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elorawrites · 2 years ago

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the artist's muse [ ellie williams ]

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: you considered yourself an artist, and with ellie as your muse, you made sure she never forgot how beautiful she was.

warnings: none. just the reader trying to teach ellie how to love herself by making her the muse of all of her artwork pieces.. not proofread.

author's note: i got extremely carried away by this.. and i wasn't sure where exactly i was going with it.. so if it sucks, please just be kind! it's my first piece of writing. it's also the result of writing at 3am while listening to house song by searows on repeat LOL

wc: 1.6k

ellie williams never thought of herself as beautiful.

there were many traits the auburn-haired girl could slap onto herself that she deemed more fitting: resilient, stubborn, brave, or funny (courtesy to her infamous joke books she simply thought were hilarious).

there was no doubt in her mind that she could make just about any word work in her favor, however, beautiful was never one of those words in her mind.

that was until she met you.

you, who almost never made her forget how beautiful she was.

your first encounter with each other was months ago, however, the pair of you remember it like it was yesterday.

you can recall the night fondly, a smile twitching at your lips as your mind wandered to the memory.

it was during one of the colder months of the year. the snow had started to stick to the streets in jackson, people were quick to pull their thicker coats out in preparation for the colder breeze and spend more time in the dining hall – which seemed to be the most heated building in the community.

there you sat at one of the tables, food long since forgotten as all of your focus was perfecting the sketch you had been working on for the last half hour; and you swear it was one of your best pieces yet.

it was a portrait of a girl, her face riddled with freckles that you always thought resembled the stars; a small smile adorning her lips.

that was your first portrait of ellie, and by no means was it the last.

you had exchanged glances with the other girl throughout the whole evening, always managing to catch ellie looking your way when you went to refresh your memory of her features for your art – not that you could ever forget features as beautiful as hers, anyway.

the two of you would quickly look away from each other, in your best attempts to make it seem like neither of you were staring for your own reasons; quiet giggles and stifled smiles claiming your faces afterwards when you would glance again, thinking the other wasn't looking.

that first encounter with ellie was one of your favorites. after making your final touches to your sketch, you had pushed yourself up from your seat and made your way to her, a red hue to your cheeks that you did your best to ignore, appearing as you slipped her the ripped page in silence.

to say you were nervous about showing her was an understatement. i mean, what if she thought you were weird? having no other interaction with other outside of a few lingering glances and friendly smiles. the last thing you wanted to do was ruin your chances with her before you even got to know her.

however, that was far from the case.

it felt as though ellie's breath had been ripped from her lungs, in the best way possible. she stared down at the small piece of paper like it held the answers to all the questions in life.

it was the most beautiful she had ever looked, ellie thought.

she never thought someone could look at her in the way the sketch had portrayed, let alone someone like you.

ellie had always thought you were the most beautiful person she had ever seen, by far, and to know that you held the same admiration for her and be able to show it.. well, it made ellie feel things she wasn't sure she felt before, but welcomed nonetheless.

the silent connection the two of you shared from that point on only grew, and as the snow that once settled on jackson's grounds slowly diminished, so did the space that you and ellie kept between you both in the dining hall as your friendship solidified.

over time, you began to realize ellie didn't share the same view you had of her, and it baffled you.

how could someone as beautiful as her, not realize it at all? not realize that her face alone could steal multiple hearts, just as it did yours?

you made a vow to yourself to make sure ellie never thought of herself as anything less than beautiful for as long as you were by her side.

she became your muse, and you based your artwork around her happily. you were never more inspired when it came to the auburn-haired girl.

it was something to get used to, but eventually ellie grew to like how you always studied her features before your hand hurriedly scribbled at your page, as if you would forget what she had looked like if you waited any longer.

there were points in time during the friendship ellie shared with you when she truly couldn't grasp the idea of you being able to see as much beauty in her as you claimed.

even after the things she has done. the amount of people that she's harmed.

ellie would never forget the night she had brought this to your attention, and neither would you.

the two of you were in ellie's makeshift bedroom, in the garage out back. there was a comforting silence that blanketed you, something that both you and ellie appreciated every once in a while. the only sound to be heard was the soft pencil strokes coming from you, your pencil in hand as you were sketched out another portrait of ellie – something you loved to do when you were together.

ellie loved watching you, though. she loved seeing the proud look in your face when you turned the page to show her your finished product.

today wasn't one of those days. you caught onto that pretty quickly when the enthusiasm in ellie's voice was slim to none, and when the bashful smile she usually had didn't reach her eyes.

"how can you continue to see me this way?" ellie's voice was quiet as the question left her lips, voice wavering as she held the freshly sketched portrait you had shown her.

"as something so.. beautiful? like the things i've done don't matter to you?"

ellie's voice shook again, but with frustration. the girl wasn't sure if this hostility she held was really towards you or towards herself, for not being able to accept someone might actually see past what she's done, to see who she was.

and you knew this, so when you found ellie to be worked up by the thought of someone loving her enough to see through her violent past and into the beauty she still held, you could only let out a lighthearted sigh as you dropped the pencil that was still in grips.

"oh, ellie.." you spoke to her in a voice so gentle, ellie had no choice but to pull her eyes from the sketchbook to your own eyes that held an emotion the auburn-haired girl still wasn't sure she wanted to fully understand.

you had always thought ellie's eyes were something beyond breathtaking, and despite the circumstances, even more so when they had that glossy film of tears over them.

you were careful as your hands reached for her face, making themselves at home on her freckled cheeks as your gaze looked over the face you grew to know like the back of your hand, one you grew to love.

at the feeling of your skin on hers, ellie let out a shaky breath she wasn't aware she was holding. her green eyes fluttering shut, taking a moment to lean into your touch.

it was just like that for a few moments. your thumbs gently brushing over the skin of her cheeks as you cradled her face with the other girl keening for your touch.

when she revealed her eyes to you again, you couldn't help the smile that pulled at the corner of your lips, because even the simplest of things ellie williams did had you feeling as though your heart was about to skid to a stop.

with her attention still on you, you gently tightened the grip on ellie's face to ensure she wouldn't pull away before barely uttering the following words out to her.

"you have, and forever always will be, the most beautiful girl i have ever seen.. and no amount of anger, or result of grief, can change that."

ellie wasn't sure if it was the way you looked at her, your eyes boring into her own with the kind of look you'd give someone if they hand-painted the stars–

which to you, she might as well have.

–or if it was the amount of emotion you held in your voice, which unlike hers, was steady; no sign of uncertainty as you made sure to speak to ellie with a clear, but gentle tone.

ellie knew that emotion well, and as much as she wanted to pretend it was a stranger, she knew it was nothing more than an old friend.

so as ellie pulled your hands away from her face, grasping onto them firmly in her lap, she leaned in and carefully closed the gap between the two of you, her pillow soft lips pressing into yours with a sort of hesitance– as if you'd pull away.

but it was then when ellie knew exactly what the emotion was when she felt your soft sigh against her lips, followed by the ghost of your smile and the pressure of your lips reciprocating her kiss.

it was love.

something that ellie was sure she wasn't deserving of, but was willing to try and understand otherwise.

she would learn to accept your love for her, as well as her place as your muse, because to ellie, your love would paint a whole new meaning for her.

you would be the artist that helps create that new beginning.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #tlou x reader #tlou #tlou 2 #tlou ellie #tlou imagine #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams angst #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams imagine

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writingforfunsies · 4 years ago

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The Demon Brothers: Creative Outlets Headcanons

they are all immortals and when you've lived longer than you can remember, you're bound to find a creative outlet to destress, alleviate boredom, or you know, to just have fun!

Lucifer

He’s a busy demon. If he’s not working, he's sleeping, or cleaning up one of his brother’s messes, so he doesn't have that much time to just relax and explore his creative sides.

That said though, it doesn’t mean he has no hobbies at all.

He plays the piano. He used to play it every morning, back when he’s still in the Celestial Realm, when he’d taught Lilith how to play the piano every morning and she’d sat besides him as his fingers moved across the keys slower so she could copy him.

Nowadays, playing the piano feels very nostalgic and bittersweet, but you’ll hear soft, bittersweet melodies drift from the music room once in a while.

He also composes his own music, but that's an even rarer occurrence. The last time he created a new music piece was centuries ago.

(Ever since MC came to Devildom though, he's been itching to write music for them.)

Practices calligraphy for fun. He has a whole set of brushes and ink and lettering pens. His handwriting is already beautiful but his calligraphy is even more amazing.

Another thing he does is gardening. He's got a great eye for landscape architecture, he's the reason why the house's backyard is pretty.

He plants decorative plants and likes to cross breed flowers so the House of Lamentation's backyard is full of pretty shrubs and unfamiliar flowers.

He is usually joined by Beel as he is the other brother that finds gardening very relaxing.

Mammon

He definitely shows his creativity by coming up with the most absurdly brilliant, out-of-the-box, original schemes to make money.

Mammon can draw, like really good. His drawings are very realistic. He prefers to use traditional media: charcoal pencils, graphite sticks, blenders, erasers, drawing pens, brushes, and maybe some watercolors.

He usually does architecture sketches.

But if you check his drawers, you’ll find several sketchbooks of his brothers in different candid poses. MC alone has taken up three whole sketchbooks. Mammon makes sure MC doesn’t see those sketches though.

Crashes Asmo’s Art Day regularly, claiming that if Levi’s invited then the Great Mammon should be too. Asmo and Levi always complains but they let him stay anyway.

Mammon also has a natural talent on jewelry making and metalwork. He makes jewelry from buttons, beads, pearls, diamonds, and crystals. From small pendants to elaborate neckpieces, simple anklets to ornate hairpins.

Mammon has made metal bookmarks for Satan because the book lover always misplaces his bookmarks or destroys them in fits of rage when he doesn't like a book's ending.

He sculpts wood. It takes him months to finish one small piece because he only does it when he's really, really bored, he prefers to make his much more profitable jewelry.

He keeps all of his sculptures in his room, small and detailed pieces of wood engraving of Devildom native animals lining up on one of the shelves.

Leviathan

This is canon but he draws! He doesn't think he's very good at it, but he really enjoys it.

Unlike Mammon who likes to draw with his charcoal pencils and drawing pens, Levi prefers to draw digitally. He still switch to traditional media now and then though.

Has a monthly scheduled “Art Day” where he and Asmo hang out together, Levi draws with his sketchbook or his drawing tablet and Asmo paints. They basically just gossip and hype each other’s art.

Dabbles in making short animations but feels like it’s just not something for him. He makes short comics though.

He wants to be able to make his own video game someday though. Maybe after he learns programming.

He makes the most detailed cosplay outfits for his own cosplays. He sews really good and patches his brothers clothes when they ask. Where do you think Asmo learns how to sew his own clothes from?

Really good at dancing and he really likes it too. He's a natural at it. From the most intricate traditional Devildom dances to freestyle dancing. He can make new moves on the spot and can copy any moves from one look.

He’s a shy baby though, you’ll rarely see him dance when he’s sober.

Except when he’s playing DDR (Demons Dance Revolution). Then, it’s like he’s the most confident demon in Devildom.

Satan

Satan writes poetry when inspiration strikes him. He has also written short stories but he always comes back to creating beautiful poems. He’s got a way with words.

