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letarasstuff · 3 years

Text

“Daddy, I don’t feel so good.”

(A/N): This is definitely not a Marvel reference. Nope.

Summary: The youngest Reid got sick, but the babysitter can’t come. Spencer has no other chance than to bring her into the office.

Warnings: Except for talking about sickness (nothing graphic) and medicine none.

Wordcount: 1.2k

✨Masterlist✨

_____________________________

Spencer would never call himself a helicopter parent. Of course he protects his daughter and worries about her pretty much all the time, though he tries to keep it to a reasonable amount.

But a few words can make his world stop.

He woke her up a few minutes ago to get her ready for school. (Y/N) always needs one or two moments to get to herself in the morning, so Spencer let her stay in bed for the time being. That’s why he is confused to hear the sound of little feet paddling on the floor earlier than usual.

“Baby, are you ok?” he asks her after picking the little girl up. When she mutters six little words he immediately kisses her forehead to measure her temperature.

“Daddy I don’t feel so good.”

“I can only imagine. Seems like you got a fever, bug. What about your tummy?” Spencer goes into mother hen mode almost immediately. Waiting for (Y/N)’s answer he sets her on the kitchen counter and rummages through the cabinets for medicine.

“It feels a little funny. And my nose hurts and I can’t breath through it. My throat is itchy”, she explains, her voice sounding nasal.

“Here, take this, it will make you feel better in no time. You can’t go to kindergarten today and the babysitter isn’t able to come in on such short notice. I think you have to visit daddy at work. Do you want to visit me at work?”

(Y/N) claps her hands in excitement and nods her head rapidly.

A little later a disheveled Spencer and a slicked (Y/N) on his hip enter the bullpen. She has her blue little backpack on her Auntie Pen gifted her last christmas.

The doctor’s first trip is to Hotch’s office. He knocks on his door softly, waiting for the “Come in”.

“Hey Hotch, uh (Y/N) got sick overnight and nobody was able to watch her. Is it ok for her to spend the day here today? I will take a sick day tomorrow, but there is this important paperwork I have to finish”, Spencer over-explains.

“Hi Uncle Hotch!” The little girl exclaims tiredly. The medicine begins to work, making her a bit loopy.

“Hey (Y/N)”, he smiles at her, “It’s not a problem, Reid, as long as she is not a distraction.”

At this both men know who is meant: The whole team. But you can’t blame them, Reid’s daughter is too adorable for her own good.

After a brief “thank you” Spencer goes to his desk, setting his girl beside him in a chair.

“Sweetheart, I need you to stay here and be quiet, ok? You got your entertainment with you, do you?”

“Yes daddy!” Then she pulls out several pencil cases and a coloring book, keeping herself occupied.

One after the other the rest of the team arrive at the scene. Each of them greets the little family, swooning over (Y/N), but are also worried over her flushed cheeks and red nose. Especially JJ has a look on her face that can only be described as Momma Bear.

“Do you need anything, Honey? I’m pretty sure I got some nice tea in my office. And a blanket. I’ll get them for you. Do you need anything, Spence? Will gets off early today, he wanted to watch some movies with the boys, I’m sure he won’t mind watching over (Y/N)”, she offers.

“Thank you, but we got everything situated. (Y/N) has her favorite blanket with her, I have a travel mug prepared with her favorite tea and I got medicine with me for her. Her backpack is filled with books, coloring books and pencils, her stuffed sloth she got from Morgan and I downloaded a few movies and shows on my phone as well as some audiobooks. We are prepared for anything.”

Spencer is certain he thought everything through. That he counted every possible scenario in and that there is nothing he doesn't have a plan for. But there is one thing he completely forgot:

His daughter gets extremely clingy when she is either tired or sick. At the moment, she is both.

“Daddy, can we cuddle? Professor Curie feels lonely.” To emphasize her point (Y/N) holds her stuffed sloth up. Only a child of Spencer’s would be nerdy enough to name her toy after an accomplished female scientist.

“Baby, I have to work. When we get home we can cuddle as long as Professor Curie wants. How does that sound?” The doctor looks down at her, which is his biggest mistake, because he is met by her big puppy dog eyes. Prentiss often half heartedly jokes she got not only her brains from him, but also this look.

With a sigh Spencer gives in. He pushes his chair a bit back and picks (Y/N) up from hers. The doctor sets her down on his lap and drapes the TARDIS patterned blanket he couldn’t resist buying her over her back. The little girl’s head lays on his chest, listening to his heart beat, which makes her fall asleep.

A while later - Spencer is totally engrossed in his paperwork - Penelope enters the bullpen after hearing her favorite Reid is here today. She absolutely isn’t prepared for the scene she is greeted by:

(Y/N) snores softly, her fist balling into Spencer's sweater vest and her stuffed animal is dangerously close to falling down.

“Spencer Reid, I don’t know why you didn’t tell me my favorite human being, no offence Chocolate Thunder, visits the bureau, but I can’t even be mad at you at this picture of pure cuteness and innocence”, she says in an accusatory tone.

“I’m sorry, Garcia, but (Y/N) got sick overnight and I didn’t know where to go with her since I got this important paperwork to fill out”, Spencer excuses himself, running a hand through his messy hair. He is happy that his daughter isn’t super difficult to handle when she is sick. Still he feels more stressed than ever.

“No offence taken”, Morgan mumbles, looking at his goddaughter.

“No problem, Boy Wonder. When she wakes up, tell Wonder Baby her Aunt Penelope loves her and hopes she gets better soon.”

A couple mugs of coffee later, which are brought to him by his best friend, Spencer gently and carefully packs up both his and his daughter’s belongings before setting her on his hip, cautious to not wake her up. He says his goodbyes to his colleagues, getting a few promises to come visit both of them over the next days to help him out a bit.

“Daddy? Are we going home and cuddle?” (YN) asks sleepily. Her father’s heart melts at her small voice.

“Yes, we are. Do you want some chicken noodle soup later, baby?”

“Only if we eat Jell-O for dessert.”

“Of course, bug.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x child!reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #bau x child!reader #bau x reader #bau #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #aaron hotchner #jennifer jereau #derek morgan #penelope garcia #x child!reader #I hope you like it

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shingia · 3 years

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i’m not sure if you’ve gotten this request before (feel free to ignore if u have loll) but could i request how hq boys would help u when ur hungover.... cause i am big time rn LMAO please and thanks <33

✗ HQ BOYS WHEN YOU’RE HUNGOVER ✗

the way i ran to my drafts to start writing this omg 🏃🏻‍♀️ ngl it almost made me miss being hungover <\33 anyways- hope you’ll feel better v soon and are taking care of your poor hungover self 😽

-> timeskip! kita, kuroo, tsukishima, suna, oikawa

-> warnings : mentions of alcohol (for obvious reasons), mentions of throwing up and mentions of food

— KITA

• this man knows how to handle a hangover better than anyone

• he’s a moderate drinker, but his grandmother’s books contain the cure to everything and he’s more than willing to make you benefit from his knowledge

• he will make you drink these three bottles of water, that bowl of tomato soup and that banana milkshake with a tablespoon of honey. dehydration ? he doesn’t know her

• but kita also knows how important it is to not stay in bed all day, so he’ll insist on having you spend at least thirty minutes outside in the fresh air, most probably in your backyard

• you can refuse, of course. but he’ll take away your cuddle privilege immediately, so~ your choice

• also expect a lot a few disapproving looks,,, because as much as he loves to pamper you, he can’t help but remember the dozens of times he told you you’d had enough to drink last night. obviously you didn’t listen

• i think would disapprovingly care : like- lecturing you under his breath as he sprays essential oils on your bedsheets or tests the temperature of the bath water before letting you in

• remember the cuddle privilege i talked about? yeah, that’s going to be your reward at the end of the day for not being stubborn and docilely following his instructions

• with freshly perfumed bedsheets and his natural body warmth, you’re likely to fall asleep in five second tops. but that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave you, quite the contrary. no, this man will continue to take care of you in your sleep

• and by that i mean belly rubs to make sure your nausea is gone when you wake up, or gentle head massages to make your migraine go away. he might even brush your hair so that you won’t wake up with knots

• he doesn’t even expect you to thank him, because « isn’t that what all husbands are supposed to do ? »

— KUROO

• he’s probably hungover too because he had to finish half of your drinks,,, yet it still wasn’t enough to prevent you from waking up with the biggest headache

• in other words : dimmed lights all day. he might not even open the blinds. and to be honest he likes these kind of vibes

• sure, it feels like your brains are about to explode, and every single part of your body is aching (eyelashes included), but it’s cozy and your minds are too fogged to worry about anything other than getting better- so it’s self care and self care only today

• it’s likely that none of you will feel like eating something, but kuroo’s an athlete : he knows better than to skip a meal, especially when you both feel so weak

• so he’ll sacrifice himself and make the grueling effort of leaving the bed to cook you a little something, nothing extravagant but still enough to reinvigorate the two of you

• and since you don’t have anything better to do, you guys decide to watch the videos you took during the party,,, and slowly come to the realization that you have very few memories of what happened

• « is that you dancing on that table ? » you ask him, pointing at the man who is just a second away from tripping on a napkin

• lifting his shorts, kuroo glances at the bruise on the upper part of his thigh : « ohh- well that explains a lot »

• chances are that, because of his built, kuroo will feel better before you. so the true pampering will come later in the evening

• he’s got vitamins, ibuprofens, blankets, and his arms ready for you. you’re in for the deepest sleep of your life

— TSUKISHIMA

• « i told you so »™️

• you would wake up feeling like absolute crap and he would be eyeing you, standing next to the bed with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised : « how are we feeling ? », even though the answer is pretty obvious

• but he knows that sarcasm won’t get him anywhere so he tries to tone it down (try to)

• you might think he’s not going to do much, but as soon as you step out of the shower he forced you to take (even though you were exhausted), you realize that he did do much

• the clothes you wore last night are already in the washing machine, your new ones (most probably his) are neatly folded on your bed, waiting for you, and he’s cooking an anti-hungover meal that he looked up on the internet

• if he has to study while you’re getting some rest in the bedroom he will put reminders on his phone every 15mn to come and check on you

• and he never leaves the room without lifting the covers up to your shoulders to make sure you won’t get cold

• he also wets a towel and gives it to you to place over your eyes if they’re sore

• but as soon as he’s done studying, he joins you in bed with greatest pleasure. and it’s a good thing that tsukki loves comfortable silences, because neither of you feel like saying anything

• you’re just laying there, letting him keep track of time since you’re too busy enjoying being pampered that much

— SUNA

• blackmail material for YEARS (in addition to the videos and pictures he took of you during the party)

• he turns this into a vlog, you could be half-asleep on the couch and hear him talk to the camera from the kitchen like « so here i am making pasta for this lightweight who threw up all night... i’m still waiting for my boyfriend of the year’s award... »

• but really, he’s just being dramatic. deep down he loves to take care of you when you’re hungover because you get much clingier,,, so he allows himself to be clingier too

• as much as he loves to lay down on top of you, the roles are reversed this time. because being crushed by a 6’3 tall man while you’re hungover is probably not a very good idea

• but before these lazy cuddles, he wants to make sure you’re comfortable : so he’ll remove your makeup (if you wore any) and give you his clothes because he knows you like how oversize they are

• so yes, naps and water are definitely the keywords of the day, but tell him once that you crave one specific food and he’ll immediately go get it for you

• he’s also surprisingly careful with any possible headache, so he’ll keep his earphones on while scrolling on his phone to make sure you can rest in complete silence

• however, at some point he will hand you his phone and have you record a video for your future self. something along the lines of : « hi y/n, this is you from the past. i feel like absolute shit right now so please be more reasonable next time... and don’t let rin get more embarrassing pictures of us »

• and you can be sure that he’ll use this video as a threat next time you’re partying. he would just have to point at his phone from the other side of the room and you would understand what he means

— OIKAWA

• he’s not the person to call if you want to be talked out of partying ever again

• because not only does he spend the entire day praising you highly for the way you looked yesterday, but you also realize that he loves your drunk self (as long as he’s here to watch over you)

• he doesn’t mind you complaining because he’s had a few hangovers of his own,, so feel free to whine about your stomachache/headache all you want

• and if you throw up ? it’s ok, he’s got you. and he’s not leaving your side unless you ask him to

• literally, he spends the entire day babying you. you’re feeling too tired to brush your teeth ? no problem, he’ll have you sit on the edge of the bathtub and do it for you

• same goes for washing your hair or getting dressed : there’s nothing he’ll refuse

• if your head doesn’t hurt too much, he’ll offer to watch a stupid tv show in front of which you can fall asleep without missing anything important

• and he’ll make sure to get the right cuddle position right away because he knows you’ll probably fall asleep very quickly and he doesn’t want to wake you up by fidgeting under you

• also: expect many many scalp massages. and his hands are the softest so they feel absolutely divine

• i think oikawa knows a lot about hydration so he’ll probably make you drink something like sugary water to give you a little boost. and if you don’t trust this drink, he’ll try again with another one until you’re completely hydrated

• and as i said, he’s very supportive,, almost too much : « you finished your glass ! i’m proud of you baby! »

taglist : @toworuu @catwithangerissues @miyumiya @livy384 @k0u-minamo2 @fullsundear @hsjvwq @kelsuuki @hiraeth-z @velvetvirgos @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner @47meow @japanesevenom @geektastic84 @noir-blanches-blog @idontlikeyourjob @seiri-ami @atiny-grl-with-luv @admiringlove @nachotrash @kellesvt @aintyourholy @Moonlaeli @catchmewiddershins @duhsies @devilgirlcrybabiey @crystal-lilac @ijustwantfreenetflix @mimaki @maitenight

#reblogs are very cool 👉🏼👈🏼#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu comfort #kita shinsuke x reader #kita headcanons #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo headcanons #suna rintarou x reader #suna headcanons #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa headcanons #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima headcanons #tw alchohol mention #tw alcohol #tw: alcohol

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archived-kin · 3 years

Text

petty ghost haunts their murderer but doesn’t actually do anything vengeful, more at eleven

note from kin: i don’t even know what this is myself to be honest but the simple way of putting it is that you were accidentally killed by one of satan’s fits of rage and now your ghost follows him around and messes with him at any given opportunity out of pettiness

basically i came up with the prompt ‘vengeful spirit is more of a slightly miffed and extremely petty spirit who doesn’t actually do much but inconvenience their hauntee, shenanigans ensue’ and ran with it

(as a heads up, reader is not mc in this situation, and this takes place before any of the exchange program stuff, so belphie’s not in the attic and solomon and the angels aren’t in the devildom)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn!reader, satan, beelzebub

pairing(s): satan/reader (though it isn’t particularly romantic since you’re, y’know, dead, so it’s more of a satan & reader)

warning(s): references to death, beel eats an entire rotisserie chicken

genre: crack (with a bit of fluff i guess???)

“For the last time, [Name], put the knife down.”

“Bite me, bitch-boy.”

Satan lets out a long-suffering sigh and sets down his mug of coffee, then reaches out and carefully pushes the floating butter knife pointed directly at his jugular back down onto the table. “I don’t know why you keep trying that. You do know it wouldn’t actually get through my skin even if you did manage to hit me, right?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” comes your disembodied voice from somewhere near the ceiling. You’ve probably decided to float up there to sulk like you always do after a failed attack.

“I’d prefer you didn’t think about it at all.”

A still-wet towel pulls itself from the rack on the wall and hits him square in the face. Satan gives an exasperated groan as it slides down his face and lands on the table with a soft splat.

“That’s what you get,” You sniff indignantly, finally materialising in front of him with a scowl. You’re floating upside down in a way that makes it look like you’re standing on the ceiling. “Buttface.”

“Come on, you can come up with better material than that,” Satan shakes his head, pushing back his chair and picking up the wet towel you’ve just flung at him to hang it back up again. “Where did all your creativity from yesterday go?”

“Six feet under with the remains of my body, probably,” you reply with a scowl. Then, as an afterthought, you add, “Confounded cheese wheel.”

“Oh, that’s a new one,” He comments, mildly surprised. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“Made it up myself. Ha!” You bob past him and through the wall, most likely to go terrorise Mammon by making his lights flicker on and off again. “Guess my creativity isn’t as dead as I am after all.”

“You still haven’t gotten over that, I see.” He sighs.

Your head immediately pops back out of the wall and glares across the room at him. “Excuse me?”

“It’s been weeks now - months, even,” Satan explains carefully as he sits back down at the table, not wanting to aggravate you further. The last time he'd brought something like this up, he’d ended up making you so angry that you’d managed to become physically corporeal enough to fling him across the room. “I would have thought you’d have passed on by now, that’s all. Surely it doesn’t take this long for the gates to the Celestial Realm to open?”

You consider his words, apparently appeased by their logic. “...I guess. Maybe I’m not passing on because I can’t rest in peace yet, like the ghosts do in horror films.”

“They’re films, you can’t expect to apply what happens in them to reality,” Satan replies flatly. “Besides, even if that was the situation, you've met all the criteria to 'rest in peace’, haven't you?”

“Are you trying to tell me, the dead one here, what merits as ‘resting in peace’?” You counter, floating back through the wall so that your entire body is in the room again. “My murderer’s still walking about like he doesn’t dress in the entire green colour spectrum and think it’s a good idea. How am I supposed to rest in peace knowing that?”

Satan looks down at his outfit, a little offended. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“What’s right with your clothes?” You shoot back, drifting over to him and passing a ghostly hand through his shoulder, apparently too lazy to muster up the energy to make your hand physical enough to touch him. “Look at it! Your blazer doesn’t even have lapels!”

“It isn’t a blazer.”

“Jacket, then.” You make a move as if to pinch at the fabric, but your fingers just pass right through it like a hot knife through butter. “It doesn’t even fit you. The sleeves are too short.”

Satan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to wear it if it didn’t fit me. Besides, why does it matter to you?”

“The demon I might be doomed to be attached to for the rest of my afterlife has the worst fashion sense in all three realms is the matter,” You sigh dramatically and float up to the ceiling again. “Why do you even wear rip-off jeans if you’re going to put a belt over it?”

“First of all, they aren’t rip-off jeans,” Satan tells you as you start idly making the kitchen light flicker. He should probably tell you to stop doing that whenever you get bored, but he’s gotten so used to it at this point that he can’t really be bothered to. “And, second of all, why does it matter if I’m wearing a belt on it?”

“Rip-off jeans are meant to be ripped off,” You explain with all the patience of a mother explaining something to a curious child, completely disregarding Satan’s first point. “Putting a belt on top of it kind makes that redundant.”

Satan thinks about it for a moment and begrudgingly comes to the conclusion that your statement is correct - not that it makes a difference to him. “...they’re still not rip-off jeans.”

“Think whatever you want to think, burro verde.”

“What?”

“It means green donkey in Spanish.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I took Spanish for, like, three years when I was in high school,” You shrug, and the light brightens and dims slightly with the movement of your shoulders, as if it’s shrugging with you. “Failed all the exams, but at least I got something worthwhile out of it.”

“Three years of linguistic lessons and all you learn is how to string together bizarre insults,” Satan shakes his head. “You really are incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word. You sure you know what it means?”

“Of course I do,” He gives you a slightly disgruntled look. “I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who doesn’t know what incorrigible means, obviously.” You pretend to aim a kick at the spider perched quietly in the corner of the ceiling, but Timothy ignores your efforts to boot him from his web. After a moment, growing tired of bothering the little guy, you ask, “...what does it mean?”

