ripping it into two, with his lips and tongue eliciting soft moans from me as he nibbled my neck, then soothing the burning skin with a swirl of the tip of his tongue and soft kisses.

We were almost at our breaking point, almost about to reach all we could take of the teasing, when a mood crashing jingle rung from his pocket.

“Gajeel?” I asked, panting as our little dance came to a screeching halt.

He burrowed his head in to the crook of my neck, growling as he squeezed my hips and press himself against me, causing me to gasp at the sensation for his need for me.

The phone continued to ring in his pants pocket that was currently around his ankles and he was reluctant to answer it.

“Gajeel. You know you have to answer it.” I smiled, stroking his back as he shook his head letting out a frustrated grunt. Giggling at the big bad wolf as he raised his head to look at me with clouded and frustrated eyes, I stroked his cheek. “Just answer it. I’m not going any-“

I was briefly interrupted by the soft kiss he planted on my lips, completely thrown off by the sweet gesture rather than a rough kiss I was expecting to receive.

I was in a daze when he peeled himself away from me, too busy spacing out to realize he was slowly taking a sweep of my body.

Huffing, “you’re too sexy for your own good,” he huffed as he pulled his pants up zipping it up for the moment, letting it his boxers show.

“I could say the same for you,” I said in sultrier voice than I meant too.

“You’re not making this easier,” he smiled devilishly as he plucked the cell phone from his pocket.

Placing it to his ear, he greeted the person on the other line, then suddenly became stiff. His eyes shot to me in a panic before walking away from whispering into the phone. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as if to alarm me that something was clearly wrong. And I prayed to god that it had nothing to do with Rogue.

#Gajeel X Levy #gajevy #gajevy fanfic #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #ftfanfic #ftfanfics #multigajevy #Escape

[topicprinter]