Photography is something he has only recently taken interest in but he has a great eye for taking breathtaking shots.

Has become the family’s go-to photographer.

“Satan, take a picture of me and Mammon!” “Satan, take our picture, quick!” “Satan, help me get a picture for my Devilgram!”

He’s the reason Asmo’s Devilgram pictures always look like they’re taken professionally in a photo studio or something.

Satan loves art, likes to stroll through museums and stare at paintings for hours, but has little talent in creating them. Even so, he still likes to paint even if he's not good at it.

Sometimes he just wants to slap paint on a canvas and make a colorful mess. It's fun.

He joins Art Day every other month.

Another thing he does is knitting! It relaxes him. It gives him something to focus at when he's angry (um, angrier than usual), just to give his hands something to do that doesn't involve breaking anything. The simple patterns he makes are easy enough that they don't frustrate him.

Rarely ever finishes his knitting though, you'll just find this 5 meters long knitted fabric in one corner of his room with the ends coming undone because he calms himself down enough to stop knitting.

Asmodeus

Regularly designs, cut, and sew his own clothes.

Has a lot of sketchbooks full of drawings of flowy dresses and stylish coats and many aesthetically pleasing shirts.

He has started his own clothing line and sometimes collaborate with Majolish.

But for the most part, he designs clothes for himself and himself only, he doesn't want anyone else to wear clothes as fabolous as his.

Nail art? Nail art.

Asmo paints all of the brothers nails and sometimes he'll persuade one of them to let him do a complete manicure, with glitter polish and shiny studs and all.

Yes, even Lucifer. You just never see the results because Lucifer wears his gloves almost all the time.

Asmo creates beautiful makeup art. He doesn't really like a lot of makeup on his own face though, so his brothers' faces are his canvases.

He also has a great eye for interior decorating and flower arranging. He restyles his room every month.

Not many people know it but he paints. And he's very good at it. He has done a painting of each brother, the paintings can be seen on the walls of the House of Lamentation's hallways.

Art Day with Levi (and sometimes Satan or Belphie) is spent with him in front of canvases, chatting with his brothers, paint splatters on his hands. It's the only day that he doesn't mind looking a little messy.

Beelzebub

He cooks, of course! And bakes too!

It's one of the times he’s willing to wait to eat because cooking the ingredients first rather than just straight up eating them will make the foods taste better.

Half of the food in the kitchen are his creations. Anything he can make on his own from scratch, he will; jams, ice cream, sauces, juices, bread, chips, etc.

Likes to experiment and always do something different than the original recipes.

He garnishes his cooking like it’s something you order from a five star restaurant.

Beel is another demon who has a green thumb. He likes taking care of plants and doesn't mind getting a bit dirty doing it so gardening is another hobby of his.

If Lucifer plants ornamental plants, Beel grows useful plants like herbs and vegetables and small fruits. He's also good at topiary.

Always has an idea for a DIY project.

His creations is scattered all over the House of Lamentation. Belphie's drawer divider is made out of yogurt cups. Broken drawer knobs recycled into Asmo's jewelry organizer. The coat rack. The bathroom towel holder.

Even Lucifer's hanging Demonus rack is handmade by Beel when he's bored one weekend, with Mammon's help for the engraving decorations along the sides of the rack. Beel's got a bit of Bob the Builder in him.

He is very good at singing. His voice is clear and he has a broad vocal range. Has been caught unconsciously humming in class many times.

Has definitely sang Belphie to sleep.

Belphegor

Does his pranks counts as a creative outlet though?😂 Between him and Satan, Belphie's ideas are the most creative and out of the box, resulting on some of the best pranks they did.

Belphie does origami. It's relaxing, easy enough to learn, and doesn't take much effort and energy to do it.

Has stacks of origami papers in his room: standard origami paper, foil paper, traditional Washi ones, the leather-like Momigami paper, all kinds of paper.

He especially loves to make little origami stars and keeps them in glass jars in his room.

Belphie also has adult coloring books.

And kids coloring books.

Coloring is relaxing to him. It's very calming to just lay down and fills a page with pretty colors for a while. It's not a tiring way to destress, he can color without moving from his bed, and it feels satisfying when he finishes a whole page.

He sometimes joins Art Day if he's not too lazy to move. Still prefers to color alone where it's quiet though.

He also journals. It's another thing he can do that is inexpensive and not energy consuming. He writes about anything that comes to his mind, his thoughts, his ideas, memories.

Definitely keeps a dream journal.

Also I headcanon that as the Avatar of Sloth, sleep and dreams are some of the things he can manipulate. He enjoys creating dreams; the worldbuilding, the story, the details. He can be really creative when it comes to making them, spinning the most vivid and imaginative dreams.

They’re not necessarily good dreams though. After all, he is still a demon, his dreams will most likely mess up your mind than make you smile in your sleep.

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #rol writes

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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years ago

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Hello! I hope you're doing okay over there. Are your requests open? If so, could you do a Din x reader with the reader sketching him (the child and their special moments together) when she thinks he isn't looking, but one day he finds the sketchbook? If they're closed just ignore the request but hold on tight to the wishes of good furtune and health ♥ Stay safe!

I’m hanging in there sweet anon and I hope you’re doing okay too (okay but this is so cute omg).

Warnings: It’s really just two dorks and good ole fluff. Some of this is unedited as well

*Reminder that the forum for my taglist is still up and pinned!

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If he would turn slightly to the left, you’d be able to get the perfect angle you need to finish the sketch.

The helmet reflects the glare of the stars, illuminating a bright shine around the top of the beskar and stinging your eyes just a little when you look up at it. You can’t help but do it anyway. The Child is asleep, a day of actually getting to use those little feet of his wore him out - you love the little one, but you and Din have exhausted yourselves keeping up with finding him his home and protecting him at the same time; this peace and quiet right now is highly overdue.

The pencil glides easily against the paper, connecting every line to another, creating another favorite of yours; the perfect piece of art that’s sitting in front of you, unaware of the stacks of sketches that you’ve drawn silently in the whatever corner you can lurk in. To be honest, with as attentive as he is, you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on to you yet.

You’re so lost in finishing the shades that you don’t notice the Mandalorian turning slightly towards you in his seat. He watches your brows furrow in deep concentration, the light scratching in the air a comfort to him since the months of hearing it. He’s never actually seen any of your drawings, however, and he knows that one day the curiosity will get the better of him and he’ll ask... eventually.

Truth is he’s not all the sure on why he hasn’t asked you yet, despite the growing and gnawing interest with teeth that grows sharper and longer as more time goes on. And it’s not like you’ve ever brought it up, either. It’s been this unspoken thing between the two of you - a dance that’s familiar in any language; of scared love and child-like curiosity that seeps into something deeper.

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of.

It’s in this moment of sensing a pair of eyes on you - the pair of eyes you can’t see, but imagine they must be green, or brown more than anything. For a moment, you’re almost afraid to find out.

With a small intake of air you will your head to tilt up. The visor spins away so quick that it’s almost comical, and you bite your lip to suppress the giggle bubbling in your chest.

“Din,” you call his name teasingly. “Is there something you wanted?”

It’s almost too hard to hide the laughter when his helmet jolts towards you, like he’s surprised that you called him out on it.

“I -” You think you hear a gulp through the statics of the vocoder. “- I was... I was just wondering what you were drawing. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity of his apology, and the fact that he was watching you, which has you wondering if this is a reoccurrence you’ve been blind to this entire time.

“It doesn’t,” you voice croaks. “It’s-it’s nothing really. Just the ship, whatever I see throughout the day.” You sit up, still clutching the book to your chest. “I’m going to check on the kid. Call for me if you need anything.”

When the hell did the air get so thick like this? You feel bad, so bad, and a part of you wants to desperately show him this simple thing that he just wants to look at, but... but he’ll know. One look and he’ll know.

“Okay,” the modulator cracks - you wonder what it’s masking right now, what you can’t hear through the robotic statics. “You can rest too while you’re at it. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

You nod and awkwardly wave your departure, climbing down on wobbly legs to the hull and the cot the Child is asleep on; you’re relieved to see that he’s still bundled in his blanket, a peaceful expression gracing his features.

It’s here you feel the fatigue settling on your shoulders. The dull beating You sigh and settle inside the small space, careful of your weight and making yourself as comfortable as you can get. With the book and pencil still in hand, you decide to finish the little details of his belt.

***

Mando sighs as thoughts of you plague his mind once more.

That, and the fact that he needs to sleep at least an hour before the landing at the next destination.

He keens his ears for any sings of movements down in the hull, but when he hears nothing he climbs down to ladder in quiet, graceful strokes.

The dim light does absolute injustice to your features in his opinion. It’s the first thing he notices, not the Child is gurgling over your open sketchbook that’s sprawled out on your lap as you sleep.

“Kriff,” he curses under his breath and rushes as quietly as he can towards the bunk. He tries to keep his eyes averted of the drawings, but he can’t help it, especially when the Child pouts and slaps against the page when his hand clasps around it.

It’s... well, it’s him. He’s leaning against the wall of what he can tell is the Razor Crest based off the small details you made sure to put in - he really admires that. Down at his feet is the little one, grinning up at him. Beneath the helmet that’s shielded him from the rest of the world for almost all his life, he smiles back; orange caresses the rough paper, imagining that he can actually feel it through the lead and gloves.

The next page is of a planet he cannot name off the top of his head, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s of home.

Each page is filled with memories; past and present etched and filled with the kind of skill and warmth that can never be replaced; promises of mystery tied in like a piece of string. Most of them towards the end are of him and the Child. Small moments, mostly, like when he fell asleep with the kid secured to his armored-less chest, and moments when it’s him, sitting in the pilot’s seat or his cape flowing behind him as he walks away to a new bounty or clue to the Child’s powers.

He recognizes them with a deep fondness that makes his head swirl with all types of emotions. Din knows what they mean, but it’s the fear. Yet each drawing - he’s on the one from hours ago - scolds each inch of doubt within him, and in this he finds a type of bravery he’s hasn’t faced much before; it makes it more terrifying to him.

“I like to draw what makes me happy.”

Your voice startles him from his thoughts. He’s never frozen up like this before - at least long ago - but now it feels like your stare alone is the only thing keeping him grounded to this spot. The doe like expression on your face the guilt that started to creep within his chest dissipates.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he still feels that he needs to apologize. “The kid had it and I... he likes the one where he found that flower.”

You smile widely at that, looking down at the child in question as you sit up. Din silently watches you climb out from the bunk and takes a few steps back to let you lean against the cold interior.

“That’s one of my favorites, too,” you say; proudly, Din thinks. “And the one where you fell asleep in the pilot’s chair... you were so tired that day and I kept trying to get you to rest and let me take over, but you can be so stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

His chuckle radiates the room, and fuck it, it could radiate the entire galaxy. Yours join in with ease, but it quickly dies down, though not awkwardly or uncomfortably; it feels natural among the countless other laughs you’ve shared over the years.

“I um - “ you clear your throat nervously, battling with the endless fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and the shakiness in your voice. “- I guess this is a good time to say that I really like you, Din. And I’ve been drawing these sketches of as many of these moments as I can because they’re so precious to me.” You take a deep breath. “Just like the Child is. Just like you are.”