Satan snickers, then answers, sounding as if he’s reading the definition directly out of a dictionary, “In reference to a person or their behaviour, unable to be changed or reformed.”

You contemplate his words for a few seconds. “Is that a good thing?”

“Not usually when that particular word is used for it, no.”

“Oh. Bitch.”

He pauses at that, moving his mug of now marginally cooler coffee away from his mouth again, having been in the middle of taking another sip when you decided to insult him again. “Where did that come from?”

“You called me incorrigible, which you just said is not a good thing to be,” You explain as if it’s obvious, frowning down at him. “So I’m taking it as an insult and insulting you back. Bitch.”

“You didn’t have to say it again.”

“I didn’t, but it’s fun to call you names.” You snort and glide down from the ceiling to float above the table, crossing your legs and pretending to sit down on it. “It’s not as fun as it used to be, though. You never get all puffed up about it anymore.”

“That’s your own fault for doing it so much that I got used to it,” Satan reproaches. “Besides, it was pointless getting angry. It’s not like I can do anything to you in return.”

“You could ignore me and pretend I don’t exist or something.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“No!” You hurriedly throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender and shake your head so hard that Satan swears he actually feels a breeze - an even more impressive achievement considering that your body isn’t even tangible. “Please don’t. You’re the only being in the entire universe that I can actually interact with.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing,” Satan mutters.

“It’s a good thing for me, and that’s all that matters,” You reply, unfazed.

No one other than Satan appears to have the ability to see you, which is an odd thing in and of itself. Ghosts aren’t a foreign thing to the Devildom - they’re so common that you could probably just walk into a convenience store and find one shelving cans of soup - but you don’t seem to follow any of the rules that they do. Sometimes Satan wonders if you’re able to actively choose to not allow his brothers to see you as you drift around the house, but then again, he’s pretty sure that, if you had the option to make Lucifer watch you pretend to fist fight that weird skeleton hanging in his room, you definitely would.

Satan doesn’t pretend to understand the laws of your otherworldly existence - he’s read so many variations on the rules behind lingering spirits like you that he can scarcely tell the difference between pure fiction and actual logical hypothesis. It’s easy enough to wrangle you into behaving for a day so that he can observe you properly by promising to leave his radio on for you while he’s out, but the observations themselves never seem to lead to anything. He knows that you’re able to pass through any physical object (as far as he knows), can make lights (of both the electronic and candle variety) flicker at will, can muster up enough physicality to move and touch things if you try, and can phase in and out of perceivable view, but he doesn’t know why you can do any of those things.

“Quit trying to come up with explanations for everything,” You’d told him wisely a month or so ago, when you’d floated in on him muttering to himself about the possibility of something called ‘ether energy’. “You’re just gonna give yourself a headache.”

Then you’d started making his candles flicker like disco lights until he stopped.

“...but I don’t think he spotted me, since he probably would’ve commented on the floating meat cleaver if he did, and— hey, big guy!”

That last exclamation is aimed at Beel, who has just walked into the kitchen and is now rummaging unceremoniously through the fridge, most likely in search of something to eat. At this point Satan’s pretty sure that you still don’t know any of his brothers’ names - at the very least, even if you do, you’ve never called them by them.

Beel continues to sort through the various already empty boxes and containers in the fridge as you start zooming back and forth through him, marvelling over the sheer broadness of his chest and shoulders. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this to him - or indeed any of the brothers - but Satan can tell that it’s more innocent awe than any kind of objectification or intent to harm, so he doesn’t mind. As mischievous as you are, he’s pretty sure you don’t have a genuinely malicious or wanton bone in your body... well, you don’t have any bones anymore - or a body, for that matter - but the point still stands.

“Hungry?” He guesses, but it’s honestly more of a statement. It is Beel, after all.

The Avatar of Gluttony withdraws from his search briefly to offer a nod. “I didn’t get to finish all of my lunch.”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” You comment as Beel sticks his head back into the fridge, finally tiring of buffeting yourself back and forth like a pendulum and choosing to start hovering just over the second youngest’s shoulders to watch his hunt. “Wonder what he was up to that got him to stop eating.”

Satan opens his mouth to reply, then stops and closes it again. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Beel with the not-really-a-secret of your existence, but he’s sure that at some point or another, Beel will end up letting it slip to Lucifer, who would most likely want to know why your death ended up attaching your spirit to his brother, and Satan’s already gone to great lengths to make sure that the oldest won’t find out about the rampage he went on that cost you your life in the first place. It'd just be a waste of that effort for Lucifer to find out anyway. Besides, it isn’t like the information will make much difference to Beel - he can’t see or hear you, and you’re pretty harmless, so there wouldn’t be any need for him to get involved in the situation anyway.

You, meanwhile, are well aware that Satan isn’t going to be saying anything to you while one of his brothers is in the room - you don’t really understand his reasoning for it, since you like to think that you’re a pleasure of a ghost to know, but you suppose you can’t really force him to make any decisions. Besides, you’re pretty content with the way things are right now; you don’t want to complicate the situation by bringing in another demon who, as far as you know, might just smite you on the spot if they find out about your existence.

Instead, you busy yourself with watching in fascination as Beel somehow pulls what looks like a rotisserie chicken from the very back of the fridge and shove the whole thing in this mouth. You exchange slightly disturbed looks with Satan as he begins to chew - you’re pretty sure you’ve just seen him dislocate his jaw like a snake to fit it in there.

“You might want to calm down, Beel,” Satan advises after a brief moment’s stunned silence, though even he knows that it’s a fruitless warning. “You’ll end up choking.”

Beel nods, but makes absolutely no move to slow in his aggressive chewing.

“This must be what the peak of evolution looks like,” You say in bemused awe as Beel finishes eating. The entire chicken has disappeared down his throat - bones and all. “How the hell does he manage that?”

Satan doesn’t answer, but his subtle shrug says that your guess is as good as his.

Much to your surprise and Satan’s resignation, Beel immediately goes back to the fridge, apparently unsatisfied by the copious amount of fowl he’s just eaten. To be honest, you feel sorry for the guy - while the you from when you’d still been able to eat would have done some unspeakable things to be able to consume as much as he does and still remain that fit, you’re sure that the black hole he calls a stomach must be an awful thing to have to deal with. At least he gets to enjoy a lot of food because of it, though you suppose it’s a double-edged sword if he’s also constantly being scolded for it. Personally, you don’t understand the reasoning behind telling someone off for eating as much food as they need, but they are demons. You probably shouldn’t expect them to have that level of compassion.

By the time you break out of your train of thought, Beel has found something else to eat amidst the many empty boxes in the fridge. It’s much smaller than the rotisserie chicken - some kind of pastry with a dollop of snowy white cream on top, decorated with a few lines of melted chocolate to look like a cat’s face. In fact, it looks almost identical to…

“Hey, wait!” You swipe a useless hand through Beel’s arm as he raises the pastry to his mouth. “Don’t eat that—!”

Too late. The pastry disappears into Beel’s mouth, and you drift backwards again, letting out a defeated groan. Satan shoots you a curious look - you can’t eat, after all, so why are you so upset about Beel eating that pastry? Is there something special about it?

His question is answered when he actually turns to look at his younger brother. The Avatar of Gluttony has gone rigid on the spot and is blinking rapidly, his eyes the size of moons.

“Beel…?” Satan questions hesitantly. “Are you feeling alright?”

Beel takes a long moment to respond, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Satan takes a closer look and realises that Beel’s pupils seem to have dilated to an almost impossible degree, resembling a cat’s eyes when it’s about to go absolutely feral. Whatever it is was in that pastry, it’s definitely hit him hard.

Now, Satan isn’t one to interrupt good fun when it’s about to happen, so instead of stepping in and performing some sort of spell that might help on his possibly-high brother like a good guy, he sits back and watches as Beel’s head swings around the room as if he's never seen anything in it before like the mischief-loving little shit he is. Beel himself doesn’t appear to be negatively affected, so it can’t be that bad, right?

You float cautiously around the giant as his hands ball into fists. His entire body is trembling slightly with pent-up energy. Then, a split second later, as if he’s been zapped by some catalystic bolt of lightning, he abruptly snaps back on his heel and positively zooms out of the room. You can practically see the cartoony cloud of dust that he’s kicking up as he disappears down the corridor.

“He’s absolutely zooted right now,” You comment, flipping upside with a resigned sigh and crossing your arms a little grumpily. “I told him not to eat it.”

“He couldn’t hear you, you know,” Satan says, moving over to the fridge and slamming it shut, since Beel has neglected to. “What was even in that thing?”

You shrug. “Don’t know. I’ve just been calling it demon-nip.”

“I suppose that it does to demons what catnip does to cats, then?” Satan doesn’t even wait for you to answer before continuing - rude. “How did you even get a hold of it? Never mind that, how did you manage to get it in a pastry and put it in the fridge?”

“I got some help from one of the poltergeists downtown to make it,” You wave your hands about dismissively. “You should pay more attention when you go out. I disappeared for, like, five hours, and you didn’t even notice.”

“When even was this?”

“Tuesday, I think. Remember when you bought that giant bag of cat paw-shaped biscuits and then accidentally dropped the bag in the hall and got them everywhere?”

You don’t miss the way that the tips of his ears go slightly pink as he coughs subtly and averts his gaze. “...why would the poltergeists help you? They hate humans.”

“I don’t know, actually…” You ponder for a moment, then decide, “...probably because I’m cute.”

“Are you?” Satan deadpans. “Cute is what you’d call a cat. You’re just… tolerable.”

“Oh, fuck you, I think I’m adorable.” You huff, flying over and poking him hard in the side of the head. Satan hisses in pain and reaches up to rub the sore spot, but he supposes he should have seen that blow coming - you’re never too humble to make yourself physical enough to hit him after an insult.

“Where did that idea even come from?” He asks quickly, not wanting to take another attack. You may be a mere imprint of a dead human, but your fingers are sharp, and he’d prefer not to provoke you further if he can avoid it.

His change of subject is so abrupt and obvious that it’s almost laughable, but you choose not to call him out on it. As much as you’d like to set him on fire or something, he hasn’t given you a really good reason to commit arson yet, and you’d just end up feeling bad for doing it. Well, to be fair, he did kill you… but still, you don’t want to keep holding that over his head.

“I read it in a book.” You answer. Satan’s eyes light up slightly.

“Do you remember the title?” He asks almost eagerly, and you disguise a snicker. His intentions are practically painted in bright red paint across his face - he’s hoping that there’ll be more schemes like the one you’ve performed that he can use against that sadist of an older brother of his.

Unfortunately for him, the book doesn’t exist. “Yeah. It’s called One Hundred Ways To Get Back At The Ass That Killed You, Free Of Murder and Actual Crimes That Might Get You Persecuted And Sent To Super Hell.”

Satan clearly isn’t thinking very hard today, because for a moment he actually looks as if he believes you - you suppose it’s because he’s grown desensitised to the oddness of such long titles after hearing so many weirdly specific anime titles from the otaku brother that you still have yet to see come out of his room. (You’ve floated in a few times to have a look around and appreciate the decor, but other than that, you’ve barely even seen his face. You’re not even sure what his name is, to be honest…)

He realises what you’re getting at after a moment, though, and immediately frowns at you in disapproval. You just grin, pleased with your small victory.

“You're insufferable,” He says, shaking his head with an long sigh.

“No, I'm cute,” You counter, frowning. “Weren't you listening to me earlier?”

He throws his hands up hastily as you drift forward with a hand brandished and a nasty glint in your eye, unwilling to get jabbed at again. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

You, however, don't relent. Eyes narrowing, you float even closer - so close that, if you'd been physical, he’d have been able to feel your breath on his face. “Say it.”

Satan may be one of the seven most powerful demons in the Devildom (below Diavolo, of course, and possibly Barbatos), but the aggression of a pissed-off ghost, especially if that ghost is you, isn't anything he wants to be on the receiving end of right now. “Fine, fine! You're adorable, you're cute, whatever. Now will you leave me alone?”

You finally pull back, beaming in a gratified fashion. “That's all I wanted to hear!”

Satan gives you an irritated look as you drift back across the kitchen, a satisfied grin on your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’ve said that already,” You sing back, laughing in victory when you see his eyebrow twitch slightly in annoyance. “And you had the nerve to lecture me about creativity earlier! Why don’t you come up with better material, Mr Shoes-Up-My-Ass?”

He doesn’t reply for a good moment, attempting to think of a insult to counter your admittedly slightly juvenile one. Try as he might, though, all of his good jibes seem to have evaporated. “...shut up.”

His pathetic response, of course, immediately compels you to take the piss out of him. Clutching your chest dramatically, as if Satan’s just stabbed you with the knife you’d been waving about earlier, you wail, “Oh, thy words do wound me! 'Tis like thou hath rip’d my heart out with thy own hands!”

Satan glares you for a long moment, but he doesn’t have the heart to keep it up when you’re grinning so brightly. Honestly, you’re a nuisance and a brat sometimes, sure, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider you his closest friend at this point. “...do you even know how to use those words?”

You drop the act faster than Asmo throws it down on a Saturday night, shrugging and floating back over to hover just above the chair across from Satan’s. “Nope. It sounded right, though, right?”

“I haven’t read enough works in Old English to know,” Satan admits with a shake of his head. “But it did, I suppose…”

It’s kind of weird that he’s agreeing so easily, you think. Has he just had enough of your bullshit and is complying with to keep you quiet? Or has he just finally seen the light of your brilliance?

...well, you suppose it doesn’t matter. You grin and move to ruffle his hair, but forget to make your hand physical and instead end up flying right through his head. Satan shudders slightly - though he doesn’t feel it, it’s still weird to have an entire hand and arm go through his cranium.

“Could you not?” He complains as you right yourself and pull your hand back again. “This feels weird.”

“Baby.”

“Pet names aren’t going to do anything,” He sighs, pulling his chair to the side so that he’s no longer half-inside your torso. “Hands to yourself.”

“No, it was an insult,” You correct him. “I was calling you a baby. Though bitch-boy works too.”

Satan lets out a long sigh. Now you’re just back where you started.

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #satan x reader #except it's more of a satan & reader #crack #ghosts #swd satan #swd beelzebub #I've taken a look through my obey me drafts and noticed a pattern #if i'm writing about one of the brothers beel always seems to show up as a cameo #now that i think about it this prompt has some real angst potential...#unfortunately i seem to incapable of writing anything but fluf and funny in these trying times #anyway i hope you enjoyed this!!#the ending is super abrupt but i've already spent too long on this thing so just TAKE IT

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

hello! do you have any fics where charles meets edie/erik's family for the first time?

Hi anon. I have plenty of fics where Charles meets Edie and/or Erik's family. I hope you enjoy!!!

Charles Meets Edie/Erik’s family for the first time

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania - Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

Fools and Their Mamas – LoveSupreme

Summary: Charles FINALLY gets to meet Erik's mother in person! Sure she doesn't know any English (besides knowing when Erik is cursing and thus requiring a good smack) and sure Charles doesn't have a great history when it comes to mothers, but Erik is sure everything will be stupendous, when he has brain power left over from trying to find a way to ask Charles to move to the Lensherr estate.

A Nice Boy (The Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

First Impressions – Ook

Summary: The first time Erik Lensherr, CEO of Eisenhardt Enterprises, met Charles Xavier he might just have called him a homeless drop out and accused him of being a junkie, before realising he was a waiter. He almost apologised.

The second time Erik Lensherr met Charles Xavier, he was volunteering at the soup kitchen, and Erik definitely (In Charles's opinion) accused him of being a thoughtless freeloader and slacker. He did apologise. Eventually.

The third time Erik met Charles, he hit him with his car. This was definitely not on purpose. Erik didn't actually ever say he was sorry, but he did end up taking Charles home with him, that time.

Food, Family, and Friends with Benefits – endingthemes

Summary: “Everyone,” Edie says, voice bursting with pride. “Erik’s here, and he’s brought his friend.” She takes Charles’ arm and pulls him forward, presenting him like a shiny object. “This is Charles.”

Charles manages a weak wave and an even weaker, “Hello.”

(In which Charles gets dragged along to his fuck buddy's parent's house to celebrate a Jewish holiday, and things get weird.)

Impulse Decisions – listerinezero

Summary: Erik wakes up in Las Vegas with a hell of a hangover, a telepath in his bed, and a ring on his finger. Now what?

Look Up, You’re Standing Next To Me, What A Feeling – luninosity

Summary: Charles, when uncertain, buries the uncertainty beneath extra certainty about everything else, which reads an awful lot like arrogance to anyone who doesn’t know better. Erik does know better. His mother doesn’t.

I ♥ NY (It’s My Friends I’m Not Sure Of) – oddegg

Summary: Erik is a single, successful man who likes quick sex with no strings attached. Then, he meets college professor Charles and it's love at first sight, at least for him. Charles, who heard of Erik's notorious ways, wants nothing to do with him besides being friends. Cue Erik bending over backwards to steal Charles' heart.

Series

Mutually Beneficial Transaction – Pookaseraph

Summary: In his sophomore year at Columbia University, Erik, feeling slowly strangled by his mounting college debt, places an add on a sugar daddies website. He doesn't know exactly what to expect from it, but when he's contacted by a man named Charles who seems less creepy than the other people who have responded to his profile, he decides to give it a shot. Charles is nothing like what he expected, and Erik finds himself slowly falling in love with his sugar daddy while trying to find out exactly what caused this amazing guy to buy his emotional and sexual intimacy when he clearly deserves so much more than that.

Math Reasons – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Miss Missing You – WaxRhapsodic

Summary: In his head he knew it was unfair to compare Charles and Magda, but he couldn’t help the giddiness he felt around Charles. Erik had never felt this way about anyone before, and he relished the live wire of emotion coiled in his chest.

Erik and Magda are separated when he meets a charming young professor out on the town.

Soul of my soul – ikeracity

Summary: You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.

Charles and Erik imprint on each other just in time for the holidays.

Heart of my heart – pinkoptics

Summary: You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.

Of course, imprinting on the guardian of one of your grade one students isn’t ideal.

Then again, when has Erik’s life ever been ideal?

Love Over Challah – sebastian2017

Summary: As his first Shabbat alone with David approaches, Charles realizes he's overlooked one important detail: he's not actually sure how to have a Shabbat dinner. Thankfully, he meets Edie Lehnsherr, who just so happens to be having dinner with her son and grandchildren that very Friday and would love to have Charles and David over to celebrate the Shabbat with.

Charles and Erik meet while celebrating the Shabbat and bond over mutant activism and their adorable children.

When, how, and because we do – aesc, pearl_o

Summary: Erik brings Charles home to meet his mother. AU of Tough little baby telepath.

And your smile, oh darling, your smile – lavenderlotion

Summary: Charles turned back around to find Mrs. Lehnsherr still standing in the doorway, watching them with a smile and some very warm thoughts that made Charles feel very soft in his chest, right by his heart. "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Lehnsherr. It's very, very nice," Charles told her seriously, meaning every word and hoping that Mrs. Lehnsherr would believe him and not think him just terrible for the way that he had first thought the house too small.

Hearts and Bones – pocky_slash

Summary: Modern, non-powered AU. An impending visit with Erik's parents leaves Charles anxious and Erik unsure how to proceed.

Good manners (will get you far) – ximeria

Summary: Charles had been looking forward to the performance at the Met for ages. Little did he know, things would not go according to plan.