For the past nine months I have been developing a new travel pillow called the Voyage Pillow. This is the journey from idea to Kickstarter and how much I spent to make it a reality. Check out the Voyage Pillow on Kickstarter! Link to post on Medium if you'd like It all starts with a problemOn a trip last Spring to Stockholm, I came to the realization that I really didn’t like travel pillows. My go to sleeping position was resting my forehead against the seat in front of me, the side of my head against the window, or directly down into my palms. Not finding anything that would work — a sweatshirt was my best solution. However with turbulence or a slight shift in position it would be down into my lap. I also hated the bulky size of most travel pillows when I was trying to pack efficiently with just carry on luggage. Travel Pillows that weren’t going to work for me Building my initial design and sampleI began sketching ideas with my main pain points written across the top of the page. I wanted: *A compact form factor for minimal space in carry on bags *Ability to use the pillow across different sleeping scenarios *Simply be comfortable no matter how I used itBeing a bit crafty, I already had experience working with a sewing machine. So I grabbed a pillow off my bed and a stretchy ski balaclava from my closet. I began to hack together my first prototype. It wasn’t pretty but when I put it over my head and I thought — this might just work! The very first homemade Voyage Pillow The design centered around two keys features. First the actual pillow. The traditional U-Shape Travel Pillow put a pillow around the entirety of your neck (which added packing bulk) when you could only lean in one direction. So I focused the pillow to be dedicated only to to one side where you would position it for sleeping. Second is a multi-purpose band that is connected to each side of the pillow — the allows for the pillow to stay in position as well as allowed the user to pick what orientation the pillow was used. Around the neck, over the head, over your eyes, around your hand, etc. Cost: $0 Total Expenses: $0 Understanding the market & finding a manufacturerI knew I had to get a grasp on the pillow market and the materials that would be available to build the final product. Similarly I knew I was going to have to find a manufacturer to help develop this idea into an actual consumer product.I began searching Alibaba for reputable manufacturers within the pillow market. However in this search I didn’t confine myself specifically to the travel pillows. I wanted to get a broader view of options available to me. Through this process I began ordering stock product samples from 4 manufacturers that I narrowed down on Alibaba. I was mainly testing the type of fill material that would work best for my design. This included down feathers, synthetic down, memory foam, cotton fill, and microbeads. A look into the manufacturers I was speaking withSamples Costs: $65, $40, $65, and $55 (each manufacturer) This process also helped further narrow down the selection of a manufacturer to build my first samples. Two of four manufacturers were slow on communication and actually getting the samples shipped. I knew wanted to move quickly through the design process and knew it just wasn’t going to work with them.Total Cost: $225 Building my first manufactured prototype I took detailed photos of my homemade sample and created a digital sketch with measurements for my first prototype. I narrowed down the two remaining manufacturers to one, began working on communicating my ideas for what I would want as the final product. After two wasted weeks, they simply could not wrap their head around the idea (no pun intended). The language barrier was getting in the way and they told me that they didn’t think they were going to be able to help! AHHH!So I got back in touch with the second manufacturer on my samples list to start to process over. Luckily it clicked instantly with them and they were quick to offer suggestions. They got to work and within a week I got my first photo of my first prototype.It wasn't perfect but it was a great startThis really helped me to know that I needed to have the multi-purpose band have a taper design so it consumed less area of your face.Prototype Sample Cost: $80Total Cost: $305Prototype Iteration The first prototype was a success from a communication standpoint. It looked and worked like the homemade sample. However it was far from ready to be final product. This is when I started to really be thankful I ended up with my current manufacturing partner. They offered ideas for new material swatches and overall structural design changes.We went through a few more rounds of prototypes, which took a total of about 2 months. Some iterations were simply changes in density of the pillow, to fabric testing, and full design alterations until it was perfect.The progress of sample designsPrototype Charges: $80 x 6Total cost: $785Creating the identity and online presence At this point I was on my first long trip getting full use of my pre-production ready prototype. I flew to Paris and taking in the inspiration of the high fashion boutiques. I went home to my Airbnb one afternoon in the Marais district and knew exactly how I wanted to logo to look.Final Sondre Travel logoCost: $0In picking the name for the brand, I had done research to ensure the domain and social media handles would be available to allow for cohesive branding across all channels. This helped lower the cost of purchasing an available domain name and swiftly getting all the social media handles. The domain and hosting were purchased to create a quick landing page for the brand.Cost: $95Total Cost: $880 Filming the Kickstarter Video Getting ready to launch the crowdfunding page I knew I wanted a very clean, simple, and straight to the point video. My previous college roommate happen to be a freelance film maker and agreed to help produce the video in between projects. However filming a video about a travel pillow within a commercial flight wasn’t going to work. I sent a cold e-mail to local charter aircraft company at our airport here in Burlington VT. I laid out what I was working on and what we wanted to achieve. The response? Complete access to their facility, hanger, and a plane…for free!Hanging out inside the plane while filming the videoCost: $500Although the facilities were free for the shoot, I did purchase a few props including other travel pillows and luggage. Final Kickstarter VideoCost: $190Total Cost: $1570 Finishing touchesWith the video finalized, I spent about a month crafting the Kickstarter page. I wanted to ensure I illustrated those key pain points that were solved. Gif to illustrate the size comparison compare to a traditional travel pillow To get ready for the launch, I wanted to get a few last minute things ready and on hand. The first was more samples produced from my manufacturer. I knew that sending samples to press and influencers would be a great way to help the buzz get going. I was able to get a discount rate for additional samples with the prospect of a production order on the way. Production model being testedCost: $350 Then I had the usual collateral made of postcards and business cards. I also produced a small batch of custom poly mailers to give the samples a premium look when being shipped to heighten the overall experience. Custom Poly Mailer BagsCost: $65 Lastly I contacted a few photographers I found on Instagram to take some lifestyle photos. They agreed to take the photos simply for product exchange. The only additional cost to me was shipping. Photo by @deathbefore.decap on IGCost: $20Toal Cost: $2005 Into the Campaign!So I was able to bring an idea floating around in my head to fully finished product to market for just over $2,000. I definitely saved money along the already having a background in putting together my logo and website. Also having someone in my personal circle to help film the Kickstarter video was a huge benefit as well.However bringing a product to the market is only the beginning of the journey! As of writing this I am over 50% funded under 48 hours.I would love for you to check out the Kickstarter Page. If you are interested in backing the project — Awesome! If not I’d love to hear feedback or you can simply share the project with a friend who spends too much time in the air. Check out the full Voyage Pillow Kickstarter edit: formatting

#/r/entrepreneur #reddit

[topicprinter]