You finish with a light scoff. It’s quiet, you have to pee, and you hope to the Maker above that this isn’t how your journey with Din ends; you should really open your eyes and at least do something if he’s just going to keep standing there.

“I like you, too.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when those words reach your ears. It feels like your heart just stopped beating, your body frozen, and your thoughts bouncing wildly around like a blaster; that crackled laugh (that you know somehow is soft) brings you back to your body, back to the man standing closer to you know and slowly reaching his hand out.

You glance at it before tracing your eyes over the worn out boots that’s seen better days, the scratched and scraped armor that you have shared more than enough time cleaning and polishing, the signet that the Mandalorian never fails to honor proudly, even in his own quiet ways; and now the helmet, the t-shaped visor that shields him.

In this you find no fear. The weight of his hand in yours settles you and the soft link of his pinky with yours brings a stinging to your eyes.

“I can’t do this alone,” he says. “And I want this to work. The Creed -”

“I know,” you interject quietly. “It’s not always going to be easy. But we got this, just like always, don’t we?”

“At least one of us has to.”

His heart warms when the loudest snort he’s ever heard you make jolts the Child from his sleep, blinking those big eyes wearily as your muffled laugher continues against your fingers. “You should get some sleep now,” you tell him. “I got this one.”

It feels very natural to lean down and pick the Child up and smile at Din with assurance; he feels the air in his lungs draw out of him until he literally starts to feel breathless, and his lips stretch in a smile - it’s small and shy; hopeful.

After he makes sure that the hull is closed off and lays his helmet by the plates of his armor (one of the rare times he actually can), settling onto the unforgiving but familiar cot, he imagines you’ll make a fuss about the scar on his nose with a pencil and book in your hands.

Tags: @talesfromtheguild, @absurdthirst, @chews-erotically, @hiwelcometochillys, @legally-a-bastard, @bluengrayfox, @pascaliprincess, @oloreaa, @thisis-theway, @jaynoellef, @ben-is-a-hoe, @hayley-the-comet, @pascalisthepunkest, @kenedyybrooklin, @garrshep, @paintmekala, @marian, @fit-fierce-gamer, @altersw, @hoodedbirdie

#this was so sweet i can't #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #fanfic #request #pedro pascal #anon #i have a little cold and finished this a little loopy *jazz music plays in the background*#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you

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immacaria · 4 years ago

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Box of Memories

Happy belated birthday, A-Sang! Wish you all the joy and love life has reserved for you!

Almost three weeks after the actual birthday I've finally finished this thanks to my dear school (grinds teeth angrily). Anyway, this is a bit short, like almost 4k or something, and I took this insanely amount of time because of school, but it's alright I finished it now. So I hope you guys enjoy this and I can make your day a little brighter with it. As always, stay safe and healthy!

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It was Nie Huaisang’s birthday and Jiang Cheng was more anxious than when he had to survive Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen and Meng Yao’s shove talk one after the other. For the heavens and all above, they had been dating for four years now and met each since they were five and six! There was no reason for him to be so nervous! They passed so many birthdays, with so many presents exchanged and Jiang Cheng was still nervous. And just because he made the present with his own hands and it turned out horrible!

Like not the ‘you can’t even look at’ type of horrible, but the ‘didn’t meet my expectations exactly what immediately makes it horrible’ type of horrible. He started doing it exactly two days later after Nie Huaisang said he wanted it and guaranteed that nobody would buy it for him, exactly nine months and eight days before his birthday. He had seen it on Pinterest, in a video where a girl was making a “box of memories” (as Jiang Cheng came to call it) for her younger sister.

She had chosen their favourite memory and made something like a box of shadows to show it. There was a light bulb in the middle with various metal plates cut in the shape of the memories. When turned on, the metal plates started to revolve around the light bulb and create images on the wall, recreating the memory with the shadows. Nie Huaisang loved it and showed it to every person who he knew could give one for him or make one. Thankfully, none of them could give it right away which gave Jiang Cheng enough time to plan how he would do it.

It all began with him asking what memory he would use of all his favorites and asked what happened there, memorizing them to the heart and writing everything down the second he saw himself alone. His drawing skills weren’t as good as Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen’s, but as long as they remained a sketch, they would do. After sketching it all, he went to Nie Mingjue and asked him to teach him how to cut the metal plates and arrange them properly in the other metal pieces. Apparently, there was a machine that did that for them, the only thing they needed to do was insert the images and the sizes of the plates and let it do what it needed to do. Which led Jiang Cheng to ask for some draw lessons from Lan Xichen and digital design from Lan Wangji, which cost several years of his life but he guessed he was bound to do everything needed for his boyfriend.

He planned everything on the little planner he bought (if it was specifically brought for that no one needed to know) and every day he ticked something off. Besides the box of memories, he wrote a letter everyday to him and hid it in the last drawer of his wardrobe under piles and piles of clothes. From Open it now to Open it when you are sixty years old and Open it when you are in doubt about us, everyday a letter for 281 days and too much ink, paper and ideas, too much feelings engraved in those. But should he regret it, knowing that it would make Nie Huaisang happy? The boy loved this kind of old, romantic things like handwritten letters, so why shouldn’t he give it to him too? Handwritten letters with little doodles on the edges of the paper and little trinkets.

At the beginning of May, Jiang Cheng started putting it all together, doing the last reviews and adjustments. Once the plates were done, he called Wei Wuxian to help with the electric part of the thing, the shameless idiot being graduated in electrical engineering somehow. He had to endure his little ramble about how he had become so romantic and how considerate of somebody else’s feelings, how he was going miles out of what everyone said was normal. It would be a lie if Jiang Cheng ever said that he wasn’t slightly proud and happy upon hearing that.

They made slow progress but the present was ready six days before the due date, which gave Jiang Cheng enough anxiety and stress for the rest of his life (good thing he took on his mother’s side of genetics and wasn’t getting any white hairs until a very, very old age). Would Nie Huaisang find out the present before his birthday? Would he hate it or love it? Would he simply be neutral about all the gifts? Would he fake liking it? What could possibly happen once he gives it to him? Would it destroy their relationship?

On March 20, Jiang Cheng was about to have a stroke or an aneurysm or both of them probably. Just some more hours and they would see if Nie Huaisang liked the present or not. Since it had been ready, the poor present had been tested countless times to see if it worked properly (it did, thank gods), changed locations incessantly while he wrote every single letter by hand before making a wooden box and putting all he had made in there. The memory box, the 281 letters and some fans he bought in the Yunmeng market that reminded him of Nie Huaisang.

Early on, he had promised Nie Huaisang that he would help him with the birthday’s decorations and preparations for everything . After that, he made a quick run to his house to take a bath and try to calm himself because he couldn’t throw up in the party, he even got time to test it again, watching as Nie Huaisang’s favourite memory of all time played on his bedroom wall. It was practically memorized by now, the way the images followed one by one in quick succession, recreating a story that he could tell even if he had amnesia.

Nie Huaisang, Nie Mingjue and their parents were the main characters in the memory. Nie Huaisang was maybe four or five years old while Nie Mingjue was something like sixteen or seventeen years old and they were travelling to the small cabin they passed the holidays. He always said that that weekend was the best one of his life, one where his entire family was together and happy, complete. This memory in particular was one where Nie Huaisang was being thrown in the air by his father to land in the arms of one of his mothers while Nie Mingjue and their second mother were suffering a heart attack. Even though there was some melancholy in his eyes, he always spoke fondly and laughed about the face his brother made when he landed on their mother’s arms and passed the rest of the weekend guaranteeing that their father wouldn’t do another one of those again.

Jiang Cheng would die as a happy man if he could make him as happy as he was on that day, even if for one day. Well, not die, he was still too young to die, but he would feel fulfilled and satisfied. So, he tried to focus on that when he stepped inside the party, clutching to the wooden box and breathing deep. He’s going to like it, he’s not going to hate me, he’s going to smile because of the present, everything is going to be fine, we are not breaking up. Okay, maybe he was a little bit paranoid and afraid of what was going to happen, but he was fine, he was going to be fine. He just needed to loosen up and enjoy the party until it was time to open the presents.

“A-Cheng!” Nie Huaisang said, throwing his arms around his neck and hiding his face in his neck. Jiang Cheng only had time to pull the box to the side to prevent him from getting hurt before putting an arm around his waist and kissing his temple. “Tell your brother to stop being mean to me on my birthday.”

“If Lan Wangji can’t control him, what makes you think I can?” He said, still holding him. “Happy birthday, Huaisang, many years of life and happiness for you.” He kissed his temple again before stepping away and showing him the present. “For you.”

“Oh, A-Cheng! You didn’t need to! You are already present enough.” He gasped, taking the box of his hands while Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at him. He always said that but he remembered very well what he did to Jin Zixuan when the man showed up without his present. He didn’t want to be in the same ending of his fury, thank you very much.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” He rolled his eyes again, bending a little to let Nie Huaisang kiss his cheek.

“I don’t know what you gave me, but I already love it.” He smiled brightly at him, walking to the kitchen and carefully choosing a place to put it. The kitchen was loaded with presents, some big, others small, colorful wraps or black and white with an interesting pattern on it, some didn’t even had proper wraps around it. There were a lot of presents and for a moment Jiang Cheng’s brain simply went blank and decided that, for sure, there was one that topped his present. Which was nonsense, but still served to increase his stress and anxiety (once again he thanked his genetics for not getting white hairs early). “C’mon, let’s go to the living room. Da-ge is telling some story from when we were children.”

“Is he telling the green incident? Because if he is, I would rather stay in the kitchen.” And check if the other presents are better than mine so I can throw them out the window.

“Of course not! Da-ge doesn’t remember that story anymore.” He waved him off, entering the room in the exact moment Nie Mingjue said:

“Then a bucket of green paint fell into his head.” His thunderous laugh filled the room as he started to tell the amazing story of how Nie Huaisang managed to dye himself green after he dumped a whole bucket of paint on his head when he was seven years old.

“Da-ge!” He screamed, going red instantly. “What are you doing?!” He yelped, high-pitched, as he threw a cushion at him. “Shut up!”

“What? I was just talking about the green dye you did on your skin.” He laughed again, dodging the cushion and showing his tongue to him. It was strange to see a man of his size acting like that, but sincerely Jiang Cheng sometimes forgot that he too was human and (kind of) young. “Hey, Wanyin, do you want to sit here?”

“Hey, hey, hey. No stealing boyfriends on my birthday or ever, Da-ge. You already have two.” He wrapped himself around his arm, glaring at his brother. “Stop being so selfish, Da-ge.”

“Selfish? Take that back, brat, before I break your legs.” He narrowed his eyes at him, pointing a finger at him.

“It’s his birthday and you don’t get to threaten the birthday boy, Jue-ge.” Lan Xichen sighed, pulling his hand down. He was beside Nie Mingjue and sitting next to Lan Wangji, talking quietly between the two of them before the threats started rolling out.

“Stop covering him, Lan Xichen.” He turned to him as Nie Huaisang pulled him to the bench next to the window and between two high bookshelves full of sketchbooks, some completed, others completely blank.

“So, what’s your present?” He suddenly asked, playing with Jiang Cheng’s fingers.