The Gift of the Magi, But Screw it Up – librata

Summary: He doesn't know if he's buying too much, too little, or even the right things at all, because he's never entertained a guest as important as Edie Lehnsherr.

‘How to Parent’ by Edie Lehnsherr – SprinkleofSunshine

Summary: Edie prided herself on being a good mother. The best mother even. After all, she had several mugs in her cupboards declaring that truth gifted by her two children over the years. However, something is going on with her son, Erik, and it's her duty to find out what....

Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr

Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.

Meeting the Parents – melonbutterfly

Summary: Erik takes Charles home to introduce him to his family.

Charles Does Not Buy a Shamwow – magneto

Summary: Charles and Erik are spending the first few days of their university's winter break alone at Erik's mother's house. Then, Erik's mother decides to come home early unannounced... while Erik and Charles are naked on the living room couch.

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #asks #earnestly answers #meet the family

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scriptaed · 3 years

Text

...cause i like you?!

genre: fluff/crack; e2l!au;

pairing: jin x reader;

length: 2.1k;

synopsis: just the thought of it, no, the mere possibility of it boggles the ever so egotistical mind that belonged to kim seokjin. him? and... her? his arch enemy? his sworn nemesis whose incessant badgering he simply refuses to surrender to? struck with a capricious cold, jin’s teapot of a mind attempts to conceal its steam fall short when you pay an unexpected visit and all mayhem is set loose. when did it happen? how did it happen? no... no, it can’t be... he can’t... possibly... like her?!

You [4:05 P.M.] are you sure this is the right address????

Dipshit Tae [4:05 P.M.] yes for hundredth time

Dipshit Tae [4:05 P.M.] why would i give you the wrong address??

You [4:06 P.M.] you mean why WOULDN’T you give me the wrong address..

You [4:06 P.M.] is that loser even home?

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] yeah, he should be. he was texting me about how bored he was just a while ago.

You [4:06 P.M.] wait.. he was texting you?? I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE WORRIED CAUSE HE WAS BEDRIDDEN AND WASN’T RESPONDING???

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] uh… yeah, he was :) I swear :) which is exactly why you’re there because YOU have a car and I don’t!

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] aren't I a good wingman? :)

You [4:06 P.M.] I DON'T LIKE HIM

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M.] awww I can see you blushing through text you

You [4:06 P.M.] I hate your guts also why isn’t he answering the door

Dipshit Tae [4:06 P.M] he’s not?? try ringing the doorbell

You [4:07 P.M.] you think I haven’t, dumbass?

Dipshit Tae [4:07 P.M.] hold on, let me call him

"God," your breath marks the air in white puffs as you pace in place before his house, "hurry up—"

—swoosh, the door opens magically and, lo and behold, there stands the devilish man himself, Kim Seokjin… except unlike the formidable foe, this skeptical phenomenon stands before you, lips gaping and doe-like eyes widening in utter shock rendered by your presence. You only manage a quick scan of his donned baby pink bathrobe matched with pink bunny slippers until the both of you practically jump back into an ephemeral moment seemingly frozen in time.

Just as his phone rings, Jin quickly slams the door on you. His efforts prove fruitless, however, once you somehow manage to stick your foot in between his doorframe and the merciless force of his, which fortunately comes to an abrupt stop before your potential stop to the emergency room. There are trivial incidents like these—when he ignores the itch to tease you on the days you wear a frown or when he reluctantly chooses to lose an argument although you are very clearly in the wrong—that you bestow him the honorable badge of consideration… but the stubborn part of you theorizes he’s just trying to avoid a hefty hospital fee.

“Ahem, ahem,” the boy feigns a cough into his phone, “Taehyung, can’t you tell I’m sick?”

Scoffing into the air, you call out loudly, “sick enough to slam the door so hard—”

“—ahem,” he shoots you a death glare, “sorry, I’m just so very sick. Can’t talk. Need my beauty sleep. Bye—”

“—beauty sleep?! You? Beauty?”

It’s almost impossible to hold in your cackles; in fact, it takes you only a split second to surrender to the crackling fireworks of your laughter. The quip’s effect is shortly lived, however, when his unusual lengthy silence has you gradually settling into the cold winter air beside him. With his eyes glaring at you from underneath the dampened locks of his bangs clearly fresh out of the shower, it’s nearly impossible to deny the tiniest thought that flashes across your mind.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jin’s pretty damn hot.

“Are you here to tease me or what?” he retorts, burying the phone into the fluff that is his robe. “I’m not in the mood.”

“What? Pshhh,” you wave a dismissive spare hand, “silly, no!”

“Then?” he quirks a brow whilst slowly guarding himself behind the door. “Are you here to watch me wither on my deathbed?”

“No, will you please just let me in? I’m freezing here. I heard you were sick and classes just became too quiet without you—” and when the boy remains unconvinced by your pleas, you let out a loud sigh as your hand raises to reveal a bag of much needed warm soup “—I have food.”

He immediately swings the door wide open, “come right on in.”

“Wow, so you’re not in the mood for me but you’re in the mood for food?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rolling your eyes at his 90 degree bow, you march your way into his halls and directly to the kitchen as you have done so in the many times you had unfortunately been paired with the most self-absorbed classmate for a group project. At this point, you know his everything like the back of your hand. From his house and his obsession with pink to his hobbies and his quirky dialogue, you, his sworn nemesis, probably know him even better than his friends… and oddly enough, you take pride in that—although you’ll never admit it.

“So,” you say nonchalantly as you set out the utensils on his kitchen island, “what could possibly be going on in that peculiar mind of yours?”

“Peculiar? Aw, did Y/N just call me unique?” he snorts. “I said I wasn’t in the mood for you, not anything else.”

“Okay, so,” you gesture for him to dig in despite the evident hesitation in his eyes once he seats himself across from you, “why me specifically?”

“Cause—” he stares at you confidently but struggles to spill before playing with his spoon “—cause something’s been on my mind.”

You flash a cheeky grin, “you mean I’ve been on your mind?”

“What?!” he almost springs from his seat in absolute denial, leaning forward across the counter enough for you to take a step back. “No! Wooow, that’s just… that’s… preposterous!”

“Alright, alright, I was just joking,” you raise two merciful hands but leave the latter half of the sentiment to yourself—because who even uses the word preposterous nowadays? Your silence, however, rightfully ends when you notice him constantly probing around at the congee, as if looking for something lurking in the soup. “Don’t worry, Jin, I didn’t poison it.”

“Ah,” he nods, thereby confirming your completely accurate reading of his mind.

When another second passes and you’re finally at a loss for how to prolong a conversation with Jin, you subtly join in on his silent nods; but with each succeeding nod, you begin to notice his cheeks gradually burning a flush shade of pink much stronger than his robe.

“Jin,” you frown, “are you okay? Your face is turning really red—”

“—it’s probably the steam from the bowl,” he blurts, eyes quickly averting to his bowl before downing a big spoonful of soup into his perpetually ravenous stomach, leaving you little to no time left for you to retort. An unsettling silence follows—an undeniable rarity between the rowdy atmosphere between you two—and you begin to wonder what exactly are you staying silent for.

You can’t possibly be… waiting for his reaction to your cooking, are you? Why does it even matter to you? Why did the flow of things become so awkward? And why is he so… jumpy? Something must be definitely off today, but, oddly enough, you don’t exactly mind this change of pace from your usual bickering comedy duo selves.

Whatever it is, the silence is deafening and you swear he can even hear you gulp.

“Did you…” he scrunches his brows and sets his spoon to the bowl with a clink, “...did you cook this?”

“Yeah, I did,” you follow suit with a frown, “is there something wrong with it…?”

“Yeah, no, of course you did,” he leans back into his seat with a loud huff and a cross of the arms, “you added too much salt.”

“Hey! What’re you imply—”

“—but,” he cocks his head, frowning as he drowns himself deep in his nonsensical thoughts, “it just doesn’t make sense…”

“Hello? Earth to Jin?” you wave a hand across his lost gaze that remains affixed to his mystery of a meal. “What are you going on about now?”

“There’s too much salt in this soup. So, theoretically,” his two parallel hands tap the table sequentially, as if marking some sort of a complex timeline, “this should be a terrible meal… but…”

“But…?”

It takes everything in Jin to squeeze the grand reveal out of his zipped lips and very reluctantly so.

“But… why does it taste so good?” The utter concentration in his dartlike eyes and sheer conviction in his nearly convincing albeit silly argument makes it almost sound like he’s questioning himself, especially when he continues rambling without your response—although, really, you had nothing but a flabbergasted look. “Everything you make should theoretically taste bad but why, when it’s you and only you, does it taste… so good? It makes me—” he clutches his chest dramatically, but noticeably on the opposite side of where his heart should’ve been, and locks a quizzical, almost desperate gaze with you “—so warm and fuzzy inside?”

“You mean your heart?” you point at his chest. “It’s on the opposite side, Jin.”

“And why,” he gasps for breath like a mad man, an emotionally mad and a mentally mad man, “why do I always let you tease me? Why do I let you win? I’m Jin, Kim Seokjin, for God’s sake! I never lose! And the most confusing part of it is: why do I always supposedly smile whenever I argue with you?!”

“Oh, can confirm, you definitely do that.”

He points an accusatory finger at you, “you do, too!”

“What?” you gawk. “Do not!”

“Taehyung said so!”

“I do?”

The both of you challenge the other in a stare off, eventually and silently admitting a mutual defeat to the subtle nagging side of you that had always taken note of that true albeit irking fact.

“It just doesn’t make sense…” he begins pacing back and forth with a finger to his pursed lips. “I never had problems with my beauty sleep until I met you… I never lowered my food standards to such devastating levels until you started feeding me… I never enjoyed having someone trying to get under my skin until you came into my life… it all doesn’t make sense. The only possibility I can narrow it down to is—”

“—wait, Jin, are you—”

“—is it all cause I like you?!”

The both of your jaws drop open, possibly to the floor, staring at the other as if whatever had slipped from his mouth was the most preposterous thing he had ever suggested! In retrospect and to the general public, you know you should have seen this coming from a mile away. It’s impossible not to acknowledge the several times the lines between a vigorous argument and a flirty quarrel became blurred; but to you, the offensive enemy participating in a never-ending duel with the infamous Kim Seokjin, there’s nothing you could’ve done to anticipate this confession pulled out of thin air.

Did you like it?

The possibility of being something more than a fervent pair of enemies and a questionable pair of friends?

Your mind says it’s unsure, but your smile says much more.

You have to get out of this house, anywhere but here before the opposing enemy catches onto his advancement.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’re you smiling at? You’re the reason I’ve been losing sleep!” he warns sternly, pointing a finger at you whilst you gather your things. “Hey, you must be the reason I’m sick right now! Take accountability!”

“You mean I’m the reason why you’re lovesick now?” you stick a tongue out as you head out the kitchen and you can’t help but laugh at the way he follows like a lost puppy. “What? You want me to make more of my terrible food in return?”

“What? No, shut up! Hey, hey, hey!” he stutters over his own scramble of words, watching you pacing around his front entrance and calling out to you from the hallway. “Where are you going? I think I just confessed to you? No, I’m pretty sure I just did!”

You shrug, “and?”

“And what’s your answer?” he throws his hand in the air, as if his mental stability depended on your very response. “Is it a yes or no? Do you like me, too?”

“Umm… I don’t know,” you hum, “I’ll let you know over dinner? At 6?”

His eyes glimmer with hope, “d-dinner?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a cheeky grin before quipping, “hey, why’s your cheek so red?”

A loud huff of his follows your series of cackles and you can hear his last remark that has you undeniably smiling from ear to ear even through the closed door behind you.

“Damn it, you know it’s cause I like you!”

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downtonabbeyrevisited · 3 years

Text

Season Two Episode Four

A 1918 timestamp ushers us into one of Downton’s more slow moving episodes where three parts painful banality has been mixed with one part life-or-death peril.

Providing more interesting political and cultural conflict than WW1 (at least at Downton) is Isobel’s ongoing grating at Cora’s very soul. Cora has had the temerity to ensure that the staff don’t collapse on their feet and has done something with the linen that I can’t quite fathom which, of course, Isobel takes as a slight upon her medical knowledge. Isobel makes the fatal error of calling Cora’s bluff threatening to ‘seek some other place’ if she is not appreciated at Downton. Major Clarkson also takes sides with Cora and Isobel now has no choice but to throw herself and her messiah complex upon the Red Cross in Northern France. I am sure they will be thrilled.

With Isobel’s departure, Moseley and Mrs Bird find themselves at a loss having deep cleaned the house and moaned about their employer’s eating habits. Turns out that one thing they forgot to do was deploy any semblance of a security system as a random man with a drama school limp wanders into the house looking for food. In a manner that would make the current Conservative front bench recoil with horror, Mrs Bird starts up a soup kitchen out of her own (presumably rather small) pocket. In her latest attempt to not do her job, Mrs Patmore drags Daisy out for some fresh air and in the process uncovers this particular bit of well meaning but financially unsustainable charity. Mrs Patmore scales up the operation, creating a “special storage area” to squirrel away surplus from the army’s stock, which O’Brien conveniently overhears (but to be honest, it’s not that much of a coincidence. I imagine most of the kitchen heard it considering that Mrs Patmore practically yelled it). In an effort to try and inject a bit of actual drama into this episode, O’Brien reports this to Mrs Hughes but (un)fortunately, Mrs Hughes could not care less. But after watching the world’s most appalling secret handover of goods in the village, O’Brien rallies and this time is successful in bringing Cora to the nefariously compassionate Bird-Patmore coalition. To absolutely everyone’s surprise (viewers included) Cora orders food to be taken from the house stock rather than army and with all the over-confidence of a consultant sets about re-arranging tables and streamlining the workflow.

Feeling much less charitable than Mrs Bird, Moseley heads to the Abbey and attempts to make himself indispensable and reach the dizzying heights of ‘Valet to the Earl of Grantham’. But not long after the peels of laughter that such a notion invites have died down, Bates returns and takes Mr Molesley’s shoehorn which one can’t help but think is emblematic of something. The return of Mr Bates is, naturally, a painfully protracted process that involves key protagonists not talking to each other, Thomas smoking on a wall, and the obligatory invocation of Kamal Pamuk. Robert invites Bates back to help him through the ‘veil of shadow’ and as such I was intrigued to learn that he is a World of Warcraft devotee. Bates reappearance downstairs also allows for the return of two other key Downton Abbey tropes: Anna and (John)Bates having a heart to heart under the cover of darkness, and Thomas and O’Brien’s irrational loathing/scapegoating of Britain’s most infuriatingly lovelorn character (outside of Thomas Thorne) to resume with aplomb.

Less happy to be within the confines of the Abbey is Edith who continues to signal that all of this is really a bit beneath her (certain elements quite literally). Ever the teacher’s pet, Mr Molesley reports the sighting of an Officer by the maid’s staircase to Mrs Hughes who hears that there have been lots of rumours on the timeline tonight and comes out to say that she does not live in a sack. Unfortunately, Major Bryant does not live in one but definitely frequents one and, as such, it is of course Ethel is dismissed. As she rapidly packs all her belongings, Anna pleas to Mrs Hughes on her behalf confirming that she is indeed the friend we all want but probably don’t deserve. But Mrs Hughes can’t get rid of her that easily as Edith (and passenger) skulk back to liven up the end of the episode with news of an oncoming baby *Eastenders drums intensify*.

Talking of undeserving relationships, Sybil and Branson receive more air-time than usual, providing the latter the opportunity to demonstrate that at times he really can be a muppet. And a slightly malevolent one at that. Sybil is firmly under the cosh this week with Violet making thinly veiled references to inappropriate alliances and Mary asking probing questions whilst she tries to get on with her job. Mary thinks that she has spotted her sister and Branson having some kind of romantic exchange but in reality, all that she has seen from afar is Branson telling Sybil that she is in love with him which when you think about it, is all kinds of awful and hardly the basis for a healthy relationship. After a long walk through the grounds where I am half expecting Branson to appear on a horse Willoughby-style, Sybil eventually caves and confesses to Mary that she doesn’t know if she likes Branson despite his eminently creepy voice over. Sybil then relays her sororal confidence and rather than taking this as an opportunity to ingratiate himself, Branson for whatever reason attempts to coerce Sybil into a relationship but not before he belittles her job. Sybil looks rightfully outraged as some equally emotionally manipulative strings wail in the background in an attempt to try and make us think that anything that has just happened was evenly slightly dreamy.

Threaded through this glacially paced episode has been the looming threat of a both a concert and the death of Matthew and (to a much lesser extent because that is how class works) William. In an effort to break the monotony of walking around the exact same bit of French trench (see previous re-caps for further details), William and Matthew take to wandering across some largely unadulterated land and into the path of some nonchalant Germans. Daisy’s lack of (presumably fawning) letters from William starts off a chain of enquiry which confirms that the War Office has declared Matthew and William missing enabling Mary to once again deploy her signature move: weeping into her gloves. But only one hand this time because she needs to keep a bit of composure for the show must go on! Apparently. Following some abysmal piano playing (I grew up in an appallingly musical household and we all had to endure the torture of other people at the early stages of learning an instrument. It was of course blissful when we got good but, heck, I was thrown straight back to the horror of it all with that ‘accompaniment’ and had an odd sort of stress response which I won’t describe here), Mary and Edith do a rendition of If You Were the Only Girl (In the World) as everyone looks on stony-faced before participating in the millenia’s most morose sing-a-long. With a very good sense of drama, Matthew and (to a much lesser extent) William make their return. Matthew takes his place at Mary’s side and joins in the signing to what is now presumably quite a bewildered audience. Ah, Downton.

Romantic declaration of the moment

Violet raises reasonable concerns about Richard Carlisle but Mary is more interested in expanding her real estate portfolio and agrees to throw her lot in with a fiscal agreement disguised as a marriage. Upon his ‘miraculous’ return, Matthew gives the union his blessing on the condition that Richard remains deserving. Not that he ever really was. But the sentiment is what matters here and what is more loving* than putting another’s presumed happiness before your own.

*there are actually a lot of other more loving things but in the interest of formatting, we’re going to sweep those under a very large rug for now.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

Rather than training as a nurse or being actually pretty useful in a convalescent home, Mary’s contribution to the war effort is being amicable with Edith. Violet declares that she has now “seen everything” as the spirit of Mrs Adelman moves on.

Wait, what?

“I wish we had a man” Presented without comment

“If I am not appreciated here, I will seek some other place” Yes. PLEASE.

“What must he do to persuade you he is in love with Lavinia? Open his chest and carve her name on his heart” No, Mary. Matthew merely needs to carve her name with a compass on his forehead to prove that…

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“I hate the word ‘missing’. It leaves so much room for optimism.” Robert is a bit emotionally weird isn’t he?

“We haven't kissed or anything. I don't think we've shaken hands. I'm not even sure if I like him like that. He says I do, but I'm still not sure.” And lo, another red flag is raised. But because Branson is Downton’s version of a Bolshevik, both Mary and Sybil view this not as a warning about the boy’s behaviour but rather a symbol of his political leanings and such signals are duly ignored.

“He always seems a romantic figure to me” Daisy Robinson writes fanfic. Pass it on.

“Sometimes in war, one can make friendships that aren't quite…appropriate. And can be awkward, you know, later on. I mean, we've all done it.” Once again, Violet, tell us more!