For the past nine months I have been developing a new travel pillow called the Voyage Pillow. This is the journey from idea to Kickstarter and how much I spent to make it a reality. Check out the Voyage Pillow on Kickstarter! Link to post on Medium if you'd like It all starts with a problemOn a trip last Spring to Stockholm, I came to the realization that I really didn’t like travel pillows. My go to sleeping position was resting my forehead against the seat in front of me, the side of my head against the window, or directly down into my palms. Not finding anything that would work — a sweatshirt was my best solution. However with turbulence or a slight shift in position it would be down into my lap. I also hated the bulky size of most travel pillows when I was trying to pack efficiently with just carry on luggage. Travel Pillows that weren’t going to work for me Building my initial design and sampleI began sketching ideas with my main pain points written across the top of the page. I wanted: *A compact form factor for minimal space in carry on bags *Ability to use the pillow across different sleeping scenarios *Simply be comfortable no matter how I used itBeing a bit crafty, I already had experience working with a sewing machine. So I grabbed a pillow off my bed and a stretchy ski balaclava from my closet. I began to hack together my first prototype. It wasn’t pretty but when I put it over my head and I thought — this might just work! The very first homemade Voyage Pillow The design centered around two keys features. First the actual pillow. The traditional U-Shape Travel Pillow put a pillow around the entirety of your neck (which added packing bulk) when you could only lean in one direction. So I focused the pillow to be dedicated only to to one side where you would position it for sleeping. Second is a multi-purpose band that is connected to each side of the pillow — the allows for the pillow to stay in position as well as allowed the user to pick what orientation the pillow was used. Around the neck, over the head, over your eyes, around your hand, etc. Cost: $0 Total Expenses: $0 Understanding the market & finding a manufacturerI knew I had to get a grasp on the pillow market and the materials that would be available to build the final product. Similarly I knew I was going to have to find a manufacturer to help develop this idea into an actual consumer product.I began searching Alibaba for reputable manufacturers within the pillow market. However in this search I didn’t confine myself specifically to the travel pillows. I wanted to get a broader view of options available to me. Through this process I began ordering stock product samples from 4 manufacturers that I narrowed down on Alibaba. I was mainly testing the type of fill material that would work best for my design. This included down feathers, synthetic down, memory foam, cotton fill, and microbeads. A look into the manufacturers I was speaking withSamples Costs: $65, $40, $65, and $55 (each manufacturer) This process also helped further narrow down the selection of a manufacturer to build my first samples. Two of four manufacturers were slow on communication and actually getting the samples shipped. I knew wanted to move quickly through the design process and knew it just wasn’t going to work with them.Total Cost: $225 Building my first manufactured prototype I took detailed photos of my homemade sample and created a digital sketch with measurements for my first prototype. I narrowed down the two remaining manufacturers to one, began working on communicating my ideas for what I would want as the final product. After two wasted weeks, they simply could not wrap their head around the idea (no pun intended). The language barrier was getting in the way and they told me that they didn’t think they were going to be able to help! AHHH!So I got back in touch with the second manufacturer on my samples list to start to process over. Luckily it clicked instantly with them and they were quick to offer suggestions. They got to work and within a week I got my first photo of my first prototype.It wasn't perfect but it was a great startThis really helped me to know that I needed to have the multi-purpose band have a taper design so it consumed less area of your face.Prototype Sample Cost: $80Total Cost: $305Prototype Iteration The first prototype was a success from a communication standpoint. It looked and worked like the homemade sample. However it was far from ready to be final product. This is when I started to really be thankful I ended up with my current manufacturing partner. They offered ideas for new material swatches and overall structural design changes.We went through a few more rounds of prototypes, which took a total of about 2 months. Some iterations were simply changes in density of the pillow, to fabric testing, and full design alterations until it was perfect.The progress of sample designsPrototype Charges: $80 x 6Total cost: $785Creating the identity and online presence At this point I was on my first long trip getting full use of my pre-production ready prototype. I flew to Paris and taking in the inspiration of the high fashion boutiques. I went home to my Airbnb one afternoon in the Marais district and knew exactly how I wanted to logo to look.Final Sondre Travel logoCost: $0In picking the name for the brand, I had done research to ensure the domain and social media handles would be available to allow for cohesive branding across all channels. This helped lower the cost of purchasing an available domain name and swiftly getting all the social media handles. The domain and hosting were purchased to create a quick landing page for the brand.Cost: $95Total Cost: $880 Filming the Kickstarter Video Getting ready to launch the crowdfunding page I knew I wanted a very clean, simple, and straight to the point video. My previous college roommate happen to be a freelance film maker and agreed to help produce the video in between projects. However filming a video about a travel pillow within a commercial flight wasn’t going to work. I sent a cold e-mail to local charter aircraft company at our airport here in Burlington VT. I laid out what I was working on and what we wanted to achieve. The response? Complete access to their facility, hanger, and a plane…for free!Hanging out inside the plane while filming the videoCost: $500Although the facilities were free for the shoot, I did purchase a few props including other travel pillows and luggage. Final Kickstarter VideoCost: $190Total Cost: $1570 Finishing touchesWith the video finalized, I spent about a month crafting the Kickstarter page. I wanted to ensure I illustrated those key pain points that were solved. Gif to illustrate the size comparison compare to a traditional travel pillow To get ready for the launch, I wanted to get a few last minute things ready and on hand. The first was more samples produced from my manufacturer. I knew that sending samples to press and influencers would be a great way to help the buzz get going. I was able to get a discount rate for additional samples with the prospect of a production order on the way. Production model being testedCost: $350 Then I had the usual collateral made of postcards and business cards. I also produced a small batch of custom poly mailers to give the samples a premium look when being shipped to heighten the overall experience. Custom Poly Mailer BagsCost: $65 Lastly I contacted a few photographers I found on Instagram to take some lifestyle photos. They agreed to take the photos simply for product exchange. The only additional cost to me was shipping. Photo by @deathbefore.decap on IGCost: $20Toal Cost: $2005 Into the Campaign!So I was able to bring an idea floating around in my head to fully finished product to market for just over $2,000. I definitely saved money along the already having a background in putting together my logo and website. Also having someone in my personal circle to help film the Kickstarter video was a huge benefit as well.However bringing a product to the market is only the beginning of the journey! As of writing this I am over 50% funded under 48 hours.I would love for you to check out the Kickstarter Page. If you are interested in backing the project — Awesome! If not I’d love to hear feedback or you can simply share the project with a friend who spends too much time in the air. Check out the full Voyage Pillow Kickstarter 

#/r/startups #reddit