“What? It’s a fucking surprise, A-Sang, I can’t tell you.” He spurred, furrowing his eyebrows at him.

“But, A-Cheng, yours were the heaviest of it all. What is it?” He shook his arm, doing the puppy eyes. The fucking puppy eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. Stop, A-Sang.” He growled, avoiding looking at him. “You know I can’t take the puppy eyes.”

“A-Cheng~.” He laid ahead, searching for his eyes. And, heavens, who taught that boy that? Nie Mingjue for sure was not. Maybe Meng Yao. Yeah, definitely Meng Yao. Jiang Cheng was going to kill Meng Yao for teaching Nie Huaisang that. “Please~. I want to know.”

“Ok, ok, ok. Just one part, okay?” Jiang Cheng pushed him away, feeling the back of his neck heating up.

“From how many parts?” His eyes were shining and attentive which meant that he was probably making a million combinations on his head, comparing and guessing what he could possibly ever get him.

“I’m not going to tell you.” He scowled, taking a deep breath. “One part of your presents is fans, okay? I got you some fans.”

“Really?!” His eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his bangs. “I love fans.”

“I know, A-Sang.” He breathed out, kissing his fingers.

“But I love you more.” He smiled, leaning to kiss him lightly on the lips. “I love you so much more than the fans.” He murmured against them, hands on his neck.

“Idiot.” He chuckled, kissing him back while smiling. He always seemed to smile easily when he was near him, breath was easier too. Sincerely, Nie Huaisang just made things easier just by being near him, just his presence and, maybe, it was the reason why he wanted to do everything in his power to make him happy as he could be. “I love you too.”

“More than dogs and A-Ling?” He sat between his legs, back against his chest.

“Don’t push your luck.” He may love A-Sang, but dogs and his nephew were more important, they always brought instant happiness with them. Next to him, Nie Huaisang was chuckling quietly, pulling both of Jiang Cheng’s arms around his waist and putting his hands above before starting to talk with Meng Yao about some new exposition of them and all the technicalities involving it.

Jiang Cheng let himself fall back into the security of all the conversations around him that didn’t involve him and the warmth of Nie Huaisang on his arms and against his chest. Slowly his panic disappeared from his mind as the time passed and the presents weren’t mentioned not even once. Almost everyone was there, the only ones missing being Jin Zixuan, Jiang Yanli and their newborn Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng’s little sweetheart, who were overseas to look over the inauguration of Jiang Yanli’s new restaurant in Las Vegas (To say that Jiang Cheng was crazely proud of her would be an understatement).

Either way, no amount of time would be enough to prepare him for when Wei Wuxian and MianMian appeared in the kitchen bringing the cake and the tray of sweets. The candle was already lit up and displaying the number 23, as if nobody knew how old Nie Huaisang was. He dislocated his hands enough to clap but not remove his arm from around his waist. Nie Huaisang laughed, clapping according to the music, but sunken further on his chest, refusing to move another millimeter as his ears went adorably red.

“Happy birthday, Nie Huaisang!” Everyone screamed when the song ended, blowing confetti over them. The screams and whistles became a cacophony as Nie Huaisang blew out the candle and laughed out loud, putting both of his hands over his mouth.

“Happy birthday, Nie-xiong!” MianMian hugged him after Wen Qing, her girlfriend, took the cake from her. “Many, many years of happiness and fulfillment to you, my dear. Hope you enjoy mine and A-Qing’s present.” She winked, mischievously.

“What have you given me, MianMian?” Nie Huaisang said, eyes wide.

“Nothing you can open in front of Da-ge.” She laughed, absolutely delighted at his terrified face and Jiang Cheng’s groan. He had noticed that everyone had a tendency of calling Nie Mingjue ‘Da-ge’.

“No! You stole my idea!” Wei Wuxian complained, giving him a half-hug and equilibrating the tray of sweets on the other arm. “Many years of love and laughter, Nie-xiong, may time and life treat you well.” He fully hugged him once MianMian came back to take the tray away from him, calming Jiang Cheng’s anxiety.

“I want to see what those two gave you. No excuses.” Nie Mingjue said, serious, before crushing him in a tight hug. “Happy anniversary, didi. I’m very proud of you and what you have become. Ma, Baba and Mother would be so, so proud of you and happy for all the friends and people you have around you.” He may or may not have sniffed on that part, hiding his face on his brother’s neck.

“Thank you, Da-ge. They would be very proud of you too.” Nie Huaisang whispered back and Jiang Cheng saw him blink repeatedly to avoid the tears from falling out.

“He grew up so fast.” He mourned, resting his head on Lan Xichen’s shoulder while Meng Yao hugged and wished him a happy birthday and life. Once he was done and it was Lan Xichen’s turn, Nie Mingjue wrapped himself over him, sniffing loudly. After that, the other guests did a quick succession of ‘Happy Birthday’ and wishes for a good and long life. Not for a moment Nie Huaisang stepped away from Jiang Cheng, always at arm’s reach of his hands. Not that he had tried to pull him back when he stepped away, Jiang Cheng would never do that.

“So, A-Sang, now that all the wishes have been given and Wangji-ge and I have cut the cake. For whom is the first piece?” MianMian asked, holding a plate with a piece of cake to him.

“A-Cheng!” He quickly answered, turning to him. “For being the best boyfriend a man could ask. And not being too scared of Da-ge.”

“I’m not that scared of Mingjue-ge, but thank you, I guess.” Jiang Cheng said, taking the plate from his hands and completely refusing to look over where Nie Mingjue was.

“Woah, he didn’t even hesitate.” Wei Wuxian said, surprised. “I could swear he was going to give it to Da-ge.” That was it, Jiang Cheng was now certain that everyone, except for maybe Wen Qing, saw Nie Mingjue as an older brother. But, well, were they wrong?

“Da-ge has received many first pieces in his life. It’s A-Cheng’s time.” Nie Huaisang scrunched his nose at him before jogging to the kitchen. “C’mon people! Eat, eat! I want to open my presents!”

Jiang Cheng chuckled, starting to eat the cake as the others were doing a line to receive their own piece and, fucking hell, he understood why they wanted one. The cake was divine! It was fluffy and tasty, exploding in the mouth the moment you bite it and it wasn’t too sweet. It was possibly the best cake he ever had the pleasure to eat and by the look of the other’s face, they thought that too.

“Nie-xiong, who made the cake? I want their number.” Wei Wuxian said, pleasure written all over his face. “It’s so good!”

“Oh, it was Wangji and Da-ge.” Nie Huaisang said, pointing at them. Everyone turned their heads to them, looking in awe.

“Lan Zhan?! But he never did one of me.” Wei Wuxian complained, pouting.

“Mingjue-ge made the dough and I did the frosting and the decorations.” Lan Wangji passed a piece of cake to Wen Ning.

“And the sweets. He did the sweets too.” Nie Mingjue said, throwing one of the sweets in his mouth.

“Which are fucking marvellous!” MianMian exclaimed, doing a thumbs up for him.

“No speaking while eating.” He and Lan Xichen said in unison, without looking at her. After that everyone focused on eating the cake and the sweets. Nie Huaisang came back to sit beside Jiang Cheng, taking the sweets he didn’t like to his own plate. Most of them got a second piece and more sweets because those things were really fucking good.

“Now, the presents!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, excited and sending Jiang Cheng’s heartbeat to space. “I’m excited.” He was jumping on his seat.

“Whose present will you open first?” Lan Xichen said, getting up and going to the kitchen.

“A-Cheng’s.” He smiled as he started to bring the presents from the kitchen. Jiang Cheng prayed that his panic weren’t showing on his face nor his anxiety because his mind was running a mile per hour.

He was going to open the present and see how horrible it was that box of memories and they would break up. Maybe not now because of the fans, but once he started reading the letters and seeing how messed up he was, it would be an endgame. No one, being in their right mind, would stay after reading those letters. Before he could be totally swallowed by his traitorous mind, he heard a scream and someone throwing themselves at him, arms around his neck.

“Thank you!” Nie Huaisang screamed in his ear, pulling him against himself. “Thank you so much!” He sounded happy, but he was crying too.

“What the fuck, Huaisang? Are you crying?” He said, trying to look at his face where it was hidden on his neck. “Why are you-...” He started, before seeing the box sitting on his lap. “Oh.”

“A-Cheng.” He whined, looking up. “Look what you did to me. I’m crying like a baby.” The tears were falling two by two, big fat tears that he did not like to see on his face. “When did you buy it?”

“I made it.” He blurted out, focused on wiping the tears.

“What?” He blinked, sniffing loudly.

“I made it. I made most of the things in the box, including the box. The only things I bought were the fans, I still don’t know how to make fans like you.” He kept wiping the tears, putting his sleeve over his nose for him to blow. “You know I’m not good with handcrafted gifts but since it’s your birthday I tried.”

“I love you so much.” Nie Huaisang hugged him again while Wei Wuxian took the box from his legs and turned it on.

“What memory did you use?” He asked and, oh yeah, Jiang Cheng never told any of them what memory he was planning to use. He instructed MianMian to turn the light off, rearranging it on the small coffee table in the center.

“One from when me and Da-ge were younger.” Nie Huaisang answered as Nie Mingjue’s eyes filled with tears at recognition. “Best present ever.” He whispered, leaning on him with a small smile on his lips and watching as the memory came to life again. Jiang Cheng smiled down at him, passing an arm over his shoulders and watching as he told the story about how Nie Mingjue, who had many comments on how it was being told, almost had a heart attack when he was seventeen.

It was, indeed, the best present ever.

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

Text

When Our Hands Next Meet

Series summary: Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last.

This series was created for @analogicalweek and made in collaboration with the lovely @birdsongisland! Please go look at the wonderful art that inspired this work and support them with reblogs so their work can be seen!

Credit to birdsongisland for beta reading this as well, they helped make it flow a lot better.

Chapter 6: Mirror Our Past with a Better Future

Chapter Summary: Virgil didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky being able to work with Logan in stars tailoring shop. All he knew is Logan made him feel beautiful, inside and out.

Day 5 Prompt: Past/Future

Warnings: none. If there are any please let me know!

WC: 1918

AO3 link

Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi @logans-library @im-an-anxious-wreck @edupunkn00b

Logan leaned back in stars stool, a quirk to stars lips as star eyed the newest frock up and down. It wasn’t a style star usually went for- elegant and flowing as it was star much preferred a lot more poof and edge when it came to dress design. Carefully taking the pins from stars mouth back into the container star took another look at stars sketch. Long, delicate looking fabric swung off the hips and just barely brushed the floor. star hadn’t added color but star knew that it faded from a rich purple to a smoky black at the bottom, trimmed with a slight frill that made it swirl across the floor. The medium scoop neck flared out into puffed sleeves that gathered at the ends to grip the wrists. star had already made the deeper purple corset covered in a delicate lace, with shining false buckles lining the front and black ribbon that actually laced it in the back.

Looking down at stars own slightly oversized jumper paired with a medium length skirt and boots laced up to stars knees star couldn’t help but laugh softly. This was definitely a far cry from what star ever thought star would wear, let alone make. Somehow though, star knew star wasn’t going to be the one wearing it, and thankfully working alone in the shop meant star could afford a side project without tripping up anyone else. Typically with more elaborate projects like this star would make a prototype first, of a slightly less fancy design, and make sure all the kinks and possible uncomfortable spots were worked out of the design and made into something star could be proud of selling. Ever since star had taken over the tailoring shop star had been working towards a single goal- making things people could feel comfortable in. But with this- it had sat in stars brain for not even a day before star had finally relented and sketched it out and set to work immediately picking out the perfect fabric for it.