Bates says that he has returned to “Downton at war” which sounds like a lucrative exhibition name if I ever did hear one.

Despite Mary’s most valiant efforts, no musical performance had ever gone out to such an impassive audience until Rosalind came along

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Matthew of course is used to a much better quality sing-, sorry, song-a-long

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#Downton #downton abbey #downton rewatch #Mary Crawley #Matthew Crawley #thomas barrow #thomas branson #mrs o'brien #Mrs Patmore #daisy mason #william mason #Cora Crawley #Lady Grantham #lord grantham #john bates #Joseph Molseley #anna bates #Youtube

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anonymousbaev · 3 years

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Can i request the RFA baking/cooking with MC? Thanks :)

Hi, thanks for the request and I'm sorry it's late. Ill try my best to get to all the requests! TT Hope you enjoy!

Cooking with the RFA

☆ Yoosung ☆

He enjoys cooking and doing it with you makes it ten times better.

He gets butterflies seeing you in his kitchen, wearing his green apron- and oh gosh he really hopes it doesn't smell, remembering how messy he got it the other day.

You decide to make pasta with a recipe you found online and Yoosung helps you lay all the ingredients down on the counter.

He tries not to make a mess of himself but the kitchen is so freaking small and you're so close to him!

Alright it's fine, he tries to focus his attention on cutting the onions.

He shouldn't be so nervous about this! He'll be cooking with you more often in the future!

The thought of that just makes his heart start to beat more rapidly

In a daze, he doesn't realize the knife slit a thin cut on his skin.

The sudden pain causes him to yelp and you end up turning around to see what's happened,

"Oh my gosh, are you okay Yoosung?"

"Yeah! I'm fine!"

You look at his hand and the blood to come to the conclusion that he needs help.

You bring him to the living room to apply treatments and you end up finishing the pasta alone.

Hey, it was still pretty delicious!

☕️ Jaehee ☕️

She was cuddling with you on the couch with a few of Zen's old DVDs when you both decided you were hungry.

She offers to make you soup and you gladly decide to join her.

Jaehee has everything organized and works at a fast pace.

She's honestly so nervous to have you in her kitchen, it's giving her an adrenaline rush.

She does most of the work while she often asks you for minor help like "Bring me the salt please!"

You've never seen her cook in person before, it's been mostly you bringing her lunch at the office.

A while after she begins to stir the pot, she offers you a spoonful for a taste.

It ends up tasting amazing and you give her soup two thumbs up,

"This tastes amazing. Hey, this kind of feels like we're a married couple!"

"Then we should do this sometime soon again."

You both exchange a smile and get the table set up to dig into some of that delightful soup!

🎤 Zen 🎤

Zen often made the meals, and sometimes you did.

You've never really cooked together before so this was new when Zen returned home early and decided to join making dinner.

There's not much in the fridge, the last time grocery shopping being a few weeks ago.

So you decide to make something simple: Grilled cheese.

It's a quick task, no.

It should have been a quick task.

But you and Zen decide to be 'that' affectionate couple even while putting some cheese between two pieces of bread.

Zen would feed you a few pieces of his bread and you would feed him some of yours.

Your sandwiches definitely come out where there's barely any bread left and the fat chunk of cheese is just sticking out.

Nonetheless, you move the sandwiches onto the pan and start flipping them.

There's not much to do so Zen wraps his arms around your waist as you both wait.

The outcome of your grilled cheese is... well, cheesy.

♛ Jumin ♛

"Mc?"

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course, I don't mind."

Jumin decided to make you pancakes for breakfast and, this time you actually woke up early enough to help him.

He makes the pancakes just as anybody would, yet if there's one thing he does differently, his measurements are perfect.

Perhaps that's how he gets his pancakes to taste so damn good.

Not to mention he's just being a big flirt with you the whole time.

He gives you little kisses and hugs from behind.

If there's something tall on the shelf you cant reach he's definitely gonna get it for you, teasing you in the progress.

At one point both of you are not paying attention because Elizabeth decides to knock the bowl of mixture and neither of you notice till disaster hits the floor. :(

👓 Saeyoung 👓

Saeyoung doesn't cook.

Nor does he want to or have the time to.

He likes washing the dishes, I mean he'd rather do that than cooking.

But recently... he's been thinking of all the reasons he should learn how to.

What if- you get sick and he doesn't know how to make soup?

If you break an arm and his cooking tastes disgusting, he has to order take out everyday it becomes bad for your health?

There's just so many reasons!!!

So you decided to teach him the basics of it.

Oh, if only you knew it would be this hard...

He doesn't follow a single direction on the cookbook,

"Mc look! It says to add sugar, but I think it needs some more salt?" (Proceeds to add more salt)

He also starts a food fight at one point to which you join in on.

At the end of your cooking class, the kitchen is a mess, Vanderwood is gonna be mad, poor boy Saeran wants his ice cream but there's weird goo on the fridge...

At least you both had a hell lot of fun!

♧ V ♧

It's Lucy's birthday, and this year you both decided to make the cake.

All the ingredients... check!

At least a few more hours before Lucy returns with Uncle Saeyoung and Saeran... check!

V's never baked a cake before but he hopes everything will turn out okay...

And it does! The bread turns out... well decent and you both get the decorations ready while the bread cools in the fridge.

After icing the cake, you leave most of the rest to V and the result is pretty amazing.

He decorates little flowers surrounding the words 'Lucy Happy Birthday!' near a small drawing of her.

His artistic skills saved this cake!

"Darling, do you think she'll like this?"

"Yes, In fact I think she'll love it Jihyun!"

#mysme #mystic messenger #mysme headcanons #mystic messenger headcanons

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ravenadottir · 3 years

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what do you think the characters would be doing after the show/how would they be using their platform? for example, i think lottie would be using hers to give people astrology readings and stuff and i think the season 3 mc would be sooo problematic online

ok but you know what? definitely! s3 mc would be causing the stir she wanted to in the villa and couldn't. i'm almost certain she would be raging and saying absurd things to get attention, something like gabby hana you know? BIG YIKES.

one thing is certain... all of them (purposely or not) would be making thirst traps... and definitely supporting masks and registering to vote. so that's a certainty for almost all of them.

lottie. witchtok constantly. not necessarily giving readings but she would be an apologist and majority on that tag. her instagram would be split into two accounts: one for her personal endeavours like thirst traps and *looks of the day*, and a second for her brand as a makeup artist/personal stylist. cause i think that would be so fucking cool! lottie knows how to perpetuate her personal brand and would use social media for that as well. here's some edits i did in the past to explain it better. i headcanon a collab with elisa for wigs that they would both wear on social media, so that's something i really like! plus, advocating for women's rights, especially when a male politician says something dumb, so you know, EVERY SINGLE DAY.

bobby. in the middle of the pandemic? can't help thinking he would be doing some humorous videos, but in my head they're not the funny type. just some cringey ones... don't get me wrong, but bobby is only funny when he's not trying to, and in social media he strikes me as the type that not only makes videos but also puts the towel over his head to play a girl, so that's probably the majority of his content. some food of course, and DEFINITELY some *cute* selfies that he knows it works as thirst traps. i think he talks about registering to vote and blm, but doesn't give his opinion on anything else, politics wise. here's bobby's feed for the rest.

gary. i'm not thrilled to inform that gary would be thirst trapping all the time. now that he's relatively famous there's no reason why not posting those pics and videos. between tik tok trends to show off his muscles, and instagram to... well, do that exact same thing, he might take some time to show nan and the soup kitchen, but overall... thirst traps. possibly being blunt about masks and registering but his content is very closed off. also, he will get a dog and encourage people to adopt. there's a lot of pranks on dicky and vice versa, so that's something i thought for his social media, just couldn't find a good faceclaim that has a variety of pics.

lucas. mostly bringing awareness about covid and the use of masks, probably pointing it out a couple of political disputes, and definitely advising people to be careful about their votes all around the world. i like to think he's a huge advocate for legalization of a certain practice that women have to beg to have (you know the one), and i think he knows exactly how to make a thirst trap without making one. stop asian hate and blm carrds present, and often giving his followers the incentive to donate. DEFINITELY 'look of the day' for at least the weekend, and lots and lots of landscape from the places he's been visiting or wishing to.

henrik. he's everywhere and he takes his phone to talk about it. no doubt henrik is having the time of his life by travelling alone, or with his wife, and doing lives at all times. i think you would see him doing lives in the middle of the night, or watching the sunset/sunrise with his followers, besides making his *questionable* forest foraging and recipes. survival videos? MOST LIKELY THAN YOU THINK. here's his social media, where i covered mostly of what his relationship would like on instagram. (heavily based off "beyond the hill").

carl. the amount of rpg on his stories? immaculate. chess? you bet! lots and lots of carl's launchings for his company, which does have a separate account but he can't quite separate himself from it and it shows on his feed. his relationship would be discreetly displayed with cryptic captions since he's not so sentimental. here's his feed with some personal things he would be encouraged to post and boost that confidence of his.

anon that asked for more hannah stuff, this is for you:

hannah. i have one for her because i do like her aesthetic. don't mind the faceclaim, it was the only one i could find in so many situations. horses, books, some *cute* selfies, travelling pics and more. on tiktok definitely booktok, no doubt about it. she might do a lot of the "telling the story of my book as a story time" trend to promote it and say "technically it's real life."

elisa. it's all about branding and she knows how to do it well! some influencers might not get political because of how they can be perceived but i think elisa doesn't give a flying fuck about that. she talks often about blm and vaccines on her stories. i get a jackie aina vibe from her when talking about brands that support/encourage dark skin models and influencers, so that's a plus. she will give shit to a makeup brand that doesn't care for shade range and won't hide her feelings about it. here's her usual feed, with looks and tours (that i'm certain she would do a lot). i also think she'll eventually cave and have a brand of wigs, clothes and makeup, AS SHE SHOULD.

hope. there's no question about her activism on social media and i like to imagine she would be speaking up against anti-vaxxers and racism, mostly. just like yewande, she would probably talk about every time she felt the show might've favoured people that don't look like her. we would be getting the hot tea on everything since she's so honest. there's also lots of looks and promoting her friends' products because she supports them so much. priya's clothing line, elisa x lottie collab, etc. here's the feed i made for her a while ago.

chelsea. she might not be that deep into politics but she'll talk about covid and how people should be more careful about it, "wearing all these cute masks my babes lozza made for us!". LOTS of *look of the day* and tours on the spaces she decorates, besides the behind the scenes of parties and weddings (of ex-islanders) that i know she would throw. her feed also includes her closet, supporting her friends' endeavours and promoting them, besides some random mug collection shots and FOR SURE a pug selfie with mc.

priya. there's not much to say except for the occasional thirst trap (with those amazing thigh, ffs she should), lots of vaccine warnings, definitely political anecdotes and her clothing brand. i love to think she would have an actual boutique once things get settled after covid, and she would use social media to promote every line. her feed consists mostly of her travelling, designs, supporting the girls and her photoshoots.

kassam. lots and lots of backstage photos and that *prickly* way of demanding people to use their brains and wear a mask, besides getting the vaccine. in studio or just before the stage, selfies with a clothing line with his logo and definitely pics with islanders he didn't get to meet but is now friends with. during covid he would be using his lives to play for his followers, like lots of dj's and musicians i've seen doing on reddit and tiktok, probably called "late night music" or something like that. encouraging followers to donate for causes as well.

noah. not so huge on social media, might be the most discrete of them all. there would be lots and lots of pictures of the mornings before he opens the library, because i sincerely think he would keep his job. not the most outspoken about certain matters but carrds like the blm's and 'stop asian hate''s are on all of his bio's. i do like to imagine him taking selfies with the boys from the show, like ibrahim. he would be so present in noah's feed it's not even funny. the casual "cute unintentional" thirst trap too. family photos from ages ago and lots of his siblings as well. he does love to write long captions for whenever he posts his girlfriend. one thing though, during the first few months on the outside, he wouldn't be so present, afraid of facing the bashing on him if he got with mc in the show. that could be a reason for him to stay away until people "forget" about it.

marisol. SO - MANY - SUITS - SELFIES it makes me cry happy tears. between advocating for women's rights in a more technical way, she would definitely be using her platform to also talk about lgbtq+, especially after the realization she had during her journey. lots and lots of activism about those things, and i think she would be doing a fine job. definitely promoting the girls' products/services and an occasional thirst trap with a braless suit look.

rocco. covidiot. (i just wanted to use this nickname one more time). he might get a hard time from followers and villa buddies because of his stance on vaccines. i just hope he reads some articles instead of sharing bibity-bobity-bullshit on facebook and instagram. there's lots of vaccine memes on his comment sections no matter what he posts though. it's gonna take a while for the public to move on.

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

Text

Good Omens one-shot - “When God Closes a Door, She Opens a Window, But It's Up to You to Find It” (Rated T)

Summary: Crowley goes through unconventional lengths to escape a bad blind date...

... and ends up finding an angel in an unexpected place. (2770 words)

Notes: This is a re-write of an older story, but I think I like this version better. Human au. Fluffy as heck. CW: If you get squicked out by being covered in food trash, proceed with caution.

Read on AO3.

"Bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... bollocks... " Crowley mutters as she paces back and forth, simmering behind her eyeballs with so much anxiety she's about to tear her hair out by the roots. The only plan she can come up with to solve her current dilemma grows hotly in her mind, but she's searching for something - ANYTHING! - to take its place.

Maybe something along the lines of acting like an adult, womaning up, and admitting this isn’t going to work? Be upfront about it and say it to the man’s face, for Heaven's sake! 'Go on, Crowley!' she thinks. 'Go ahead! One foot in front of the other. Steady on! You can do this!'

But she’s become so tired of the grind – going to bars, faithfully tending her online dating profile, endless blind dates set up by well-meaning friends, the rejecting and the rejections. She can’t face one more. It physically hurts, knots her stomach muscles until the pain turns her world monochromatic.

Crowley had had high hopes for this one, too. Her date Steven is the new doctor of the boy she nannies. He and Crowley have plenty in common – a love of theater and fine dining, and an appreciation for fashion. Crowley thought dating a pediatrician would be fascinating. After summarizing the pertinent details of her own life, perhaps her date would talk about getting through medical school, toss in a few whimsical stories about the joys (quote/unquote) of working with children - baby’s first shots where the parents cried more than the infant, or the tale of a precocious little girl who demanded he put a Band-Aid on her teddy before he helped her (the way Crowley's young charge had with his first doctor when he was around three). They could swap war stories, bond in that way.

But Steven’s favorite part of his profession is pediatric surgery, and, unfortunately, he loves to talk shop. Every morsel of conversation has been inappropriate for dinner and graphic in nature - appendectomy this and tonsillectomy that, abscesses and pus and untreated sores - until Crowley’s face turned as green as her salad and she couldn’t look at her steak anymore.

Neither could their neighbors, who flagged down a passing waiter and requested a new table. They've been sat near the kitchen, which most diners would loathe, but they look heaps happier.

Crowley excused herself as delicately as she could and raced to the loo, needing to escape any more gruesome talk.

That was over fifteen minutes ago.

She’s trapped with no way out.

She pictures the layout of the restaurant in her head. There has to be a back way in and out of this place. All restaurants have an exit through the kitchen, right? But the toilet, the kitchen, and the front door are all in full view of their table. Steven is sure to spot her sneaking out no matter how stealthy she is.

Crowley turns on the cold water and splashes her face, scolding herself to think, think, think! She’s an intelligent woman. She can come up with a way out of this. Could she phone someone to come down to the restaurant and make an excuse for her? Not likely, not on short notice. Her friends Anathema and Newt wouldn't be able to find a sitter - ironic, seeing as Crowley is a nanny, and if the tables were turned, she'd be more than willing to lend a hand.

Could she phone her employers, ask Mrs. Dowling to claim an emergency at home? No. She doesn't want to get them tangled up in her personal woes, especially when they concern a man they think of so highly.

She could look up one of those services that make fake calls to your cell phone to get you out of sticky situations, but that would mean going back out there to make the ruse believable. And from the way her hands lock around the lip of the basin every time she thinks about taking a step outside the door, she knows that isn’t happening.

Crowley looks at herself in the mirror, looks into her eyes, and reminds herself to calm down. Slow her breathing. She’ll find a solution.

And suddenly, there it is.

In the reflection of the mirror, she sees what might be her only way out.

A window.

The only window in there, propped open enough that she’d be able to fit through.

It’s kind of high, sort of narrow, and definitely a last resort. But what other choice does she have?

Loads, in reality. It just doesn't feel like it.

But does she really have to resort to jumping out a window? She’s already been in there for (she checks her watch and her eyes open wide) twenty-five minutes! And her date hasn’t come to check on her once. Maybe the man got the hint and left (hopefully after paying what should be close to a hundred-pound check).

Crowley tests her luck, opening the door a sliver, praying silently don’t be there, don’t be there, don’t be there...

But there is no God - not one on her side, anyway - because there sits Dr. Steven Malory, talking to the waiter, telling him about another fascinating surgical procedure. He makes an exaggerated cutting motion across his stomach with a butter knife. The poor waiter, weighed down by a tray of soup bowls, nods politely, but looks like he may vomit in the tureen.

She winces. That poor waiter. Who knows how many times he's been called upon to lend an ear since her absence, or how many more times he'll be forced to endure another gory tale before Dr. Malory realizes she's gone. She peeks over her shoulder at the window, then back to the table, where Steven has his phone out, Googling something to the waiter's dismay. She slowly closes the door and backs away.

Window it is.

Crowley shelves the nagging feeling that she's perpetuating the most pathetic trope in the dating world and starts constructing a platform. There’s not much available – a small stepstool underneath the sink; a short, square, plastic rubbish bin that looks less than steady; another taller rubbish bin, dented along one side, looking like someone else already used it to make a break for freedom; and the toilet and basin, both miles away and completely unmovable.

Crowley does some quick engineering in her head and figures that if she turns the small bin over onto the stepstool, she might gain the height she needs to grab the lip of the window and hoist herself up, which would eliminate using the dented bin. She doesn’t like the odds that she won’t slip, fall, and crack her head open. She’s not so much worried about doing any permanent damage, but of having to explain to her date why she’s lying on the floor, covered in trash, and bleeding profusely.

With her luck, he'll giddily insist on stitching up any gashes, drawing a crowd of bystanders around to watch.

Crowley pushes the stool up against the wall with her foot. She dumps the trash from the small bin into its larger counterpart and sets it on the stool, centering it as best she can to keep it from sliding. With a hand on the wall for support, she puts a foot on the bin and attempts to pull herself up. It wobbles back and forth, then gives one backward lurch that nearly sends Crowley flying.

She determines quickly that this isn’t going to work the way she had planned and makes a desperate leap for the window, using all her upper body strength to get her halfway through.

Crowley shudders when the cold air hits her skin, shocked by the drop in temperature, but mostly from fear of death. She looks down.

A huge mistake on her part.

A horribly placed streetlamp keeps her from seeing into the alley, but she’s pretty sure she remembers a dumpster underneath this window. She had parked her Bentley in the lot across the way and saw it on the walk in. She looks out into the rows of cars and spots her vehicle. She sighs with relief.

Now she’s a little more sure, but still not 100%.

Worst case scenario, she lands in food muck, probably not rotten since it’s still actively dinner, and ruins an expensive designer outfit.