Taking the needle back up star leaned close to gather the waist as carefully as star could, quick fingers moving skillfully to the tune star was quietly humming. This would certainly take a while, but star had a feeling it would be worth it.

-----

Virgil leaned back in his stool, a smile on his lips as he looked the newest frock up and down. It was stunning like everything Logan made was and he found himself caught by how grateful he was to be sitting with stars, listening to stars quiet humming as star worked diligently. He knew star used to work here alone so he was always grateful to be allowed to sit with star. It was a simple thing, far from his usual somewhat dramatic style but Logan had assured him it would look nice so he had eventually resented. Folding his legs underneath him he only smiled further at the concerned look he was given, waving it off but putting one leg back down as a compromise. He assumed the quiet huff meant he had won and settled down even further to continue admiring the other work.

The skirt was gathered at the waist and slightly poofy from the petticoat layer underneath purple plaid dominated the pattern with black accents that broke it up nicely. Swinging his current jean-clad leg he began softly humming along to the tune Logan had been repeating, harmonizing low so it wouldn’t be too much of a distraction. He beamed as Logan shot him a smile- Virgil never could resist it- and looked away with a small blush to observe the rest of the shop. It was quiet today thankfully, the emptiness being a welcome reprieve from the chaos of yesterday. There had been a slight scheduling error which meant nearly everyone had come to get their orders at the same time, clamoring for places in line while the two frantically ran back and forth trying to shove everything in boxes as neatly as they could before shooing the clients out the door and tending to the next. As good a business day as it was they had been exhausted afterwards and the day spent with just the two of them was helping to melt away the lingering anxiety.

His smile turned soft again while watching Logan carefully pin along a seam, admiring the years of skill built into the movements. He remembered the first time he had walked into the store- not realized Logan had made nearly everything there- and being awestruck at the realization of how much time and care was put into every project. This one would most likely still take a while but he had a feeling it would be worth it.

-----

Logan perked stars head up as the bell chimed at the door, managing to get one last stitch in before standing and making stars way out of the workroom. Stepping out star could just barely see a shock of purple hair moving between the racks, piquing stars curiosity enough to smooth down stars choppy, self cut mullet and make stars way over. star caught the other’s eye as star approached and star made sure to offer a kind smile to the obviously uncomfortable customer. They were gripping a couple different dress sleeves and worrying the fabric between their fingers as they shuffled their feet awkwardly.

star offered stars hand to shake, trying valiantly to be polite and not suggest a fidget cube instead for the nervous tic. “Hello, I’m Logan, star/stars pronouns please. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Virgil...he/him.” He didn’t take stars hand so Logan retracted it easily. Some people were weary of soulmates, preferring not to touch anyone’s hand before they were ready and Logan could respect that. “I uh- I like your skirt. I kinda miss wearing them so I was just browsing.”

“Is there a particular style you’re looking for?”

Licking his lips Virgil nervously glanced through the various styles on the rack, mumbling low enough Logan had to strain to hear. “No...I’m not really sure I should be wearing them anymore- just wanted to look.”

Oh. Logan knew where this person was coming from, star had felt the same way when stars pronouns had changed- wanting to pass as...well decidedly not feminine but missing the garments star had made and worn nearly all stars life. Offering an understanding smile, star turned and began sifting through the colors to try and find something simple he might be comfortable trying. “You just have to find something you’re confident in.”

-----

Virgil slid off the stool as he heard the bell chime, motioning to Logan that he could take care of it and making his way to the front of the store. Blowing his purple hair out of his eyes in a vain attempt to make it look more presentable he caught sight of someone's back to him as they browsed the racks nearest to the front of the store. Leaning against the counter he made sure to make a bit of noise before speaking up so as not to startle them. “May I help you find something?”

Throwing a smile over their shoulder they held up a comfortable looking blouse triumphantly and made their way over. “Already found it!”

Smiling at the cheerful customer he quickly rang them up and handed them their bag, waving as they left as he thought back to when he had first stepped foot through the doors. He wished he had had even half of that person’s confidence back then, instead if he remembered correctly he had nearly had a nervous breakdown over a skirt. Screwing his mouth to one side he turned on his heel and walked back into the workroom, hands on his hips as he stood next to Logan and leaned his head on stars shoulder. “You’re gonna go cross eyes if you keep squinting like that.”

Rolling stars eyes only to wince immediately after star consented and stuck the needle in a safe spot where it wouldn’t fall out. “I’m almost done anyway. Just need to patch up this side, I didn’t cut it straight enough to lay right.”

Pressing a kiss to stars cheek Virgil looked at the garment with barely contained excitement. “I love it already.”

“I just want to make you something you’ll be confident in.” Virgil smiled hearing the phrase he had heard so many years ago, remembering the effort star had gone through to find something he would like.

-----

“Come out when you’re ready.” Logan called as star hung the already discarded pieces back on the rack. Biting stars lip star glanced at stars workroom in thought. Technically the dress was done and star was sure Virgil would look beautiful in it but star wasn’t sure he’d be comfortable in something so fancy right now. Looking back as Virgil came out with the skirt hung over his arm the decision was made for stars.

“Wait here.” Shooting him a smile star left to quickly tie off the last of the stitching and tug the dress off the mannequin, grabbing up the corset as star passed through the door. Virgil’s eyes blew wide when he saw the dress, immediately going to protest but getting quickly shushed as the pile of fabric was shoved into his arms. “Go change it’s fine! I need someone to model it anyway!”

A few minutes passed during which Logan nervously worried at the skin around stars thumb, hoping star hadn’t pushed the man too far. When star finally heard the door creak and turned towards virgil however, all the nervous tension drained away leaving nothing but quiet awe.

“Oh,” star said simply.

The realization earned star a puzzled look but the brief confusion did nothing to wipe away the brilliant smile on his face. The dress fit perfectly, the ends of the flowing skirt hitting the floor just so and the deep purple contrasting nickel with his pale features. The corset smoothed out his curves while still framing him wonderfully and Logan could swear there was air in the room just a moment ago but all star could do was gape stupidly at the radiance before him.

“I must have been making that for you,” star said quietly. “You look stunning.”

Blushing profusely, Virgil raised one of his hands. “I couldn’t get the buttons…”

“Allow me.” Logan was careful to avoid making contact with his skin as star looped the buttons. Pausing suddenly as memory after happy memory flooded stars thoughts star looked down to see one finger curled tentatively around stars own, glancing back up to see Virgil smiling softly.

“I had a feeling.” He offered sheepishly.

Logan smiled, squeezing his hand in stars. “So did I.”

-----

“Come out when you’re ready!” Virgil heard Logan call for him and gave himself one last once over before deeming himself presentable. He ducked out of the dressing room giddily and twirled for his audience of one, cheeks aching from the wideness of his smile as he rubbed the fabric between his fingers excitedly.

“It fits perfectly!” He watched as Logan smiled and reached for his hand, happily taking it and squeezing.

“You look absolutely stunning.” Blushing at the compliment he leaned forward to rest his head against the others chest, drinking in stars presence and relaxing against stars.

“I love you.” He offered quietly.

Smiling, Logan enveloped him in a gentle hug. “So do I.”

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#false writes #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #analogicalweek #analogical week #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #trans!virgil #nonbinary!logan #logan sanders uses neopronouns #fluff #collaboration

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mangolover · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Can I request prompt 10 with Kaeya from genshim impact? Gender neutral. Thank you!

Hey, thank you so much for requesting for the event. You’re the first one that got their request done (mostly because I main this man and love him and love thinking about all the posibble ways he could be a villain)

I actually got inspiration for this during my online class and wrote in my notebook so I have no idea how gramatically correct everything is (english is not even close to my native language)

Anyways, here is your request, I really hope you enjoy it!

50 Followers Drabble Event, prompt #10 with Kaeya

If you wish to check out the offical “50 Followers Drabble Event”, press here

Title: Sketch Worth a Toast

Prompt: “Cheers, I’ll drink to that.” “You drink to everything.” “Cheers!”

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Kaeya x gn! reader

Genre: Fluff (kinda)

Warnings: consumption of alcohol

Spoilers: from some of his basic voice lines (his favourite drink)

Word Count: 600+

Description: You made a quick sketch of your boyfriend from your memory today while you were on a break from your research with Albedo and your boyfriend thinks it’s the perfect opportunity for a toast.

As stated in the story, reader is assumed to be of legal drinking age so the relationship is completely legal

Also I am aware that drabble is supposed to be under 100 words, but I consider it to be under 1000 words

Sketch Worth a Toast

You just entered Angel’s Share with a piece of paper folded in half in one of your hands and was greeted by the owner Diluc, your friend and your boyfriend’s brother.

“Hey Diluc, I’ll take the- “

“The usual?” Diluc said and lifted his gaze from the glass he was polishing, “you know where to find him. I’ll bring you your apple cider vinegar shortly.”

“Thank you Diluc, you’re amazing!” You said and smiled to the handsome redhead before making your way to the far corner of the tavern where your boyfriend was drinking some Death After Noon. He was currently drinking and charming some gentlemen, probably trying to get some information from them. You waited for a moment before his blue eye caught the sight of you. In an instant there was a smile, charming as ever, on his face and he lifted his hand to wave you over. You made your way to him and greeted the gentlemen, only for them to quickly excuse themselves so they don’t interrupt your date.

“Sorry for interfering with your work,” you said and gave Kaeya an apologetic look, your lips formed into a small frown.

“Don’t worry about it dear,” he put an arm around your waist since you sat next to him, “I already found out everything I wanted.”

“Oh, that’s good then” a smile finally formed on your lips and that earned you a quick peck on the top of your head.

You talked a bit about Kaeya’s day before he finally pointed with his chin at the paper in your hands, asking what it is.

“Oh this? This is just some quick sketch I did with Albedo today when we took a little break from researching.”

“Can I see it?”

“Of course! That’s why I brought it with me!” A wide smile was now resting on your face as you handed the sketch to him. He gently unfolded it and glanced at it.

“I finally learned how to draw facial features anatomically correct, Albedo said I’m improving in both alchemy and drawing” there was clear pride in your voice, you were proud of yourself because you received compliment from your superior that you highly respected and that made Kaeya smile with pure happiness and affection for you. But he could clearly see that you’ve sketched him from your memory and that made his blue-lilac eye shine with pride.

“You know what, this deserves a celebration.” This left you a bit taken aback. And you only found your voice when Diluc came and left your apple cider vinegar with a straw (because you loved drinking it like that) at your table. You quickly thanked him and he just nodded. You were legally allowed to drink alcohol, you just preferred to stay sober in case Kaeya went overboard with his strong wine.

“So, shall we toast to this accomplishment?” Kaeya lifted his glass full of wine in the air and looked at you with a smirk on his face, his other hand found it’s way around your shoulders and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“You’re proposing a toast because I learned how to draw faces and Albedo said I’m improving?” You lifted an eyebrow and gave him a quizzical look. You knew that he was a laid-back person that liked to have fun, but this was a bit ridiculous.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that.”

“You drink to everything.”

“Cheers!” Kaeya let out a small chuckle and you couldn’t help but raise your beverage up to his and clicking the glasses softly. It may have been ridiculous to toast to something so random, but it was important to Kaeya because it was important to you.

And just like that, you two decided to be ridiculous together as you let laughter spill from you and toasted to every small, but important thing to either of you.

#50 followers drabble event #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact drabble #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya x gn reader #genshin kaeya #genshin kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya fluff #🥭#tw alcohol #tw alcohol consumption #tw alcohol mention

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crayonwriting · 4 years ago

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06 - Yes, I’ve Been Brokenhearted

Summary: Maiko just wanted her good ol’ dad to walk her down the aisle. So, she invited the three men from your past in hopes of meeting him. The only problem was, which one of them is it?

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader, Bokuto Koutarou x Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Disclaimer: This is based on the movie directed by Phyllida Loyd and written by Catherine Johnson which is inspired by the music of the pop group ABBA.

catch up here!

“Kuroo-san! Hi!” Maiko greeted. She spotted him a little ways away from the bustling party. He was staring out into the dark horizon letting the faint sound of crashing waves in the distance keep him calm.

“Oh hello, Maiko.” He was quick to approach her. “I think I should explain to your mother that we come in peace.” He rubbed the back of his neck. He took a step forward but she was quick to block his path.

“Oh, no, really. You should wait…,” she gulped nervously, “Let her have a few drinks in her first before talking to her, you know? Let her loosen up a bit.” Kuroo nodded in agreement, pursing his lips in thought.

“Good idea there.” Kuroo then remembered something and he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of folded paper. “By the way, I saw this tucked into my shirt pocket earlier.” He showed the rough sketch she made of Oikawa stretching on the boat. Maiko didn’t really think about it too much. She found the stray pen in his pocket when Kuroo let her borrow his shirt and her mind just told her to sketch something out of the blue.

“This is really good. Why don’t you pursue this, Maiko? You have a talent.”

Maiko just sighed with a soft smile. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “I have enough to do here.” Kuroo eyed her with a stern look.

“Is that really your dream though? Running the hotel with Y/N?” Maiko hesitated for a bit. Of course, she doesn’t mind helping you out with the hotel but she also didn’t mind doing something else. She wanted to travel the world; get out of the island and see other sites. But she knows she can’t do those things because she was worried about you.

“Okaasan just can’t do it by herself anymore. She needs me here.” She looked at him, firm. Kuroo just looked back at her and nodded once. He turned back to his previous spot, overlooking the whole island.

“I drew this place at the back of a menu one night.” He sat down on the ledge, a small smile present on his face at the memory. “I always dreamt of coming back.”

“What kept you?” She asked, hopefully. She nervously played with her fingers as she waited for his response. Is Kuroo finally having that paternal instinct with her? She felt that earlier with Bokuto but maybe she read the signs wrong.

Kuroo didn’t answer her question though. He just looked to his feet before facing her again. “What did your mother say about me?”

Maiko gulped down her nerves. “She never mentioned you.” Kuroo just hummed in response before asking,

“What am I doing here Maiko-chan?”

A cold chill ran down her spine. She didn’t expect this moment to be this...nerve-wracking. She hoped for warmth to envelope her and for tears to fall down her face at the relief of finally finding her father but instead, she felt a lot anxious and she was more uncertain than before.

Before she could open her mouth to reply, a nearby window opened and your voice echoed out loudly into the night. That got Kuroo’s attention as he hoped that you’d look out the window and you’d see him there. Noticing his distracted state, Maiko escaped and ran back to the party. Kuroo was too late to stop her.

—

Oikawa crawled underneath the table Bokuto was laid on. Maiko’s guests had dragged the three of them back to join their party. Seeing as this was a hen party, the girls went wild at seeing the three of them. Kuroo had managed to escape somehow, and he wanted to get a breath of fresh air as well.

He was nearing the end of the table so he kept his head down to not get the other’s attention. They were too busy dancing on top of Bokuto who seemed to be having the time of his life. Just as he was in the clear, he felt a hand pulling at his arm to help him up. He looked to the side and saw Maiko, a little out of breath, with a worried smile.

“Are you okay, Oikawa-san?” She asked. Oikawa laughed humorlessly, brushing off the dirt from his clothes. He told her that he was and both of them walked up to the empty bar. Maiko was behind him making sure that her friends and guests weren’t too rough on him.

They both ordered their preferred drinks and while waiting, Oikawa decided to make some small talk.

“This takes me back to my high school days.” Maiko just tilted her head in question, so he continued. “Well, not to brag, but I did have a fangirl club during that time. They were all over me every single day at practice and all of my matches. I didn’t snob them of course. But I didn’t entertain them much either. I was just grateful for their appreciation of me.”

Maiko chuckled to herself. She didn’t doubt that he had a lot of admirers—he was good-looking, even at this age—and it was no surprise if he still had them up to this day. Soon enough, the bartender served their drinks. They clinked their glasses together in a small toast before taking their respective sips. Oikawa side-eyed her and he felt a tug on his lips.

“You know, Maiko-chan, Y/N-chan is lucky to have a daughter like you.” He smiled at her. “You’re so grown-up and look! You’re even getting married.” Maiko felt her heart leap in joy. She’s been feeling like this since earlier and she swore her heart’s gonna burst out of her if this keeps on going. All three men must have been feeling their paternal instincts kick in and Maiko wanted at least one of them to acknowledge it and put it out into the open.

“Do...do you have any children, Oikawa-san?”

“Oh no. No, no, no.” Oikawa chuckled softly. “I don’t even have a dog.” He took another swig at his drink. “But I’d love to have one someday. A daughter, I mean.” Maiko was suddenly caught off guard. Oikawa didn’t notice and he continued to talk, staring off into space in a dream-like state. “If I had a daughter, she’s probably gonna be spoiled. It’ll most likely be my fault but I don’t care. She deserves the world.”

Oikawa smiled to himself and swirled the drink in his hands. He looked over at Maiko who had her eyes wide and a little bit teary. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the look she was giving him. It was a mixture of sadness and longing. Oikawa awkwardly looked back to the party and suddenly a question popped into his head.

“Maiko-chan, is your father here?”

Maiko remained in her stunned state. The words that Oikawa had said pierced her heart and a million things had run in her mind in an instant. The question never bothered her in all the years of her life but this time it was different. She wanted to scream out to him, What if I’m your daughter, Oikawa-san? Don’t you feel it? But of course, she can’t force that on him—on any of them.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “I don’t know who my father is, really.”

Oikawa opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. She looked at her and her eyes seemed to look hopeful but before he could comprehend the message, she was suddenly whisked away by one of her friends back into the party.

***

Bokuto was having the best night ever. He hasn't gone to a party in so long. And with a party full of women, who was he to complain. He danced on top of the table like there was no tomorrow. He almost didn’t notice the party dragging Maiko from the bar and onto the table with him. Maiko seemed unsure of leaving Oikawa alone but looking at Bokuto, she couldn’t help but smile. At least one of them was enjoying their time.

“Hey, hey, hey Maiko-chan!” He greeted. loudly, over the loud music. “This party’s amazing!” He continued to dance and Maiko tried her best to match his steps. Bokuto leaned a little closer to her ear, “How did Y/N-chan get money to buy this place?”

“She was left some money by an old lady she looked after when I was little.” She replied, gauging his reaction. “Her name was Meiko, who I was named after.” Bokuto scrunched up his eyebrows together.

“Meiko-obaasan?” He asked.

Maiko just shrugged with an uneasy smile. “I guess.”

“I always heard my obaasan’s money was left to family…,” Bokuto said more to himself than her. He let the cogs turn in his head. His obaasan was nice no doubt about it, but she was old-fashioned. She would never leave money to just anyone. So why would she leave you money? You weren’t related in anyways with them. You were just a really close friend and a good help to his aunt’s bar.

Unless...Bokuto seemed to understand now, but he didn’t want to believe it. Naming your daughter after his aunt? The answer couldn’t have been clearer.

His movements slowed down to a stop. Maiko still swayed a little to the music that was playing but she kept a wary eye on Bokuto. He turned to her with wide eyes.

“Maiko, how old are you?”

“I’m twenty.”

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath. He passed a hand through his hair and with a slightly panicked expression, excused himself from the party. He looked around from his perch on the table to look for an exit. He needed to get out. He needed some air.

“Bokuto-san…,” Maiko placed a hand on his shoulders which made him flinch in surprise. Turning back to her, he offered an apology before hopping down the table and disappearing into the crowd. Maiko followed his figure with her gaze. She can’t let him go now. Not when she thinks he’s finally realized. Without haste, she followed him hurriedly.

“Bokuto-san! Wait!” Bokuto was leaping down the stairs with his large steps and Maiko did her best to catch up with him. “Why did your obaasan leave okaasan money?”

“I-I don’t know!” He quickened his pace in the slightest. He didn’t want to run away but he just wanted to let everything sink in. “What do you want from me?”

“All my life, there’s been this big question and I just want some answers!” Tears blurred her vision and she wiped at them messily. “Bokuto-san, please!”

Hearing her voice crack made him stop. He felt a sharp twist in his chest that he wanted to get rid of. Knowing what he knows now, he can’t just leave her alone and in the midst of crying too. He turned to her and they were a few feet apart. Under the light of the moon, he could see the tears that stained her cheeks, making him feel guilty.

“Bokuto-san, I just want to know…,” she sniffed, “A-are you my otousan?”

“Yes.” He blurted immediately. He sounded foolish. “I think so.” He wasn’t entirely sure. But the signs were all there, why was he doubting it? She was named after his obaasan, for kami’s sake! And the money left for family...his aunt never mentioned anything or even told him of the possibility of him being a father.

And how could he forget the intimate night he had spent with you and how you’d parted the day after. He didn’t expect for that night to bear fruit in one go…but here they were now. He had missed twenty years of Maiko’s life and he didn’t want to miss more.

With more determination, he looked at Maiko. “Yes, Maiko-chan. I’m your father.”

Maiko let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. A fresh batch of tears cascaded down her cheeks and she let herself cry in relief and bliss. The small gap she always felt has now been filled. She looked up at Bokuto with a big smile.

“I’m glad.” She laughed lightly. “I have a request for you Bokuto-san.” He raised his eyebrows to show her he was listening. “Will you give me away at my wedding?”

He gulped down nervously. All of a sudden, Maiko seemed so precious in his eyes. He’s been an absent father for how many years and yet here she was, asking him to give her away in one of the most special days of her life. He didn’t deserve this chance but he knows it was important for his daughter. You bet he’s not gonna miss any more opportunities.

“Okay. I will. I’ll be there for you, Maiko-chan.” He gave her a thumbs up and a smile. Maiko couldn’t help but close the distance between them. She wrapped her arms around him and let out a few more tears. Bokuto was a little surprised but he quickly returned the hug, enveloping her shoulders in one arm and putting a hand to the back of her head with the other.