Of course, that’s not actually the worst-case scenario, is it? Worst case scenario, she misses the dumpster altogether, hits the pavement, and breaks her leg, but she’s determined to remain optimistic. At this moment, when her anxiety-ridden brain has her convinced that the only logical route out is through this flippin' window, that’s a chance she’s willing to take.

She swings her right leg over, grateful that she chose slacks over a skirt tonight, till she’s straddling the narrow sill, bent in half by the metal lip of the window frame. She balances there, the dull edge digging into her sternum, her belly, and her crotch, but she can’t make herself jump.

She’ll need to trick herself into it.

She forces herself to relax, teeter-tottering back and forth, not dwelling on the possible outcome, just trying to work her way to the right far enough that she knocks herself off-kilter.

Fate lends a hand in the form of a drunken passerby yelling, “Oi! Oi, lookie there! There’s a big bird... human... thing hanging out that window!”

Crowley panics, afraid she's about to be mistaken for someone breaking into a busy restaurant and not out. She fumbles, flails, starts falling head first, scrambles to get a hold. She hears a distant, “No! No, wait!” as her fingers slip. There are three seconds of cold wind and a sinking feeling in her stomach before she lands on her bum, thankfully in the dumpster, surrounded by the smell of not-too-rank food, the squish of something under her body that she thinks might be mashed cauliflower...

... and a scream.

“Ouch!”

“Oh my God! I’m sorry!”

Crowley yelps when her body lifts, something extraordinarily strong underneath pushing her up. She reaches around the slippery mess and wet plastic bags, struggling to pull herself off whoever is in the rubbish under her while trying to ignore the gravy seeping into her slacks, or the rice pilaf embedding itself beneath her freshly glossed fingernails. She knows she's broken two at minimum.

How much worse could this evening get?

“I’m sorry!” Crowley scrambles to her knees, crawls away a few feet. “I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s alright, my dear.” A voice underneath her chuckles, its owner emerging from a layer of poached fish and au gratin potatoes.

Crowley turns in time to catch a glimpse as they move into the light. A woman wearing a vintage-inspired emerald gown covered in Hollandaise sauce and ranch dressing smiles sheepishly at her. The white light overhead gives a halo effect to her silvery-blonde hair, and her blue eyes almost glow.

She's quite breathtaking.

“I thought I had reserved a private dumpster,” she jokes. “I’ll need to have a word with the maître de."

Crowley stares at her, stunned. “I… I don’t understand. What are you doing in here?”

“I suspect I might be here for the same reason as you,” she says, wiping mayonnaise off her hand before offering it to Crowley. “I’m Aziraphale.”

“Crowley. I’m sorry I landed on you.” She takes Aziraphale’s hand, forgetting to wipe hers off before and smushing creamed spinach between them. Crowley groans in embarrassment, but Aziraphale laughs.

“No worries.” Aziraphale doesn't let go immediately the way Crowley thought she would, her smile becoming brighter the longer she holds on. “It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened all evening.”

“So... I take it you’re running away from a bad date, too, huh?” Crowley asks, regretting when Aziraphale finally lets go.

“I'm afraid so.” Aziraphale glances down with a long sigh. “A friend set me up, but I swear, the only men she knows are unemployed, torpid, and skeevy.”

“Wow. That’s some A-plus word usage right there.”

“Yes, well, the written word is my passion."

“Does that mean you're the one who wrecked the silver rubbish bin?"

“Did I?” Aziraphale looks up at the window and grimaces. “I should probably offer to replace that then, shouldn't I? What about you?” Aziraphale turns her soft blue eyes back Crowley's way. “How bad was your date going?”

“I can now perform an appendectomy with my eyes shut.”

“Yikes. I take it that’s not a turn-on for you?”

“Not in the slightest. I appreciate medicine as much as the next gal, but I’d rather not know the gritty details." Crowley stares at Aziraphale until Aziraphale notices, then the two look away, blushing like giggly teenagers flirting in a coffee shop instead of two adults stuck in the trash. Crowley can't help herself. Regardless of the stench of curdled butter and cheese that will probably be with her for life, Aziraphale is a calming presence. And she looks like an angel. An honest-to-God angel!

And Crowley found her in the trash.

What are the odds?

“You know, we might want to get out of here before anyone else drops in,” Aziraphale suggests, rising to her feet and lending Crowley a hand.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees. "Guess that's my night over. Though... " She looks down at her blouse and trousers, positively caked with sweet potatoes, chicken grease, tomato sauce, and chutney "... I’m not looking forward to driving home like this.”

"How far do you have to go?"

"I'm in Mayfair."

"Oh!" Aziraphale gasps. "Isn't that a lovely part of town?"

"I enjoy it," Crowley replies, never having felt quite so proud to live in Mayfair as she does in this moment. "And you?"

"I have a shop in SoHo."

"Lucky. You're just a hop, skip, and a jump, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am... " Aziraphale chews the inside of her cheek as her words hang, balanced in the air between stopping a thought or continuing it. “I hope you don’t think I’m being too forward, but if you come back to my shop, I have a shower. We could clean up there... " Aziraphale sputters when Crowley's eyebrow arcs sharply upward. "S-separately, of course! A-and order in some pie. I know a great spot nearby. I dare say they have the best pie in the world! And they deliver.”

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” Crowley says, wary of taking Aziraphale up on her invitation. Garbage notwithstanding, meeting her has definitely been an improvement to the way things were going.

"I might have something that would work for you." Aziraphale sizes Crowley up, but not in a creepy way. In a surprisingly nurturing way. "It would be nice to salvage the evening, don't you think?"

"It would." But one disastrous date is plenty for the night. Should Crowley jump straight to another with a woman she met in a dumpster? Then again, it would be wrong for her to assume that spending time with Aziraphale would be disastrous. Plus the story of how they met is way too fantastic to waste on self-doubt.

Crowley took a chance on jumping out a window with only hope to guide her. She’d be stupid not to take a chance on this.

“Sure,” Crowley says, confident with her decision. “Your car or mine?” The words slip out before she considers the fact that she's talking about her baby. A vintage car that she, due to an extreme case of sheer luck, has been the sole owner of. She won't even wear muddy shoes in her car. Or rayon! On top of her own ruined outfit, which will need to be dry cleaned twice and then set on fire, if she lets Aziraphale in her car, she'll have two sloppy, food-stained seats that she’ll need to have scoured.

Maybe Aziraphale will laugh her off and offer to take her own car. Why would she want to leave it behind, anyway?

“Oh, I didn't drive,” Aziraphale says, looking down sadly at her own destroyed dress. “I took the bus.”

Crowley's heart clenches. There's that decision made. There's no way she's going to suggest Aziraphale take the bus while Crowley drives her car. She just prays that, with time, her baby will forgive her.

“My car it is then.” Crowley loops her arm covered in soup through Aziraphale’s arm covered in whipped cream and leads the way. Aziraphale smiles, holds Crowley's arm a wee bit tighter, and Crowley becomes certain this new development will be worth the money she'll spend detailing her car in the morning.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable wives #ineffable idiots #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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khaleesiofalicante · 3 years

Note

Ok imma be honest, this chapter moved me to tears and not the sad sobbing but the more inspiring kind. This chapter means the world.

She had told them her dreams were about ducks – since there were the only equally horrible thing she could think of.

Uncle Magnus had given her an odd look then, as if he knew she was bullshitting them. But he hadn’t said anything.

DUCKS AREN'T THAT BAD! HAVE Y'ALL EVER BEEN CHASED BY A GOAT?? I WAS CONVINCED I WAS GONNA DIE

Lexi would be royally pissed if this turned out to be some stupid pointless dream.

YUP

Even though she was only 7 minutes older than Lexi, Selena always acted like she was 7 years older.

That's so cute though

People looked at her pastel-coloured aesthetic immediately assumed she was the soft and sweet Fairchild twin. People saw Selena in her red leather jacket and thigh high boots and assumed she was in the infamous troublesome Herondale twin.

SMH THE DAMN STEREOTYPES

Why Selena hadn’t killed her in her sleep yet, Lexi doesn’t know.

BYE THAT'S EVERY SIBLING RELATIONSHIP EVER

The meals at the Academy were to die for – quite literally. Last week two students from the warlock fraction had almost killed each other over a blueberry muffin.

Oh how times change...they will never know the dreaded soup

NO ANJALI HAS BEEN GONE FOR OVER A YEAR???

IS JAIME OK?? PLEASE BE OK! HE CAN LIVE WITH TREATMENT SO I REALLY HOPE HE'S OK

Selena’s was Idris of course. She was kind of obsessed with it.

Max loved the shadow markets. Lexi thought they were very cool too.

Rafael loved his father’s office – which was weird. There was nothing to do in that room other than ponder about shadow world problems. Besides, the place still weirdly smelled like the tangerine perfume Anjali wore, even though the girl had left New York almost a year ago.

David loved the New York Institute – especially the library.

Gigi of course loved the dining halls.

Dining halls, kitchens, food trucks, vending machines - if a place had food with it, Gigi loved it.

It's so amazing how they all have their favorite places...(same David same)

“You’re supposed to pour the syrup on the pancakes not into your mouth,” Lexi chuckled as she sat down next to her.

“It ends up in my mouth anyway,” Gigi shrugged.

True enough.

AWW ROMAN MAKING GIGI PLAYLISTS!!

Someone make me a playlist.

“His parents fell in love in Rome when they were in Rome,” Gigi pointed out even though Lexi already knew. “I think it’s actually romantic.”

I had forgotten that-

Roman was nice. But not nice enough for Georgia. Lexi didn’t think there was anyone good enough for her parabatai – who was the most perfect person in the world.

Me @ anyone who tries to make a move at my best friend.

AWW GEORGIA LIKES HIM TOO!!

When's the wedding?

(you're telling me you didn't believe you were gonna marry your childhood crush? Liar)

“I like being his friend,” Georgia said. “I like spending time with him and all of that. But I don’t know if I like him…in that way. I feel like I need more time.”

Demiromantic??? YES GIVE US THE REP

Lexi sometimes thought life would be so much simpler if the world was full of women and everyone was a lesbian.

Ikr?? Life would be so much easier.

Lexi says Roman is too-nice-sus

Well well well

The kind of love that cheated death.

The kind of love that sustained memory spells put by princes of hell.

The kind of love that changed the world.

Trust me all of our standards are very high

Lexi successfully survived the class without falling asleep.

Me during English.

Ok who's the blond?

Lexi I thought we weren't gonna fall this soon-

Oh the girl's straight...sigh we've all been there.

which meant they had to hold hands. Kinda.

Lexi was a little scared of that.

Me.

Goddamnit, Alexandra. Get your gay together!

THAT'S SO RELATABLE LIKE?? YES

OH MY GOD IT'S EMMA AND JULIAN'S DAUGHTER GEIDIDHDOHDJSKSJSKGXJDHSODHKDGDDGDJHDJDGDJDGJDHD

Lexi knew Olivia liked boys. She hadn’t dated anyone officially of course. All the boys were kind of terrified of her father.

She could be bi or pan or omni. WE GOTTA HAVE HOPE

vegetable loaf... David I'm so sorry you had to go through this.

Lexi then decided not to do any of her homework over the weekend because she was not coming back to the academy. She was not going to survive the sleepover and whatever else Olivia had in mind.

Bestie...why is this me when I make eye contact with my crush.

“Good stuff?” Max snorted. “Rafe literally ran away from home cause shit got too intense.”

“I didn’t run away!” Rafael rolled his eyes. “Stop telling people that!”

“But you have rumours and shadowhunters getting thrown into silent city and cohort drama and all that exciting stuff!” Liv pointed out.

I-

Liv-

True though.

“Wasn’t there a serial killer when your parents were young?” David asked.

“And didn’t your uncle do necromancy?” Max said biting into a chicken wing.

True and true

“Sorry, Chouchou!” Lexi winced. “I, uh, sensed a mosquitoe on your leg.”

“Girl, your angel powers are weird as fuck,” Max laughed.

MAX LANGUAGE

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged and threw her a wink. “I wouldn’t put anything past Lexi.”

Lexi looked at Gigi. She was one more compliment away from screaming.

But Gigi of course knew her struggle and therefore quickly stuffed a bread roll into Lexi’s mouth.

I need someone to stuff bread into my mouth when things get like this

There were rumours about David – and how Daddy had an affair. Lexi was yet to find those asshats and shove a witch light down their throats.

When you find them lemme know too.

“Or maybe it’s because you don’t need rumours be interesting,” David pointed out.

Max turned around, looking surprised at that. His cheeks turned purple. Lexi didn’t know why he was surprised. David only ever spoke fondly of Max.

JUST GET TOGETHER ALREADY OH MY GOD

“Oh. Oh! I did hear something a long time ago!” Gigi said suddenly. “Olly, is it true you were conceived at the beach?”

“Georgia, you can’t just ask people where they were conceived!” David sounded horrified.

That is very much possible.

“I heard you were conceived in hell?”

“Oh my god,” Selena looked horrified. “That’s not true! It must have been about Max!”

“Y’all I am adopted!” Max was shaking with laughter and then stopped. “Although our dads could have definitely had sex in hell. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Oh yes. Both clace and malec.

Then they had of course continued to discuss that cursed topic until Rafael had threatened to tell the Consul about it.

LMAO

Lexi turned around and saw Liv waiting for her. Nope. She wasn’t going to talk a walk – a fucking stroll! – with Olivia all on her own.

“You are coming back to the institute with me or I will un-parabatai you.”

You know there being an un-parabatai ceremony would solve a lot of shit

What if their hands accidentally grazed or something? That shit was lethal.

RIGHT????

She is just trying to be nice. That’s what friends do. They are nice. And they give each other pretty dresses and say they would like to see them in it.

Honey that's gay.

EVERYONE ASKING HER OUT IM DEAD

Selena: Ugh boys

Selena: When I win back Idris, we are leaving all the men behind.

Lexi: Except Magnus? Lol.

Selena: Obviously.

Is that even a question Lexi? Duh.

ALEC LIGHTWOOD THOUGHT SHE WAS STRAIGHT? THE SHAME!

OH MY GOD IM CACKLING

Not everyone can kiss their partner in the Accords Hall. Some people didn’t have access to the Accords Hall.

And most important, some people didn’t have partners!

We're getting a lexi and Alec talk someone hold me

“I’m going to tell you something,” Uncle Alec said. “It might sound simple. It might sound ridiculous. But it’s the truth. So, you must believe me. Can you do that?”

Lexi gave him a small nod.

“It doesn’t matter what other people think,” Uncle Alec said. “Not when it comes to your future. Not when it comes to your identity. They don’t get to have a say in who you are and why you are the way you are.”

Lexi bit her lip.

“Alexandra, people will always tell what to do. But you shouldn’t let them. Never let anyone tell you what to do with your heart or your body. Neither belongs them. It only belongs to you.”

THIS RIGHT HERE MADE ME START CRYING BECAUSE DAMN YES!

“Yep,” she groaned and then hesitated for a moment. “Uncle Alec…Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Can I say no?”

“No.”

“Then go ahead.”

I love her so much

“I feel…I feel it’s something we have to bear, Alexandra. The fear of rejection. It’s something we have to accept as an inevitable part of our lives. Because no matter how much love we have around us, we will always be afraid of people not loving us – simply because of who we are.”

Yeah...

“Besides, they named you after me,” he pointed out. “I don’t know what else they expected.”

EXACTLY! Did they really expect a straight child after naming them after Alec?

“I do like shouting,” Lexi wondered out loud. “That’s good advice.”

“I didn’t mean it literally!” Uncle Alec looked alarmed.

“No, it makes total sense!” Lexi grinned. “Some of these people can be tone deaf. Gotta shout it out. Loud and clear. Awesome advice! Thanks, Uncle Alec!”

DO IT

“Hey, Lexi. I was wonderin-”

“MOVE, I’M GAY!” she yelled as she shoved him aside and kept on running.

ABSOLUTELY ICONIC

“I prefer she/her,” Lexi answered. "But sometimes I prefer she/they. But you can use she/her because some of y'all already shit at grammar."

That's exactly what I tell people when they ask for my pronouns. Istg people are shit at grammar.

alright girl im here to give you a lecture on how someone's dressing doesn't describe their sexuality

OH MY MY GOD THERE WAS A GENDER AND SEXUALITY CLASS IN THE ACADEMY ARE THEY RECRUITING???

One of the boys who had complimented cleared his throat. “So, uh, you don’t like boys?”

“That’s literally what I said,” Lexi rolled her eyes. “I’m gay. I’m very gay. I’m gayer than the Consul. Okay fine, that’s not true. No one gayer than the Consul. But I’m still pretty gay.”

Does the boy have hearing problems?

ALSO YES NO ONE'S GAYER THAN THE CONSUL

“Sexual orientation and gender expression are two different things,” she explained now, remember what Uncle Magnus had taught them. “Sexual orientation refers to who I am sexually and romantically attracted to. Gender expression is how I want to express my gender identity. Those two are not connected. Just because a woman wears feminine clothes it doesn’t mean she is straight. Just because a man embraces femininity, it doesn’t make him gay either. Does that make sense?”

“Ohhh,” the girl nodded. “Yes, it does. Thank you!”

“What I wear does not reflect who I like. It reflects who I am and what I like to wear,” Lexi explained. “And regardless of my sexuality, I like pretty things.”

Exactly.

“This doesn’t change anything. I hope you know that,” he told her. “I mean I have to change the pronouns in my shovel talk. But that’s not a big deal.”

Awwww

Also – my good friend Raziel told me that homophobia is a sin.”

“You mean homosexuality is a sin?” an older man asked.

“No, homophobia is a sin,” Lexi repeated. “That’s what Raziel said.”

“But that’s not-”

Someone cleared their throat. When he spoke, it was in the Consul Voice.

“Are you saying know better than Raziel?” the Consul asked.

Listen to Raziel you dumb shit

“Sure. Let me just call the Lesbian Alliance,” Lexi rolled her eyes.

Ugh I wish

OH NO NO NO NOT THE FAKE DATING. JUST CONFESS AND DATE FOR REAL

“Alexandra, I have a fucking undercut and I have pink highlights and I cuff my jeans and I literally walk around with a sword and I can quote Lady Gaga to perfection! Why would you ever think I was straight??”

Lexi your gaydar is broken bestie.

Don't do this omg this is gonna be a mess

Gigi: THIS IS A BAD IDEA. ABORT! ABORT!

Lexi: Relaaaax. It’s going to be fine!

Gigi: I’ve read enough fanfiction to know the fake dating trope never ends well!

Lexi: I’ve told you to include the ‘angst with happy ending’ tag!

LMAO

Also Gigi which fanfiction do you read?

Jace omg...

That's so him though.

“How about my peeps? It sounds very hip.”

“It does not,” Lexi replied. “Please don’t refer to us as your peeps under any circumstance."

IM SCREAMING ASHSKHSIDBSHSHDH

Her father chuckled at that. “Sweetheart, you’re a Herondale. Being problematic is what we do.”

EXACTLY

Daddy opened the notebook again. “I need names.”

Grabs flamethrower names

“Besides, the Lightwoods and Blackthorns have been hogging the gay genes for too long. Now it’s our turn. I say you gay it up.”

“Gay it up?” Lexi laughed.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Go for the highest possible level of gay.”

DO IT

He blinked for a second and then it hit him. “OH MY GOD YES! DOES EMMA KNOW??”

Lexi laughed. Yeah, he can never find out it was a fake dating situation.

Hopefully he won't have to because it won't be fake :D

“To love is a privilege and to be loved is a blessing.”