So, this is what it feels like to be hugged by your father, she thought to herself. Feeling elated, she squeezed him a little and murmured a muffled thank you to his shoulder. When they pulled back, Bokuto kept his hands on her shoulders and tentatively wiped her cheek with the back of his hand.

“You better get back to the party. It is for you, after all.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay here for a bit. Just...need to let this all sink in.” He chuckled. “I’ll follow you back, don’t worry.”

Maiko smiled at him gratefully and, after a beat, she went back to the party.

—

Nana was dancing blindly to the beat of the song that was playing in the background before she noticed a shadow move in the darkness of the night. She looked in that direction and saw a flash of clothes pass by in a quick blur. As she did her best to focus her eyes towards the darkness someone howled playfully into the crisp air.

This caught the attention of the rest of the party so they moved to the main courtyard where the commotion was happening. Wearing traditional masks and carrying various bottles of booze in their hands, Minoru’s bachelor party had decided to crash Maiko’s own party.

The girls screamed in delight and excitement as the boys all dropped in one by one. The music seemed to get louder and soon enough, the party was even more alive than it was earlier. Most of the girls had matched up with one of the boys. Everyone was dancing and having the best time of their lives.

Minoru looked around the whole place in search of his fiancee. After a minute, she spotted her just coming up from the stairs. She had a shocked expression at the sight of the boys with the girls and she knew in herself that this could only be caused by one person alone. Like an eagle, she was able to spot him in the middle of the crowd with a not so guilty look on his face. She weaved herself in between bodies to get to him.

“What is this Minoru?” She did her best to look mad but she couldn’t. Minoru just laughed at her cute expressions and brought her into a hug. He pecked her lips affectionately.

“I missed you.” He whispered in her ear. She kissed him back. With all the excitement around them, Minoru swayed them both to the rhythm of the song. For a moment Maiko forgot about all her worries and just let herself bask in the presence of her lover.

In the corner of her eye, she spotted Bokuto had returned and was just standing on the sidelines. He was looking at her with a soft smile which she returned with one of her own. She noticed Bokuto then looked a little ways behind her and his smile suddenly dropped. Maiko was confused so she looked to where he was looking and saw you just getting out of the main villa—in more casual outfits than earlier—with Yoshiko and Rika. Bokuto’s feet moved automatically and made his way towards you.

Oh no. You can’t know that she knows Bokuto is her father. You can’t know that the reason he’s—they’re—here is because of her. Bokuto was already making his way towards you.

"Go dance with okaasan!" Maiko shouted over the music to Minoru before slipping past him. Maiko dodged the various people who were dancing. Just as Bokuto was an arm's reach away from her, she felt herself get yanked back by the arm.

"Hey!" She got annoyed in the slightest but it disappeared when she saw Kuroo with wide eyes and a small grin on his face.

"Maiko! I know why I'm here. Why didn't you tell me?" Kuroo laughed a little, running his hand through his hair. Maiko raised her eyebrows in question. What was Kuroo talking about?

"How long have you known that I'm your father?"

"What?!" She couldn't help but shout in disbelief; Kuroo took it as a sign of surprise. He was just beaming at her, letting it all sink in. Maiko couldn't believe this. She wanted just one of them to feel a paternal instinct with her.

"N-not long at all, Kuroo-san." She gave a fake smile. "Uhm, Kuroo-san, listen, please don't tell my okaasan. She doesn't know that I know. So, can we wait 'til after my wedding?"

"Who's giving you away?" He asked. Maiko just shook her head from side to side. Kuroo squeezed her shoulders gently and pointed a thumb to himself. "Wrong! I am. Don't worry, it's our secret until then."

With that, Kuroo blended into the crowd and decided to finally enjoy himself. Maiko let the smile she was forcing fall from her face. This wasn't good. Two out of the three think they're her father and she can't tell which is the real one. She wandered into the bustling party on autopilot. She didn't feel like dancing at all. She needs to fix the misunderstanding before the wedding.

Meanwhile, you danced with the other girls and guests around the party. Glancing to the sides, you saw your daughter staring off into space, standing stock still in the middle of the crowd. That was odd. You saw Minoru approach her, cupping her face in between his hands. Maiko pushed his hands away and ducked to escape his grasp.

Okay. Now you know something is wrong. You immediately stopped dancing and started your way to your daughter. It was a bit of a struggle to get past the crowd but you were determined to get to her. You accidentally bumped into someone’s chest when another body had pushed you a bit harshly in the back. The person you collided with held you tighter to themselves.

“I’m sorry—” Your voice caught in your throat as you looked up at Kuroo who was smirking at you with that irresistible face of his. You cursed yourself for blushing as you felt your face warm up.

“You always did find a way to get close to me.” He remarked. You pushed at his chest, desperate to keep the distance between the two of you but he was stronger as he kept you in place. He started swaying the both of you to the beat of the music. You went along with his actions as you didn’t want to make a scene and you also didn’t want Maiko to know that he was there. You glanced around but you couldn’t see your daughter anymore.

***

Maiko’s breath came out a little rushed as she distanced herself from Minoru and the party. She was able to find a less cramped space in the courtyard where she could finally breathe properly. Just as she wiped the thin sheet of sweat on her forehead, someone had bumped into her.

“Sorry about that.” The person apologised. With just a single beat the person pulled up the party mask they were wearing and Maiko soon realised that it was Oikawa. They stared at each for just a second before his eyes widened in realization.

“Oh my god.” Something hit Oikawa.

No.

“I’m your father!” Oikawa shouted excitedly. She started shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it all, her mouth hanging wide open.

“Oikawa-san, I—”

“Now, that’s why you invited me! You wanted your good ol’ dad to walk you down the aisle.” Maiko tried cutting him off but no words came out of her mouth. Oikawa smiled like he had won the lottery. He couldn’t help but give a kiss on her forehead. “I won’t let you down, Maiko-chan!” he then immediately left and continued his dancing.

Maiko felt more frustrated and confused than she ever was since her fathers came to the island. She needs to get away, ASAP. As the confessions and realisations of the three men echoes in her mind, she didn’t notice herself getting pushed into the middle of the dance floor. Everybody was dancing around her and she could see their faces all at once—Kuroo, Bokuto, Oikawa and...you.

She saw the worried look you had that was directed toward her. She suddenly felt so guilty. Maybe she shouldn’t have invited them. Maybe she should’ve just been content with the stories. Maybe she should just run off with Minoru and never come back.

With the loud bass of the music, the spinning bodies and the humid atmosphere of the party, she felt her throat close up and she struggled to breathe. She tried to escape the small circle but to no avail. With her chest so tight and head feeling lighter than ever, she let the darkness engulf her consciousness and passed out then and there.

tags: @yikes-buddy / @ushi-please / @melodiamore / @akaashi-todorki / @honeymoneyy / @minty-mangos-world / @ochabby / @paettonissahotcheeto / @chrisrue15 / @cottage-babe2 / @tsukkx / @yashinosakura / @coconut-dreamz / @roseestuosity / @youstydiaa / @shiningstar-byulxx / @mkkhaikyuu / @waywardtrashfam / @otaku-fangirlse / @juni-multifandom / @voids-universe / @chimsblogg / @1-800-imagine

a/n: there ya go! hope this makes up for my absence! and just a quick note, in chap 4, i changed kuroo’s fiancee name to alisa cos i just want to hurt myself (kuroo stans iykyk)

tell me your thoughts please! i love u all!

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gyuutahoe · 5 years ago

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The Pen and Sword - Part 3

Summary: Newly recruited to the Demon Slayer Corps, you finally meet your designated swordsmith. He may be as much of a misanthrope as others had warned, but you were nothing if not determined to bring him out of his shell.

Warnings: None

a/n: female reader, eventual smut, penpals with the feral misanthrope, both reader and Haganezuka are seventeen at the start of the story, established backstory for reader.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Marketplaces were always your weakness.

The hypnotic, dizzying flux of city life was exhilarating, and you channeled that excitement into each step you took through the beautiful, colorful, noisy market of Osaka. Had it not been for the irascible young Pillar of Flame keeping you on track, you might have wandered off and lost yourself in kimono patterns and antique teacups. Your hands were itching for a needle and thread these days.

Rengoku’s grip on your sleeve was like a leash. It reminded you of your oldest brother, so stern and resolute. “Can you walk faster?” he grumbled, tugging you along. “You’re like a bird, getting distracted by shiny things.”

A retort was on the tip of your tongue, only … something shiny did catch your eye, a multitude of tinkling glass wind chimes dangling from wooden scaffolding and beckoning you closer with their paper ends, stretching out towards you like old friends as the wind rattled their clappers.

“Rengoku-san, will this market still be here after we find the demon?”

He looked at you as though you were a pesky child. “You win a few fights and you already think the world waits for you? We have another assignment after this.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you lightly said, and the corner of your mouth quirked upward. “I thought I saw a pretty comb that Ruka might really like. It had a fox painted on it.” You blinked up at him. “Did you know that’s her favorite animal?”

Rengoku eyed you for a moment before turning away with a guarded expression. “Is it now …” he trailed off.

You smiled in victory and looked behind you, catching a fleeting glimpse of the wind chimes as your sword rested comfortably at your hip.

———————❖———————

Haganezuka was at a loss.

A package rested inconspicuously on his table as he knelt before it, examining it from all directions until curiosity finally won him over and urged him to pluck off the accompanying letter attached to the wrapping.

He did not request a shipment of supplies recently, and the box was far too small to be a customer’s blade. And when he saw your name written on the sealed letter, with penmanship far more beautiful than he had ever seen before, Haganezuka was still baffled. You said you would write to him, not send him anything. Were these the remnants of your sword? Did you stuff the broken pieces into a small box like some ungrateful heathen? The mere thought of it made his pulse race, and before he could calm himself, he was tearing the wrapping to shreds.

A wind chime.

His clawed hands paused immediately upon seeing the fragile glass, and his ire diffused instantly as he carefully brought it out to hold in his hands.

The glass had the barest hint of green tint pressed into it. Very different from his collection. Even the flowers were different, some sort of outrageous white shape he had never seen before. Haganezuka dangled the wind chime by its string to hear its sound - light, high-pitched, and quick. Not quite like the lower melody of his bells, but it pleased him all the same. It was a new sound to admire and focus on, with just the right amount of bite to its song to grab his attention. He played with the bell for a minute, swaying it to and fro as he listened. The sound did not calm him so much as it invigorated him. Like it had something important to say and demanded his audience.

He hadn’t received a gift so thoughtful in a long time. Why did you send him this?

The letter.

Haganezuka-san, I hope you do not mind me sending you a package so suddenly. I came across a marketplace where a glass blower sold handcrafted wind chimes, and I thought of you instantly. The flowers are sagisō. They mean ‘my thoughts will follow you into your dreams’. It is my way of hoping my good wishes reach you. Please accept this gift as thanks for your beautiful blade. It has served me well so far - I have slain three demons with ease. Take care of yourself.

———————❖———————

A few days passed before you received a response. Not that you expected one to begin with, so it was a lovely surprise to come back to after a long day of training with Kuwajima.

I received your wind chime and hung it at the door of my forge. Clean your blade daily. Don’t be lazy. Safe travels.

You imagined him hesitating at the last sentence, pen hovering over the paper as he thought of an adequate send-off. It made you giggle fondly as you hid your smile behind the letter, innocently ignoring the questioning glance of your mentor.