THE GROWTH OH MY GOD

This chapter literally means so much to me. I don't even know what to say. I hope I too can one day have the courage to shout it in front of everyone and not be scared. See ya on Tuesday!

It means so much to me that this chapter meant a lot to you. I hope you find all the courage, strength and support you need. You are amazing.

And here. I made you a playlist.

You can find it here on YouTube. I hope you like it :)

#lbaf

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Superheroes Don’t Take Sick days

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Reader

Word Count: 2,190

Warnings: Marcus gets sick with the flu and suffers the symptoms, including vomiting and passing out.

Marcus rarely gets sick. However, when he does, it’s bad. Very bad. Plagued by the flu, he has no one to turn to. No one except his PA and significant other, who demands he goes home to rest. When he refuses, they decide to take matters into their own hands.

“Mr. Moreno?” You knocked on the door to Marcus’s office, a stack of folders cradled in your arms. “Mr. Moreno?”

“Come in.”

You kicked the door open with your foot, doing your best to balance the various paperworks. Marcus lifted his head off his desk, staring at you. “How many times do I have to ask you to just call me Marcus?”

“We are at work,” you pointed out, setting the folders on Marcus’s desk. “At work, I address you formally. Because it is, say it with me now, a formal work environment.”

Marcus grumbled under his breath, opening the folder on top. “Huh. This is,”

“A lot?” You finished for him, leaning on the edge of the desk and examining Marcus. He looked exhausted, shoulders slumped in and head bowed slightly. His glasses sat on the desk next to his phone, both of which were smudged to the high heavens. You grabbed his glasses and instinctively began to clean them, knowing he hated doing it himself. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yep!” Marcus said, leaning back and pressing his palms into his eyes. “Just tired. Missy was up all night, and so was I.”

You put Marcus’s glasses down. “Oh no! What happened?”

Marcus shrugged. “She’s just sick.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She’s sick,” you repeated, a familiar exasperation in your voice. You loved Marcus a lot and knew that he was super smart, but sometimes he could be really thick when it came to common sense.

“Yeah?” Marcus looked up at you, clearly confused. “Why are you using that tone?”

“Marcus,” you said plainly. “You are also sick. Go home.”

“I’m not sick!” Marcus insisted, putting his glasses on and moving closer to his desk.

You nodded, sliding off his desk. “I’m going to go grab Dr. Thirteen. We’ll see who’s right.”

The walk down to the medical wing of the building was quick, considering it was just below the offices. The doctor, a wonderful young blonde woman with an accent so thick you could hardly understand her half the time, agreed to come with you to check Marcus out.

“He did seem rather under the weather earlier,” she said as you two walked. “Came in asking for DayQuil.”

You swore under your breath. “I swear, if he’s got something serious I will murder him.”

Thirteen laughed, opening Marcus’s office door. “Oh boy.”

Marcus looked up, yet again, from his desk. He’d been using his arms as a pillow, glasses off once more. “Hey Thirteen.”

“Marcus,” Thirteen chided, going over to stand next to him. He kicked his chair around so he was facing her, letting her do her job. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh.” Marcus looked from her to you and back again. “Like shit?”

Thirteen sighed, taking her stethoscope out of her coat pocket and setting it around her neck. “Feverish?” She asked, resting her wrist against Marcus’s forehead.

“Little bit.”

“Cough?”

“Yeah.”

“Congested?”

“Definitely.”

Thirteen made a face. “Nausea?”

Marcus started to get nervous, hands twisting in his lap. “Yes?”

“Okay.” Thirteen looked at you. “Take him home, by any means necessary. I’ll tell the boss, but he’s on medical leave for the next week, with recommended bed rest for forty eight hours.”

“What?” Marcus said. “But I don’t feel that bad.”

Thirteen shrugged. “You will. You have the flu, which is unsurprising given the season.”

“Oh.” Marcus looked at his desk, eyeing the folders stacked up on it. “Can I stay and finish my work?”

“No,” you and Thirteen said at the same time.

Marcus sighed. “Fine. I’ll go home. Coming with?” He directed the last question at you, and you nodded.

“Of course. If Missy’s sick too, then someone has to be there to take care of you. Also, I don’t want you driving.”

You managed to herd Marcus to the car with little issue, but he really didn’t look good. You had to repeat yourself three times when you asked him to put his seatbelt on, and he kept getting paler and paler until you were actually really worried.

“We’re gonna make a stop at CVS,” you said, turning into the parking lot. “If you go in, you have to wear a mask.”

Marcus, ever the stubborn hero, staggered to his feet and went somehow even paler, the last bit of color draining from his face as he wobbled in place.

“And we’re gonna leave you here,” you said, standing in front of him and crossing your arms.

“But,” Marcus said, his voice thick with congestion.

You cut him off before he could continue. “You wanna walk by yourself through CVS? Okay, let’s see it then.” You positioned yourself barely ten feet away, maybe three or four steps. Marcus shakily shuffled forward before almost toppling right over. You caught him, turning him back towards the car.

“No, put your hand- oh my god! Marcus!”

Marcus didn’t respond. He’d gone entirely limp in your arms, eyes rolled back. You got him back into the car, and by then, he’d woken back up, still delirious.

“I’m going in,” you said slowly, buckling Marcus back in. “I am cracking the windows and locking the car. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Just as promised, it was the fastest CVS run you’d ever made. Some Gatorade, medication, tissues, Clorox wipes, Lysol spray, and a few cans of soup later, you were back in the car. Marcus looked over, eyes half open. “Huh?”

“If you’re like this,” you said, starting the car. “I hate to think what Missy’s like back home.”

Missy was not as bad as Marcus. Laying on the couch, she barely had the energy to turn her head as you practically carried Marcus inside, but she was conscious, which you appreciated. “Dad?”

You winced at her scratched up voice. “Hey honey,” you said, laying Marcus in his recliner. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like crap,” Missy admitted. “Dad said it was probably just the sniffles or something, but then it got worse.”

Nodding, you handed Missy a box of tissues, nudging the trash can closer to the couch with your foot. “I don’t think it’s just the sniffles this time,” you said. “Where’s the thermometer?”

You took Missy’s temperature. She was at 100.7, which you decided could’ve been so much worse. You gave her a decongestant and a Gatorade, rubbing her back as she coughed violently.

“Marcus,” you said, standing. Marcus hummed in acknowledgment.

“Here.” You handed him the thermometer. “Take your temperature.”

You turned back to Missy, who was zoned out. “Missy, honey, let me clean your blanket.”

She grumbled as you took the filthy blanket, muttering out that she was cold.

“I know you’re feeling cold,” you said, tossing the blanket in the laundry. “But your blanket is dirty. I’ll grab you a clean one.”

As you gave Missy a new blanket, you heard the thermometer beep, Marcus pulling it out of his mouth and looking at it.

“Let me see,” you said, holding a hand out.

Marcus tucked the thermometer to his side. “Just 100, like Missy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Give me the thermometer.”

“But-“

“Marcus Moreno, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll give me that thermometer.”

Marcus handed the thermometer over, a guilty look on his face.

The thermometer read 101.5.

“Marcus!” You scolded, putting the thermometer down and pressing your wrist to his forehead. Sure enough, he was burning up. “No wonder you passed out earlier!”

Missy looked up. “He passed out?”

“In the CVS,” you said, grabbing another blanket for Marcus. “No biggie.” You really didn’t want to worry her, even though it definitely was a big deal.

By noon, everyone was sound asleep aside from you. You were sitting in the living room with a book, listening to Marcus’s and Missy’s labored breathing. Every so often, Missy would kinda wake up and shift, but Marcus remained solidly asleep until noon.

You put your book down, hearing Missy wake up as you rummaged through the kitchen. Grabbing a saucepan and a can of soup, you began to make lunch.

Missy trudged to her feet, joining you in the kitchen. “Hey.”

“Hey sweetie,” you said, checking her temperature. “Your fever’s finally starting to break.”

Missy perked up a bit at that. “Do I have time to go shower?”

“Sorry,” you said, stirring the soup. “Nope. After lunch though, absolutely.”

Missy ended up eating at the table, her blanket still around her shoulders. You, instead of joining her, did your level best to wake Marcus up.

“Marcus.” You shook his shoulder slightly. “Marcus. Darling. Sweetheart. Light of my fucking life. Missy do not ever repeat that! Marcus! Christ, what the hell?”

Marcus’s eyes cracked open. “The fuck?” He slurred. “Missy, don’t repeat that.”

Missy snorted and left to go bathe.

“I made lunch,” you said, holding up the bowl of soup you’d made for him. “Eat.”

“Not hungry.”

You raised an eyebrow, and yet again, Marcus shrunk back with that horribly guilty look.

“Fine,” he said softly, taking the bowl and fumbling with his spoon. You were on standby, which was a good thing, because barely ten minutes into the small bites of soup, Marcus startled to his feet, fell to his knees, and threw up on the carpet.

“Shit!” You yelled, helping Marcus away from the now dirtied carpet patch. “Oh fuck. Marcus, you okay?”

Marcus shook his head, eyes full of tears.

“Oh baby,” you said softly, hugging him and helping him up onto the couch. “Babe, hey, it was an accident. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? Just fine. It’ll pass.”

Marcus clung to you, sobbing openly. You rubbed his back, letting him bury himself in your shirt.

At one point, Missy came back, peering into the living room. “Dad?”

You shook your head, waving her away. She glanced from Marcus to the carpet and then back again. “Oh. Okay.”

Eventually, you managed to get Marcus calm. He sniffled, wiping his eyes, and you laid a soft kiss on his forehead. “Marcus, darling, stay here. I’m gonna clean the carpet, okay?”

Marcus nodded, hugging a pillow tight as you got up to grab the cleaning supplies. He watched with half open eyes as you cleaned the carpet, never once complaining.

When you finally stood, he made a small noise, drawing your attention. “I love you.”

You smiled. “I love you too Marcus.”

Everything in the Moreno household was calm throughout the rest of the day. Missy was getting better, able to make a phone call to Anita to reassure her that she and Marcus were okay. Marcus wasn’t feeling much better, so you and him cuddled on the couch, his head resting on your chest as you absently scratched through his hair. He napped for a bit, occasionally waking up and complaining he felt gross. You pointed out that he was still sick and encouraged him to drink more Gatorade before he fell asleep again.

Dinner was more soup, at which Marcus complained.

“Oh hush,” you said, putting the bowl in front of him. “Do not waste your voice complaining about soup you cannot taste.”

Marcus stuck his tongue out at you and took another bite of soup.

Missy went to bed shortly after dinner, the sickness sapping her energy. You sent her off with a kiss to the forehead and a promise to call the school and tell them she wouldn’t be going tomorrow.

“And you, mister,” you said, sitting next to Marcus on the couch and turning on Wheel of Fortune. “Aren’t going to work for the next week.”

“What?”

You smiled, feeling Marcus shuffle and lay in your lap. “You heard Thirteen this morning. Medical leave for a week.”

Marcus sighed, relaxing as you rubbed his shoulders. “Fine.”

Somehow, you two fell asleep on the couch, curled up in each other’s embrace. When you woke up the next morning, Marcus felt a bit better. But you had started to sniffle.

“Ha! Payback’s a bitch!” Marcus said when you took your temperature and sighed.

“Marcus. Sit the hell down before you pass out again.”

Marcus sat on the couch, a shit eating grin on his face. “Mhm. Kiss me.”

You raised an eyebrow, crawling across the couch until you were practically on top of Marcus. “Hmm,” you hummed, feeling his body heat underneath you. “Kissing you is what got me sick. I think not.”

You rolled off him, leaving one very betrayed boyfriend behind on the couch.

“Hey wait! You can’t just leave!”

Looking behind you, you smiled as sweetly as you could. “What? I don’t recall doing anything wrong Mr. Moreno.”

Marcus’s face twisted into a feral grin. “Oh you are so lucky that Missy’s in her room. Get over here.”

You laughed as he scooped you up, carrying you to your bedroom. “Marcus! You’re still sick! Be careful!”

Marcus plopped you down on the bed and quickly followed, trapping you under the warm blankets with his own body. “Get some rest,” he said softly. “You’re gonna need it.”

“Oh Marcus,” you said, thumbing over the patches in his facial hair. “I love you.”

“Love you too babe, now get some sleep.”

Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

#we can be heroes #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Note

Hi darling. I would like to request Frankie being overprotective when reader is sick. I have headache rn and I would like to see how our cutie boy can handle it. Thank you 🤩

I love the idea of an overprotective Frankie 🥺 He would be such a good caregiver.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You set the warm kettle back down as you finished pouring the steaming water into your mug. Spying your favorite tea in the cabinet, you grabbed and opened it fishing out one of the last teabags. You'd have to get more when you went to the store next time. You loathed running out of it, especially now that colder months were starting.

"What are you doing?" Frankie caught you completely off guard as he came back into the kitchen, canvas totes in each hand, filled with fresh groceries. You had dropped the tea in surprise but offered him a sheepish look as he came over and set the bags on the counter, "Honey Bee, you should be in bed."

"I know," you managed to croak out, your throat still dry and scratchy. You'd come down with a harsh cold, which had caused you to have stay home from work and rest. Frankie, the ever doting boyfriend, had taken on the role of caregiver rather well, and had been waiting on you hand and foot, trying to help you to feel better. You hated depending on someone else for everything, but this cold had really knocked you down and out, "I didn't know when you'd be back and really wanted some tea. I can do some things myself."

"I know," he agreed, taking the bag and dipping into the mug for you, adding just a bit of honey like he knew you enjoyed. His hand found your cheek as he stroked your skin delicately before placing a kiss to your forehead, "but its okay to let me help you out. You always do it for me. But come, let's get you back to bed."

"Are you sure?" you asked quietly, "I can help put away groceries and stuff. At least let me help that much..."

"Absolutely not, out of the question," he insisted fervently, wrapping an arm your waist and holding your tea in the other as he led you back to bed. You didn't even bother to argue with him, knowing there was no point.

Setting down your tea on the bedside table, next to a picture of the two of you that you loved, he pulled back the covers and ushered you under them. It was like the universe was on his side because as soon as your head hit the pillows, you were heavy with sleep again. Sniffling a yawn, you offered your love a soft smile, "thank you, Frankie. You're the best and I love you more than words could describe."

"I love you too," he promised softly, "now just rest. But if you need anything, call me. I'm going to and make some soup, okay? After that I'll draw you a bath, if you would like."

"I don't deserve you," it was a wistful sigh as you snuggled into the blankets and he offered you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"Of course you do," he promised gently, "you deserve the world. Now rest, and if you need anything-"

"I'll call for you," you confirmed with a sleepy grin. He nodded before leaving the room closing the door ever so slightly.

He'd gone to the grocery store early that morning in order to get everything for homemade chicken noodle soup. It was his Abuela's recipe and he swore by it, sure if he had helped him through many colds in the past.

Frankie hated seeing you sick, knowing how independent you were and much you despised relying on the help of others. But he wasn't about to let you handle things on your own either. He had a feeling you'd be okay and feeling much better after the soup anyways, and surely you'd he right as rain in a few days.

»»————-　♡　————-««

When stirred from slumber again, the sun was setting and casting the room in a soft, pinkish orange glow. You stretched and yawned and almost as if on queue, Frankie popped his head into the room.

"Hi baby," he said softly as he came over to you, his hand going to your forehead to set check for any signs of fever, "how are you feeling?"

"Better, I think," you admitted, the tired heaviness of your aching body feeling ever so slightly relieved, "I must have been out for hours."

"You were," he confirmed, "but you need to listen to your body as well and right now your body needs the rest."

"Apparently so," you agreed as you pushed back the blankets, "is that your Abuela's soup I smell?"

"Indeed it is," he grinned at you, "it can work miracles after all. It just needs to finish simmering for a while and it will he ready soon. I made some bread to go with it too."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Francisco. Thank you for taking such good care of me," you beamed as you ran a hand through his dark locks.

"Like I said, you do the same for me," he said gently, "and I love you. Now, what do you say about a bath?"

"Are you saying I stink?!" you joked as he leaned in and pretended to smell you. He jerked back and scrunched up his nose as you glared at him.

"Very stinky, baby," he almost giggled with laughter, "definitely time for a bathroom. You smell like honey and vaporub."

"Jerk," you teased as you slid your legs out of the bed in order to head to the bathroom. But Frankie was quicker and easily scooped you up into his arms and carried you to the ensuite bathroom, "ahh, what a prince my love is."

"Nah," he teased, "don't get used to it."

But you already were. Because Frankie was like this all the time, treating you like you were the only thing that mattered, because in a lot of ways to him, you were. But you loved and adored him with just as much reverent devotion.

Frankie gently set you back down before turning on the water, fiddling with the taps for a moment to get the temperature just before dropping in some of your favorite bubble bath. Stripping off your pajamas, you quickly stepped into the water, sinking down and letting the rising water start to envelope you. A small groan of pleasure left your lips as Frankie sat down the floor next to you, resting his arms atop the edge and watching you closely.

"What?" you asked as you grabbed a few bubbles and placed them on the tip of his nose, "never seen a pathetic sickling take a bath before?"

"Shush," he said as you blew some bubbles right back at you, "you are always beautiful, no matter what you look like or how you feel."

"Mhmm," you replied as you leaned back and closed your eyes, "whatever you say, mi amor."

"Exactly," he insisted, "do you want me to wash your hair?"

Your eyes opened as a little grin crossed your features. There were few things you loved more than the feeling of getting your hair washed, especially by Frankie. He often took it upon himself when the two of you showed together.

"Really?" you asked as he nodded, "I would love nothing more. My body is still tired and sore, and if I'm being quite honest, it's never as good as when you do it."

"Ahh, I've spoiled you too much already."

"Indeed, you truly have," you agreed.

"I'm joking-"

"I'm not," you promised, taking his face in your hands and staring into those soft, deep chocolate eyes, "I mean it, Francisco. I love you more than anything. You make me so happy."

"You do too," he promised, taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, "now come, let me help you wash up and then we'll have dinner."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Okay," you said, swallowing a hearty bite of bread and soup, "it's official. Your Abuela is a miracle worker and whatever secret ingredients she puts in the soup are magic."

"I know," he grinned at you, as he took your bowl and laddled some more soup into it, "one day you might even learn the secret ingredients. But she has to give permission first."

"Oh?" you quirked an eyebrow at him as you eagerly took the second helping, "and how does one go about getting permission?"

"Gotta be part of the family-"

"I am part of the family," you insisted, knowing full well it was true. His family, including his Abuela, adored you and always considered you to be one of them.

"I know," he agreed, a flush of pink rising in his cheeks, "but she means family family. Like we gotta get married."

"Ohh," your eyes widened as you stared at your soup, "maybe...maybe one day."

"Obviously," his response was sure, but nonchalant that your head snapped in his direction as he looked back at you with a simple shrug. You'd talked about marriage before, more or less in passing, but you'd never given it that much thought before. You figured if it was meant to happen, it would happen eventually, "what?"

"You want to get married?" you asked shyly as he gave you a surprised look.

"Of course," he beamed, "I'm going to marry the hell out of you. Don't you worry, Honey Bee, its going to happen. When you least expect it, but it will happen."

Frankie was just was just waiting for the opportune moment to pop the question. He'd had the ring for months, carefully hidden away as he tried to plan the perfect moment. Hell, he was half tempted to grab it and do it now. Despite still being sick and tired and run down, you looked as beautiful as ever. The soft expression on your face was enough to make his heart melt.

"Well..." you trailed off, staring at your soup and barely able to contain your smile, "I...I look forward to it. Just, you know, so I can get your Abuela's recipes."

Frankie snorted with laughter as he shook his head and reached over to wipe a crumb from the corner of your mouth.

"You must be feeling better if you're giving me this much sass," he stated as you nodded in agreement.

"Its the soup..." you said as you brought the bowl to your lips and downed the rest of it, "and the amazing care from my Frankie. Thank you for everything."

"You don't have to thank me," he promised, getting up to clear away the dishes, "now, what do you say to a movie? If you're up for it? We'll get under the covers, you can rest, and I'll even let you pick the movie."

"Deal," you eagerly agreed, "I make no promises to stay awake but I will try."

"Perfect," he busied himself with the kettle on the stove, "now get back into bed, turn on Netflix, and I'll be there in a few minutes with tea."

"And honey?"

"Only the finest for my Honey Bee," he promised, waving the bottle at you.

"I love you, Frankie," you said softly, "truly."

"And I love you," he shot you a quick wink, "now get into bed and I'll be right there."

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

Lost & Found - 7

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: as always, THANK YOU for reading! Thank you for reblogging (which is literally every author’s dream), liking, commenting (I DIE OVER YOUR COMMENTS/ASKS, THEY ARE THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY) and just reading in gereral! Enjoy!

Chapter 7. Lie to Me

series masterlist

Jimin finds himself robbed of breath as he watches that red thread dancing in the wind, the twin to his own. His heart is unsure of whether or not it wants to beat like a drum or stop altogether, leaving him clutching his chest.

Slowly, so slowly that it almost hurts, he brings his eyes up to the girl’s face. Only catching her side profile, he can’t help but be taken by surprise.

Soft is the first word that comes to mind when he catches sight of her eyes, her cheeks and nose. Her lips are pursed from where she must be biting them, making him emit a choked sigh. Her hair, falling around her shoulders, is deep with color.

He watches with no small amount of devastation as her eyes land on Elle’s figure, the cat already bounding down the stairs to greet her in the street. Coming to a stop, the woman crouches down and sets her groceries beside her. She reaches out to scratch Elle’s ears, and Jimin is unable to do anything but watch as those pursed lips ease out into a soft, beautiful smile.

It’s a smile, Jimin realizes, that he was meant to wake up to for the rest of his life.

Stuck in his trance, Jimin sees the woman pull her phone out and type out a quick message. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she grabs her groceries once again and begins to trek up the stairs.

Like the sound of a nail being hammered into his coffin, his phone pings with a text notification. He doesn’t look at it just yet, refusing to accept the reality. He keeps his eyes glued to the girl, his heart throwing itself at his ribs with undeniable vigor.

Step.

She turns to head up to the top right-hand apartment, Elle leading the way.

Step.

Now she’s fishing keys out of her pocket, saying something to Elle as the cat leaps through the window with ease.

Step.

She’s pressed up close to the door now, fumbling a little with the lock before the door gives way.

Step.

Making sure she has everything, the girl does a quick inventory of her bags, giving Jimin a complete view of her face for a split second before stepping inside.

Close.

The minutes tick by, but Jimin remains frozen in place, staring at that door with the number 6 hanging from it. The inside of his head turns into a hurricane, not giving him enough time to batter down the hatches before everything comes pouring down. Bringing a shaking hand to his mouth, Jimin finally tears his gaze from the door as it all becomes too much and the tears begin to stream down his face.

It’s there, quietly sobbing in his car, that Jimin realizes that he will be forever haunted by the image of his soulmate. And it’s there, one hand wringing the steering wheel while the other tries to silence his cries, that he curses the cruelty of fate.

Cutting the thread wasn’t enough, he knows that now. Just because his soulmate - Jolie is his soulmate’s name, how can a name be so beautiful? - cut the thread, doesn’t mean that she stopped fate. There are other common threads that bind them together.

Who could have expected it to come in the form of a cat?

Hands shaking violently, Jimin turns the key in the ignition. The bawdy tune on the radio is turned off the instant it comes on, and he’s left staring at his phone that sits atop his console.

Closing his eyes and grabbing it, he does his best to control his breathing. With tears still escaping his eyes, he looks at the message that arrived what feels like eons ago.

Jolie (Elle): Thanks for dropping Elle off! I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.

Jimin is at a complete loss for words, so he does the only thing he can.

He calls Namjoon.

✂

“Did you enjoy your night out?”

Elle preens on the kitchen counter, looking like she definitely did. I shoo her away, setting the groceries down and immediately beginning to put them away.

“Well, I’m glad. Good to know I was worried sick over nothing.” When Elle doesn’t begin to miraculously speak, I sigh. “You know, I went and saw that therapist today. The one my boss talked about a couple weeks ago.”

I pause for a moment, staring at the can of soup in my hands. Reading the nutrition label but hardly seeing it at all. It’s still early in the day, but I find myself already at a loss as to what I should be doing with the rest of the day.

“Now that you’re home, wanna go on a fieldtrip?” Elle perks up at my offer, tail lazily swishing back and forth. Putting the rest of my groceries away, I fumble around for my jacket. Then, staring at the envelope Namjoon gave me that still sits on my nightstand, I walk past it and grab a small business card sitting atop my dresser.

I have some homework to do.

If I’m supposed to come to terms with the events of the past couple of weeks, I might as well start with the person that assisted me in this entire process. That, and Christina may very well be the only person that doesn’t want to strangle me at the moment.

Chung-hei and Namjoon are supportive, but they see this as one thing and one thing only: wrong.

Elle is already waiting for me by the door when I reemerge, slipping the jacket on. She bounds out the door as soon as I open it, heading toward the small path that leads toward the park. I chuckle, the sound at odds with the uneasy feeling in my chest.

“Not that way,” I call to the confused cat. “We’re taking a bus to Itaewon.”

✂

Jimin is sitting on a stool by the kitchen island when the boys come stumbling through the door. He hardly flinches at the sudden change, only staring at the marble countertop. Staring at it like it might come up with the answers he needs, but not getting any input.

Namjoon received a call about an hour ago from Jimin, the younger boy nearly hyperventilating into the phone as he told him two things before dissolving into some sort of shocked silence.

“It was her.”

“Help.”

It didn’t take much for Namjoon to piece it all together. He had just been on the phone with Chung-hei that morning, trying to remember if Jolie had a white cat named Elle, and if Jimin was indeed in possession of that same cat.

Chung-hei had confirmed it, although she was just as shocked as Namjoon. What are the odds?

Apparently better than they thought, if Jimin’s current state is any indication.

Namjoon had wanted to stop Jimin, but after a long chat with his soulmate, he decided that it may be best to just let fate run its course.

Now, looking at Jimin who has finally lifted his head, he wonders if he was a fool for letting it go this far.

“Jimin-ah we’re home,” Taehyung announces, heading straight toward the island and taking a stool on his right. Yoongi takes the one on the left, Jungkook settling for wrapping his arms around Jimin’s shoulders and nuzzling his nose into his hair in the way that only Jungkook does.

Jin, j-hope, and Namjoon all weave around to stand on the opposite side of the island, exchanging worried glances. Unfortunately, none of them are experts in severed soulmate bonds. However, they do consider themselves to be Jimin experts.

Hopefully that will be enough.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” The question comes from Yoongi.

It falls silent as everyone waits for Jimin to speak. The quiet seems to be pressing in from all sides, nearly suffocating them.

Raising his head a bit more but not looking anywhere but the countertop, Jimin relinquishes his lip from where he was chewing on it.

“Her name is Jolie.” Jimin’s voice is still a bit shaky, but he pushes forward almost as though this is his only chance to get the words out before they’re forever locked up inside his mind. “Elle is...her cat. She was grocery shopping, I thought she was nice.”

“You talked to her?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin shakes his head. “No...not face to face. I had her number, when I thought I was just texting Elle’s owner. She seemed friendly.”

It’s quiet for a moment until Namjoon can’t fight the guilt anymore. “I’m...she probably is, Jimin. Good people make horrible decisions, sometimes.” He barely gets the words out without confessing all that he knows. He’s dying to, but he can’t. Something stops him, begging him to wait a little longer.

Nodding absentmindedly, Jimin sighs. “Elle loves her.” He stares burning holes through the countertop now. “She ran like a puppy once she saw her walking down the street. I think...she is a good person. So why…?”

He doesn’t need to finish his question, everybody is already thinking the same thing.

“Did she see you?” Taehyung wonders aloud, looking at his best friend with nothing but sweet concern.

“No, I was already in my car. But she...she texted me.” Jimin takes a moment before choking out the rest. “She thanked me for returning Elle. Said that she hoped it wasn’t too inconvenient for me.”

Once again, silence reigns in the apartment. It’s a rare occasion; these four walls are rarely quiet.

Hobi shuffles on his feet. “Have you thought about...you know…”

“What.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Texting her back?”

Jimin finally looks up, focusing on Hobi. “Text her back? What would I even say? Why….why?”

Namjoon jumps in. “I think it might be good, Jimin. It may help you to get some closure? Just get to know her a bit better. Maybe you’ll find out why she made this choice in the first place.” What he doesn’t tell him is that he’s been meticulously checking the mail every day for any sign of Jolie’s letter. If she hasn’t written to him yet, maybe this is another way for his friend to get closure?

Jimin shakes his head. “I’m the last person she’ll want to talk to.”

“She doesn’t have to know that it’s you,” Jin chimes in.

“And besides,” Namjoon continues. “I think that maybe today was some sort of sign. She can’t turn away forever, you know? Fate will always find a way.”

What he was hoping might be uplifting instead has Jimin turning to look at him, some sort of cold fire flickering in his eyes before sputtering out. “I don’t want fate or whatever this is,” he holds up his thread, “to just exhaust her into finally coming back to me! Is it too much to ask that she actually wants to be with me?”

“I didn’t mean it like-”

Jimin rises from his seat, prepared to walk away. “I’m not you, Namjoon!” His voice echoes through the house. “I didn’t get the girl! She took one look at me and thought that it would be better to ruin my life than be a part of it!” Jimin’s chest rises and falls, his breath rattling with the threat of sobbing.

Jungkook keeps his arms wrapped around Jimin, planting him in place. He’s always known Jimin so well; he knew that he would try to run and hide at some point during this conversation, to lick his wounds in peace without having to hurt anyone else. They’ll take it, though. They’ll take all of the barbed words in exchange for some sort of breakthrough. For Jimin to feel something again.

Jimin shakes his head, angry at himself for the tears and sobs that try to break through. “I’m so tired of crying, Namjoon.”

Namjoon remains on the opposite side of the island, unable to come up with anything to say, other than, “I’m sorry.”

But it’s Jungkook who musters up the courage to speak next. He’s quiet, still practically laying on Jimin and knowing that he’ll get away with it. Resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder, he sighs.

“Jimin-ah,” he begins, “You’re right, this is exhausting. But don’t you think that maybe she’s just...scared? And don’t you think she wouldn’t be so afraid if she got to know you? The Jimin that we all know isn’t scary, but all she’s ever seen are the promotions and concerts and suddenly she’s been thrown into a world where the one person that’s supposed to be her’s belongs to the entire world.”

The icy exterior that Jimin had been clinging to melts a little, his chin dropping to his chest. Jungkook sees the encouraging glances from his hyungs, and continues.

“It’s harmless to text her a little bit. Just get to know her. Let her get to know you. You can wait, to tell you who you are. But if you quit now, you will always wonder what could have happened.” Jungkook squeezes Jimin’s shoulders a bit tighter. “Do yourself a favor, and let it hurt a little more now so you can feel better in the future.”

“Rip off the bandaid,” Taehyung mumbles.

Yoongi stares at the countertop as well. “We’ll be here to help you know what to say, if you need help. But just because she shut you out, doesn’t mean that you should return the favor.”

Jimin closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before letting it out. When he opens them again, the pain is still there. Like a splinter caught in his skin. Painful, but not unbearable. Not when he’s got more important tasks to attend to.

He looks up at Namjoon, his cheeks a little red from embarrassment due to his outburst. “I’m sorry, Joon. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

Namjoon shakes his head, offering up a small smile. “I know. Don’t worry about it.”

At that moment the doorbell rings, everyone looking at each other with confused expressions. Jimin’s heart rate picks up, his imagination running while.

Did she see him? Does she somehow know what he’s planning to do? Is she angry and here to-

“Chicken!” Hobi shouts, bolting from the kitchen to the front door. Everyone dissolves into laughter, the uneasy tension from before dissolving a little.

Once Hobi returns with several boxes of chicken, explaining that he called for it just before entering the house, they turn back to the matter at hand.

Jimin stares down at his phone, wondering how on earth to begin. Jin coughs around his food before speaking.

“Just start with something that you have in common,” he suggests.

That common thread that is trying to no avail to bring them together.

Elle.

✂

Elle, I have come to learn, believes that she is above taking the bus. She must have gotten a hint of the high life last night with whoever she stayed with.

She’s currently poking her head out of my bag, which she immediately burrowed herself in upon finding boarding the bus. I smirk down at her, keeping my eyes averted from everyone else. It’s nice to have a little friend with me. It helps me ignore all of the people staring at me.

Or rather, my thread.

No one has dared to ask about it. Yet.

It should only take about twenty minutes to get to Itaewon. Hopefully that’s enough time for me to slip away before someone plucks up the courage to talk to me. If they approach, maybe Elle will hiss at them.

Judging by the way she’s nuzzled into my bag, I suppose that may be too much to wish for.

Riding the bus and watching the city slip past through the scratched windows has always been the strangest form of therapy for me. It’s crowded at times, loud and overall an awkward experience for many. However it’s often one of the places where I can just slip away. Dream with my eyes open as street shops and people drift into the rear view.

I’m just entering that dreamstate when I feel my phone vibrate. Slipping it out of my pocket and ignoring the whispers coming from a group of friends a couple of rows behind me, I glance at the new message.

It’s from the person that dropped Elle off, finally returning my message of gratitude.

UNK: It wasn’t inconvenient, don’t worry. If I’d had it my way, I would have hung out with Elle all day. 😸

I snort at the message, leveling Elle with a glare. “Sounds like you two are close.” Elle stares back up at me almost as though challenging me to do something about it. I roll my eyes. “You think you’re wrapped around their finger, huh? Watch and learn, princess.”

ME: Did you use the cat emoji bc of Elle or are you the kind of person that regularly uses cat emojis??

I wait with my phone in my hands, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I watch the person on the other side appear to be at a loss. Those three dots pop up for a moment before disappearing again.

It happens again and again, and I finally decide to put my phone away instead of watching them struggle to make up their mind. There’s only about ten minutes left of the trip, anyway.

Another five pass before my phone vibrates. Giving Elle a pointed look, I take a look at the response.

UNK: ...so what if I use cat emojis?

UNK: they’re there to be used, you know. Maybe you should quit ignoring them and give them a chance. 😿

“Ha!” It takes a moment before I remember that I should try my best to not appear like a crazy woman. “See?” I whisper madly. “They’re practically begging me to keep chatting.”

ME: Wow.

ME: I feel like you took that very personally. Elle didn’t tell me that you’d be like this.

There’s another stop, a few people getting off but many more getting on. Most of them sit down without sparing me a glance. Only when they’ve all settled down and gotten lost in their conversations or phones do I allow myself to relax.

UNK: are you the kind of person that talks to their cat??

I give a startled chuckle, delighting in the distraction this conversation is allowing me. Before I can fire off a response, another text comes through, making me stifle a laugh.

UNK: 😼

Maybe it’s the silly conversation, or the fact that Elle has gotten to a position where she can rub her head against my leg. Maybe it’s the view outside, the late afternoon sun pouring down on the people outside, and me, watching the world through the bus window.

For the first time that I can remember since I cut my thread, life seems a bit more manageable.

I feel like I can breathe.

✂

Jimin can’t breathe.

Not with the way all of the members have crowded around him on the couch, Jin still munching on some chicken while he peers over Jimin’s shoulder.

“I liked that last text. It was a nice touch,” Yoongi croons from Jimin’s side. “Gotta stick to a theme.”

The others grunt in agreement, hardly noticing the absolute strangeness of the situation. Taehyung slings his arm around Jimin on the other side, never once looking away from Jimin’s phone screen. He hums to himself while they wait for those fated three dots to appear.

Jungkook’s neck is about to break from the way he’s craning it, sitting on the floor before Taehyung’s legs. It’s a miracle that he can see anything at all.

“Is she texting yet?” He asks, hissing as he rubs a sore spot on his neck. He gives up trying to see what’s going on, facing forward again. Hobi, sitting beside Taehyung, automatically reaches down and begins massaging the younger’s neck.

“No, not yet,” Hobi sighs. “I wonder what - OH SHE’S TEXTING!”

Everyone presses in closer to Jimin, the boy in question gritting his teeth with anticipation. “Do you think she suspects? Have I been too obvious?”

Jin produces another chicken leg from somewhere, offering a bite to Namjoon who doesn’t hesitate to chow down. “No, she doesn’t. You’ve been totally aloof.”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Namjoon says around his food.

Together, the seven of them stare at those three dots rippling across the screen. When they disappear for a moment, everyone groans. It doesn’t take long before they reappear, and suddenly a message appears.

“What does it say?!” Jungkook scrambles to his knees, struggling to get a good view.

Jimin groans, shouldering his way forward until he’s leaning in front of everyone. “Shh, let me actually read it.”

Jolie (Elle): Haha, touché. I feel a little weird texting an unknown number...do you have a name I could save you under? Or should I just settle for a cat emoji?

“...what do I do?” Jimin turns to face the others, a flicker of panic painting his features. “I can’t tell her that it’s actually me...she’ll quit talking to me!”

Yoongi shrugs, completely unbothered. “Just give her a fake name. Like, Jaemin or something. Close enough.”

“Ha! Yeah, do Jaemin. Reminds me of James Corden trying to say your name,” Jungkook cackles.

Jimin looks at the other members with big eyes, waiting for some other offer. Something better. Taehyung pats his shoulder.

“I know you hate lying but...I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

Sighing, Jimin types in a response. He holds up the phone for everyone to see, waiting for their grunts of approval before hitting send. A knock on the door has everyone except for Jin turning their heads.

“Don’t tell me you ordered something else,” Namjoon gripes. Jin just chuckles quietly, reappearing a few moments later with an armful of boxes. Jimin recognizes them immediately: it looks like an assortment of churros and other treats.

“Hyung,” Jungkook watches the procession with wide eyes. “What’s this?”

“Would you go grab the rest?” Jin asks instead of answering. Jungkook leaps to his feet, bounding toward the door where more treats await. His shouts of excitement drift back to the boys.

When everyone gives Jin an appalled look, he just shrugs his shoulders. “What? I figured that we’re going to be here for a while. Might as well get comfortable.”

✂

UNK: No, I won’t make you stoop so low as to use a cat emoji. Park Jaemin should work fine.

I nearly stumble down the steps of the bus as I make the mistake of pulling my phone out to see the latest response. Once Elle and I have made it safely to the sidewalk, I proceed to stare at my phone in utter horror.

Rereading that name again and again until I’m sure that I’m reading it correctly.

Why did it have to be such a similar name?

There’s a slight tremor to my hands as I try to come up with something to say. Saving the number, I take a deep breath. Elle watches me from the safety of my bag, mewling softly.

“Gimme a sec,” I sigh. “Is this some sort of cruel joke?” My mind is spinning too quickly to think clearly, so I pocket the infernal device and take a moment to orient myself. Heading down the street, I wait until I’ve made it a block before attempting to form a reply.

It would appear that my new friend is a little impatient. By the time I stop on the corner, there’s already another text waiting for me. The new contact name has me gritting my teeth, but I push past the initial shock that rocks me.

Park Jaemin 🙀: Unless you don’t like that name? I could always choose a different one.

“He’s a little...weird.” I glance down at Elle, who seems inclined to agree with me. “But nice, I think.” Mustering up all of my courage, I punch out a reply and send it before I can think twice about it.

ME: That’s fine. Jaemin it is. I just didn’t realize you were a guy? Elle always seemed wary of guys.

I set off down the street, finding it a bit different in the daylight than it was at night. That, and this time I’m not a hyperventilating mess. It doesn’t take long before I’m turning down an alley that I realize I’ve been seeing in my dreams lately, heading toward the tell-tale gray apartment with the warehouse attached to it.

There’s another text notification reaching my ears, but I ignore it for the moment. Knocking hard on the door, I wait to hear footsteps.

It takes a couple of attempts before a distant voice shouts, “Coming!” A few seconds later, the door is cracked open to reveal a disgruntled Christina.

She gives me a long look, recognition sparking in her eyes even as she looks entirely unimpressed by me. She eyes Elle, who stares right back at her.

“You know I don’t do refunds, right?”

There’s another text coming through, but I ignore it again. Instead I plaster on my best smile, which Christina sees right through.

“I know. That’s not why I’m here.” Glancing up and down the alley, I rub at my arms. Fighting off the sudden chill. “Mind if I come in?”

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#bts fluff #jimin fluff #bangtan #jimin x oc #bts x oc #jimin angst

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aurora077 · 3 years

Text

The word is 'attempt' (Chapter 1)

Summary: Not this again! Jiang Yanli has had enough. No more Mrs. nice girl. Her parents really need a proverbial slap in the face and she is going to give it to them. Set after the Xuanwu cave.

Disclaimer: I do not own MDZS/CQL. Parts you recognise are from the novel.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13962595/1/The-word-is-attempt

Chapter 1 - Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go apeshit?

Jiang Yanli loved her younger brothers. That was a fact known to the entirety of Lotus Pier. It didn’t matter what trouble those two got up to, at the end of the day she would always be waiting for them with a smile and possibly some soup. Their people loved to see them all together, doting on them whenever they crossed paths with free food and little trinkets. Secretly, they were glad that the siblings were so close. It was an open secret that the adults in their household were...in a volatile relationship to put it mildly.

Nobody knew how Jiang Yanli turned out the way she did, but everyone loved her for her mild manners, gentle smile, and the way she would parent both her little brothers, showering them with the love and affection that was sorely lacking from their lives. Wei Wuxian, the little troublemaker, had lost his parents as a small child, and lived on the streets until Sect Leader Jiang found him. Despite this he remained a cheery, playful child and his laughter was often heard after having caused some mischief, followed by the scolding of his martial brother, who endearingly tried to uphold his image as sect heir, but also couldn’t help getting caught up in his shixiong’s schemes. Their little sect heir tried so hard to be proper and stern, always concerned about his image and the reputation he was giving his sect, but he was still a child. Something the townspeople often thought his parents would do well to remember.

Regardless, the day came when Qishan Wen decided that all the sects needed to send their heirs to indoctrination, and the people of Lotus Pier worried about the fate that awaited the children (really teenagers but to them they would always be kids).

Jiang Yanli worried most of all. So when their sect heir, Jiang Wanyin, returned to Lotus Pier, bedraggled and looking very much worse for the wear without Wei Wuxian, they feared the worst.

Yanli despaired when she heard A-Cheng’s story. A-Xian was with Second Young Master Lan in a cave, confined with a legendary beast of nightmares. Her father of course immediately gathered the disciples and had A-Cheng lead them back to the cave. Yanli would have preferred her little brother stay behind; he was exhausted and in terrible shape, but he was needed to lead them back to A-Xian and so she didn’t protest.

By some miracle, Wei Wuxian and Second Young Master Lan managed to kill the beast, but they were both severely injured and A-Xian was unconscious and feverish. She and A-Cheng took to sitting in his room, both worried about him and discussing the events of the past few weeks. Neither of them would leave A-Xian alone, they decided, through unspoken agreement...always there would be one or the other at his bedside. They had both been so afraid of losing him. She was so proud of both of her brothers, but she would always wish them to be safe and sound rather than heroic. What A-Cheng told her of what happened, on his end at least, was so incredibly dangerous and she just knew A-Xian that would most definitely end up downplaying the danger that he was in.

She was reading a book when she took another peek at the bed, only to see him blink awake and stare at his headboard.

She raised her head with a smile, “A-Xian!”

“Shijie!” he struggled to lift himself up and began shooting rapid fire questions at her, “I'm back? When did I come out of the cave? Did Uncle Jiang take people to rescue me? Where's Lan Zhan? Where's Jiang Cheng?”

“What are you shouting for?” said Jiang Cheng, as if he was summoned. “Sister, the soup that you boiled. I brought it over.”

It was telling that he brought only one bowl. This soup was for his shixiong. He didn’t intend to eat any himself even though he loved it as well. She smiled internally as she ladled a bowl for A-Xian and ignored their bickering. That was the way they showed they cared. Neither was good at expressing feelings to the other.

She reached over to wipe soup off A-Xian’s face as Father entered the room and she took away the bowl, not missing her father’s longing glance towards the pot. Too bad though, if A-Cheng could restrain himself, Father would have to as well.

Having left to go to the kitchen she missed the next part of the conversation, but she slipped back into the room just as A-Cheng was asking why A-Xian would let Second Young Master Lan take all the credit when they both killed the beast. Privately she agreed with him that it was unfair; she knew that A-Cheng was showing his concern that his brother wouldn’t get the credit he was due. Well in any case, they could give him credit.

“Well done,” Father praised.

“Congratulations,” said Jiang Cheng, staring at his shixiong with a mix of emotions. Yanli’s heart hurt at his tone. She could read her little brothers well. A-Cheng was really proud of A-Xian; he was glad that he was praised for his admittedly impressive deed, but at the same time their father hadn’t said a word to him about his part. No ‘well done’ was ever directed at him. Not even an ‘I’m glad you’re safe.’ True, he hadn’t killed a legendary beast, but he had helped evacuate all of the sect heirs from the cave and had struggled without a sword, without food or water for a whole week to get back to Lotus Pier to alert them to what happened. And without any real time to rest and recuperate he had immediately headed out with a delegation to find his shixiong.

Wei Ying might have helped kill the beast, but Jiang Cheng was the one who ensured that the rest of the sects even had heirs remaining alive to succeed them, the one that helped search the mountain and then helped to dig through all the stone blocking the cave entrance to save his shixiong (and Lan Wangji.) Nobody could have known that they would kill the beast. But despite thinking that the boys might be dead and that they would have to face the Xuanwu themselves when they finally managed to get into the cave, A-Cheng had gone with their cultivators to rescue them or bring back the bodies. He had gone into the cave not knowing if their brother still breathed, not knowing if there was even a body left to bring back, and not knowing if he’d be able to get out and escape the Xuanwu a second time even if there was.

A-Xian laughed, the kind where he was sure something was wrong and was trying to give the situation some levity, "What a pity that you weren't there as well. Or else, you'd be able to share some of that credit…..Lan Zhan…..boring….” He continued speaking but Yanli wasn’t hearing him. She was looking at the play of emotions on A-Cheng’s face and she could tell immediately that A-Xian had misunderstood.

Wei Ying tried his best to keep things light whenever he sensed that Jiang Cheng was upset, but often enough he didn’t know what he was upset about. A-Xian thought that he was feeling left out, but that wasn’t it. A-Cheng wasn’t simply jealous that he didn’t get a chance to kill the Xuanwu, he was upset that his shixiong could have died and he was upset that even after he almost died he was giving Second Young Master Lan all the credit and he was even more upset that their father did not seem to care at all that it was dangerous and was giving praise without concern (it was all Father talked about since they got back, how proud he was). He was also upset on his own behalf of course, but the jealousy he felt had nothing to do with wishing he could have helped kill the Xuanwu of Slaughter and more to do with his father’s effusive praise for just Wei Ying.

Instead of being able to say any of those things of course, her little brother just reverted to his usual means of coping with the tumultuous emotions roiling within him. Aka...he got angry and lashed out.

“It would have served you right to be bored to death,” he snapped, “You shouldn't have played the hero and you shouldn't have cared for such a hell of a thing. If in the beginning you didn't...”

Suddenly, Jiang Fengmian spoke, “Jiang Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng paused, knowing that he had said too much. He was quiet at once. Jiang Fengmian didn't look as if he was blaming him for anything, but his expression had turned from calm to more solemn, "Do you know in which ways what you just said is not appropriate?" A-Cheng's head hung low, "Yes."

Yanli was aching. A-Cheng shouldn’t have said it yes but his bigger mistake was saying it in front of Father.

A-Xian, knowing the way he and A-Cheng interacted was just their way, and knowing A-Cheng said things he didn’t mean when he was in a temper, tried to defend him, "He's just angry and speaking without care."

Jiang Cheng had a mulish look on his face because of course his father never understood him. He was always only seeing his flaws.

Seeing how Jiang Cheng's mouth and heart were still at odds, to his father he still appeared defiant. Jiang Fengmian shook his head, "A-Cheng, there are some things that can't be said even if you're angry. If you said them, it means that you still don't understand the motto of the Jiang Sect, that you still don 't... "

"Yes, he doesn't understand, but what does it matter, as long as Wei Ying understands?!" like a strike from Zidian, Mother swept inside with stinging words and bringing in with her a cold breeze, "'To attempt at the impossible' is exactly how he is, isn't it? Fooling around even though he knew that it'd bring trouble to his sect?!"

Father sighed, "My lady, what are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What a joke that I am asked such a thing! Sect Leader Jiang, do you still remember that I'm also the leader of Lotus Pier? Do you still remember that every inch of the earth here is my territory? Do you still remember, between the one lying there and the one standing here, which one is your son?"

Not this again. Yanli’s nerves felt frayed. Just why did they need to do this? A-Xian should be resting.

Such questions they had all heard countless times throughout the years and so he was no stranger to them. "Of course I do, " Father answered, sounding tired. Mother laughed bitterly, "You do remember, but there's no use if you simply remember. Wei Ying, he really can't take it unless he stirs up some trouble, can he? If I had known, I would've made him stay in Lotus Pier properly and not go outside. Could Wen Chao really have dared to do anything to the two young masters of the GusuLan Sect and the LanlingJin Sect?” Yanli was growing angry. How could mother blame A-Xian for the arrogance of the Wens? She wondered if mother had somehow forgotten what the Wens did to Cloud Recesses. Sect Leader Lan was dead! What did she mean if they would dare do anything to the young masters? Even sect leaders weren’t spared!

Oblivious to her daughter’s mounting frustration, Madam Yu continued,“Even if he did, it'd mean that they ran out of luck. Since when was it your turn to play the hero? I'm saying this right now. You can just wait. One day, he'll definitely get our sect into some big trouble! "

Luck! Did mother attribute the loss of life to simple luck? If they could go after Gusu and Lanling’s heirs that wouldn’t be them getting lucky. And did Mother think that Lotus Pier was so lucky then that if A-Xian didn’t go to the indoctrination that Lotus Pier would be spared if even the young masters of Gusu and Lanling ran out of luck? Who’s to say A-Cheng wouldn’t have been out of luck too? Would she be so blasé about it then if her own son was one of the young masters killed because he was out of luck?

Father stood up, clearly trying to avoid another argument,"Let's talk when we get back." Mother sneered, "Talk about what? Get back to where? I'll be talking about it right here. I have nothing to be ashamed of, anyways! Jiang Cheng, come over here."

A-Cheng looked torn. After a moment of hesitation, he moved to Mother's side. Holding his shoulders, Mother pushed him forward for Father to see and Yanli felt her face going red from the anger of her little brother once again being caught in the middle of their marital disputes.

"Sect Leader Jiang, it seems that some things I have to say. Look carefully—this is your own son, the future head of Lotus Pier. Even if you frown upon him just because I was the one who bore him, his surname is still Jiang! I don't believe for one second that you haven't heard of how the outside people gossip….”

A-Cheng’s face shuttered. He was steeling himself once again for the accusations that would inevitably be thrown out by mother and not denied by father.

Mother’s tirade continued, “They say that Sect Leader Jiang has still not moved on from a certain Sanren though so many years have passed, regarding the son of his old friend as a son of his own; they're speculating if Wei Ying is your... "

"Yu Ziyuan!" Father shouted, finally losing his temper.

"Jiang Fengmian!” Mother shouted back, “Do you think that anything will change just because you raised your voice?! Do you think that I don't know you?!”

A-Cheng looked like he would cry. That was the last straw for Yanli.

“ENOUGH!”

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

A/N: I really wanted to just finish this story and post it as it is the first one I started in this fandom a long while ago... but some parts have been so difficult to write (*cough* JFM *cough*) and I'm kind of tired of it tbh so I'll post it in parts and hopefully edit it more at a later date. I hope some of you enjoy it at least.

I’m aware now that the phrase ‘attempt the impossible’ is not really… translated well from the actual Chinese meaning of the sect motto. However, I started writing this fic ages ago and in the English translation, ‘attempt the impossible’ is what we get and it’s what I’m working with. Take it as an AU where it does mean exactly what it says in the English translation 🤷‍♀️

This is of course once again a canon blend of the novel and CQL. The characters’ personalities are a mix of both.

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reidecorating · 3 years

Text

the bau team and their star signs based on science

hotch: clearly an aries. this is not up for debate and i don't take criticism. natural born and excellent leader? maybe. but bossy boots because he is just a bossy boss man who probably sleeps in a suit or those pyjamas that have suit graphics on them? most definitely. when he speaks, his voice sounds like it’s coming out in all lower case, when he yells, it’s all caps. angery. down to throw hands at anything in his immediate line of vision probably. will exterminate you like a roach if you mess with someone he cares about. don't break the rules or my boss will kill me 😡 to you're breaking the rules under MY supervision, that way my boss will kill US 🥰. probably microwaves food a lot. type of dad to say no to getting a dog, then two months later get matching christmas costumes with said dog. never stops working because he is an absolute UNIT built like the circuit of one of those infinity pools in bali. could use another sabbatical.

rossi: i saw his birth certificate and the rumours are true, he’s a november sagittarius. two wives away from being a modern day king henry the eighth. it’s rossi’s world and we’re all just living in it. he is a prophet. his third eye has been opened and he ascended to the seventh dimension at the age of 24. when he takes leave, the only way to contact him is through a ouija board in latin or maybe greek depending on the position of the sun. he will only die when he chooses to die but will dissolve at the words ‘what are we?’. the major arteries in his body are just long pieces of macaroni. definitely has hooked up with one person from every state the jet has landed in. no filter between his brain and mouth, will destroy your self confidence intentionally. uses abbreviations when texting. liberal - because of the experimenting back in college. probably friends with your mum on facebook.

prentiss: imagine her being anything but an air sign. you can't because she's clearly an aquarius?? work comes first (first equal with her girlfriend). if you tell her to do something she simply won't do it, especially if it was something she was just about to do. she once came home from a run with her mother in the summer and her mother politely suggested that she should drink some water. emily, an anarchist, did not drink water and was hospitalised for heatstroke in due course of proving her point of nonconformity. has been to jail. sucks on candy canes and makes them pointy because christmas is one of her least favourite days. on probation. no, i really like him *deletes his number*. maybe moves to iceland to become a sheep herder to avoid having to ever see anyone she has romantically affiliated with ever again. actually quite the jester, joke levels exceed 4000, but can make you laugh and cry in the span of approximately the length of a short youtube ad. the antichrist.

morgan: has at some point caused someone to question their sexuality. am i really a straight man? do i really only like women? - direct quotes from anyone who has seen him. if that doesn't scream libra i don't know what does. i’m trying to refrain from using the words ‘hot’, ‘sex god’, ‘rail me’. the kinda guy who will hold open a door for you, but also have no problem kicking one down for you. has never ditched class before. momma’s boy. tries to make his pecs move in the mirror. he KNOWS he’s hot okay??? but THEN its not just that because people are like ‘oh he's attractive’ but then they find out he’s RESPECTFUL, and INTELLIGENT and COMPASSIONATE and then that awkward moment when you just DIE because he is not flawed??? it’s like he’s a lucid dream??? probably secretly is really good at baking some obscure european good. uses colognes that have really manly man sounding names for instance, ‘Man Musk’, ‘Mystical Muscles’, ‘Beards and Buttercream’.

garcia: the epitome of a female pisces. a baddie™. definitely owns a pair of those really skinny sunglasses that influencers wear and looks like god herself while in them. spirals from being the momma bear to the wine-aunt. she will care about you so hard but if that's not reciprocated, will hack into your my eyes only and fax those pictures to every machine she can connect to. accidentally has flirted her way into at least 19 relationships. really good at writing fan fiction??? like - seriously good. knows 4 different synonyms for the word “member” iykyk. researches things the people she loves most enjoy, so when she talks to them she can have more detailed conversations. catches feelings for people who are definitely not good for her. sometimes just takes off her glasses because she's tired of, well... seeing. hand makes cute lil earrings for her friends. a master at fireboy and watergirl and will never play with anyone else because ‘another player just slows you down, i can do it myself in half the time’. THAT FRIEND WHO WILL WAIT FOR YOU TO TIE YOUR LACES.

jj: virgo. she was definitely that girl who had notes with pretty titles and colour coded highlighters in school. also did extracurriculars in the weekends so she’d have to be picked up from sleepovers early to go to soccer games. when she takes the time to learn something she learns it well and perfects any craft handed to her because anything less than 100% is failure in her eyes. gets annoyed when other people cry for too long probably. will judge you. so much. silently. especially if you cry. don't make her mad because she has caused civil unrest in 13 continents. live, laugh, love signs in her kitchen. security footage surfaced in 2007 of her roundhouse kicking a middle aged man, in the junk food aisle of a trader joe’s, after he took the last re-stocked bag of cheetos. has a ‘mom first, agent second’ mug that garcia got her. likes family walks which will most likely be planned out meticulously, involving a detailed itinerary of the day i.e. Henry’s toilet break, 10AM

reid: he despises star signs and anyone who gives them any thought because “where is the SCIENCE?” this bitch is a scorpio. definitely only knows his sun sign. so intense! have you seen the way he looks at things?? the way he stares??? the way he analyses dead bodies??? the way he loves??? ridiculously put together to everyone around him but emotionally life is soup and he is fork. kinky. breaks off bananas little by little with his hands before eating each piece individually because eating them normally is too sensual and he’s paranoid morgan might see him doing it and take a picture. wants the kind of love he reads about. has a superiority complex about having a superiority complex. keeps a straight face while saying literally anything so you cannot tell if he’s being serious or not like one day he’ll just be like “yeah i killed a man with an axe once to enable myself to more easily empathise with future unsubs who potentially work as lumberjacks or have a history of logging. it’s called method axing,” and then leave the room to draw circles on maps or something. believes that parallel parking should work, in theory, but never seems to work for him in practice.

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