———————❖———————

The lingering chill of spring gave way to an undeniably relaxing summer breeze, prompting Haganezuka to wander out of his forge in search of a local villager’s food cart. He did not have the patience to cook for himself. Why waste precious time when he still needed to harden the edge of his clay-encrusted sword?

And that is how the postman found him, stuffing his face with a bowl of yakisoba while he walked back to work.

He glared at the cowering man and grabbed the proffered letter. Let’s see what jackass needs another replacement , he groused to himself as he tore it open, balancing the yakisoba in the crook of his arm.

Familiar handwriting. How could he forget this penmanship befitting of an aristocrat? It could only be you.

Haganezuka-san, I felt inspired to write to you once more. It relates to a mission I recently completed. A demon lured me into the forest in hopes of blinding me with darkness. But I had the company of the full moon to light my path, and by fortuitous chance, I happened upon a grassy clearing that was illuminated by fireflies!

Haganezuka pinched the edges of the paper so tightly that the veins in his fingers threatened to burst. If this was leading to a jibe about his name, he would make you pay.

I wanted to close my eyes and listen for the demon, as I always do, but for the first time I felt inclined to rely on my sight. The fireflies really captivated me. The weight of my blade kept me focused on the task at hand, but I could not help the sudden strike of realization that occured to me as I watched the fireflies. And that thought is as follows: could it be that you were named Hotaru because the bright sparks flying out from striking a heated blade reminded your father of fireflies? The idea made me smile. I sat and watched the fireflies for a while. There is much to learn from their movements. Anyway, I drew the forest when I had some time after the battle.

He blinked and stared at the sketch. Simple yet structured. Every pen stroke held an important detail. It was not a masterpiece, but it was lovely all the same.

Heated sparks … like fireflies …

Perhaps his given name was not so embarrassing after all.

———————❖———————

Hello again! What I am about to say may seem silly, but I always dreamed of seeing the ocean, and that day has finally arrived! I cannot begin to explain the terrifying vastness of the water. Have you ever seen the ocean? Did it exhilarate and humble you like it did to me? I dared to walk barefoot along the coastline, even though it felt like I could be pulled in at any moment. The water was very cold and the salty air turned my hair into brittle kelp, but the sand felt so soft between my toes. I listened to the waves for a long time while I meditated with my sword in my lap. Ocean waves look very similar to the hamon on my blade. As per usual, I drew the landscape for you in case you have not seen the ocean.

Haganezuka treated himself to some dango as he read your letter. Later on, he would still taste the saltiness of the dango on his tongue as he folded burning steel. While he lost himself in thought during the methodical process, the wind chime at his door brought forth the memory of your light laughter. Did you laugh this freely as the water lapped at your feet? Did you taste the salty air on your tongue? Haganezuka somehow felt like he was there with you.

———————❖———————

I heard an interesting saying - the pen is mightier than the sword. Perhaps that might not resonate with you, but I wonder what you think about this phase.

———————❖———————

For the first time since the start of your one-sided correspondence, Haganezuka wrote you an actual, full-length letter. Or rather, he sent you pages upon pages of nothing other than his thoughts on how the pen was not, in fact, mightier than the sword, and that he nearly used your letter to wrap his steel wafers for smelting because it angered him so.

- dumbass would believe that bullshit. Did words allow the Edo bakufu to secure power? No, it was blood and steel. If I could meet the moron who thought of that saying, I would shove that pen right up his -

“What’s making you laugh so hard?”

You tittered as Ruka sat down beside you. “My swordsmith.” You passed the letter to your curious friend. “He has such a way with words, don’t you think?”

Seconds into reading the letter, her neutral demeanor turned into one of mild bemusement. “What a thing to send to a young woman,” Ruka drawled, handing the letter back to you.

“Not so different from Rengoku-san, though.”

She smiled fondly. “No. Not at all.” With the grace of one who hides the sudden spark of an idea, Ruka motioned you to turn around. “Let me braid your hair. The summer heat must be strangling your poor neck right now.”

You dutifully complied. Soft, gentle fingers brushed through your hair, making your scalp tingle pleasantly.

Why don’t you ever let me style your beautiful hair? Mother keeps telling me how unattentive I am with you -

“ - to me very soon.”

“I - I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” You sucked in a quick breath. “I got distracted by that pesky cicada.”

“I said Shinjuro will propose to me very soon.” Ruka weaved a ribbon through your hair as she spoke. “Perhaps at the end of summer, so that we will have time to prepare for a winter ceremony.”

“That is wonderful!” you gasped. “To think, only three months ago he was still figuring out how to give you that fox comb. You know I walked in on him practicing that, right?”

Her melodic laugh was infectious. “And then he handed it to me as though he were a general barking a command at his soldier,” she reminisced, carefully moving the finished braid over your shoulder. “That blush was as fierce as the red in his hair.”

“He tries his best, doesn’t he?” you snickered, and upon feeling her soft touch lingering on your shoulder blade, your smile dulled a little.

“Does the wound still hurt?” Ruka asked. “With the humidity - “

“Please don’t worry,” you hastily replied, angling yourself to the side until the touch fell away. “It’s been months, Ruka. The wound is fully healed.” She cocked a brow at you, and you placed a hand over hers as you softened your voice. “Really. I’m alright.”

She eyed you silently. “ … if you say so.”

You offered a placating smile to seal the deal. “So, how did you find out about the inevitable proposal?”

“Between Shinjuro’s loud mouth and the gossip that goes on among the Demon Slayers, it was inevitable that the old women of the safehouses would hear about this.” She shook her head. “My own grandmother ruined the surprise.”

“At least you can look forward to how painfully awkward Rengoku-san will be when the time comes.”

Ruka scoffed. “I am always prepared to handle that silly man.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you giggled. “Your stern looks trip him up sometimes. So cruel!”

Not even your newly acquired lightning-fast reflexes could dodge Ruka’s smack upside your head.

———————❖———————

Warm greetings, Haganezuka-san. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I will be visiting your village in four days. Would you mind looking over my blade to make sure it is in proper condition?

———————❖———————

You can come.

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #haganezuka hotaru #hotaru haganezuka #haganezuka x reader #haganezuka/reader

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undinoble · 4 years ago

Photo

Crazy long text ahead i warn you, just explaining some process I went through while drawing this Frank and Julie low light dying thingie, probably gonna drop some wips along the way, you may want to see… idk, dealer’s choice

!TRIGGER WARNING! Violence, death, suicide. Proceed with caution.

Well where do we begin? The inspiration maybe?

Exploring the magical world of Spotify when a band came in, one of the first songs (if not the first one) of theirs I heard was Partners in Crime by Set It Off, you know, love at first sight, love for their voices, their music style, aaand the lyrics, OH BOI the lyrics, check it out:

“You’ll never takes us alive We swore that death will do us part They’ll call our crimes a work of art You’ll never takes us alive We’ll live like spoiled royalty, lovers and partners”

Dunno, for two passionate juvenil delinquents that just wants trouble this line really fits to me, the dreamy couple feels invencible.

“Everybody freeze Nobody move Put the money in the bag Or we will shoot Empty out the vault And me and my doll will be on our way”

It’s actually interesting to think of the Legion robbing a bank, it’s not like troublesome teens didn’t do that in movies c’mon, it’s a small city, they wear masks, ez!

“Our paper faces flood the streets And if the heat comes close enough to burn Then we’ll play with fire ‘cause

You’ll never takes us alive”

THIS. This is so a Legion thing to say. Can you imagine their masks all around the streets as a warning like “HEY, WE ARE HERE, FEAR US” I love this

“Here we find our omnipotent outlaws Fall behind the grind tonight Left unaware that the lone store owner Won’t go down without a fight Where we gonna go He’s got us pinned Baby I’m a little scared Now, don’t you quit He’s sounded the alarm I hear the sirens closing in”

The second big moment, the adrenaline along with the instrumental is crazy for real

“The skies are black with lead-filled rain A morbid painting on display This is the night the young love died Buried at each others side”

THIS. (again) is the main theme of the drawing, it’s where the inspiration flood over me, the scene was clear in my mind, c’mon if you read till here there’s absolutely no reason not to listen to the song you won’t regret im not even getting payed to show it off

ACTUALLY FORGET IT- i just won a sub on Cody Carson’s stream WHAT IS LIFE??????? Thanks Max!!!

I totally didn’t draw this while listening to the music when i should be working what are you talking about??

Hold the sketch, focus on the gun. It’s dope aint it?

Anyways, here goes the lore, along with the music lyrics I filled up the gaps, well, Suz and Joey are not around, maybe doing school stuff Julie didn’t feel like doing so she decides to hang out with Frank in the meanwhile, they’re on the lodge, bored, upset about the world cause it’s what teens do in their free time, listening to one of their mixtapes, probably Frank’s, the more hardcore one when the idea hit: what if they try some good mischief? “There’s a small banks a mile from here, want some adrenaline babe?” And oh of course she does, grab your mask, here we go

Sorry, not a big legs-drawing fan…

They grab their knives, put on the masks, get ready, drive to the bank. I didnt really think this part through, the song says it all. Long story short - they rob the bank, the police arrives, the action begins.

They brought their knives, didn’t expect the cops to show up with guns, damn they didnt even know little Ormond cops had actual guns. After long minutes of hiding on the bank safe the couple decides to fight their way out, they would be more useful alive than dead so laws could apply, but that went out of question once Frank stabbed the first bank employee on his triumphal way out, the police don’t think twice before shooting to protect the citizens inside.

Frank and Julie have too little time to react, the stress and anxiety kicks in, they go feral, crazy cinematic bullet avoids, for a moment it’s possible to get away. It all happened too quick, but in Julie’s vision it went slow motion. She just saw a cop leaning behind a car, aiming directly at Frank, even her fastest reaction wasn’t fast enough to stop the trigger from popping. With tears in her eyes she watches as the bullet hits her boyfriend right in the chest.

She snaps. One target in mind, she sprints to the cop and stabs him over and over until she’s sure he won’t see the sun set ever again. She takes his gun and rushes towards Frank who is kneeling against a taxi holding his torax, she screams that they must go to the hospital immediately but he refuses, hospital would be just a quick stop on his way to jail. No fucking way.

He demands to go back to the lodge, the cops are too busy helping their wounded partner to look for them, they think Frank may be dropped dead somewhere on the street after multiple shots, the two of them must flee before the cops realize the mistake and go hunting for them. NOW.

Julie side-carries Frank back to their car, the lack of a license of her own won’t stop her from driving as fast as the car can. Breathing heavily while constantly telling Frank to hold on, they will find a way out, they must do. Oh what a fucking stupid idea holy SHIT.

The travel takes half the time it usually does and still feels like hours. The car gets all red with Frank’s blood that keeps leaking. Once they arrive, Frank wants to go upstair, Julie shouts at him to keep next the central campfire once he should grab some heat (and for god’s sake why is he still carrying the money bag they stole????), anyway he gets the last word and they climb the stairs up and lay on the bed, Frank hisses from the pain but also sighs in relief for the soft spot under him, ignoring Julie cursing besides him, saying she can still call an ambulance, she doesnt want to lose him, Suz and Joey will be devastated, although he just replies with the phrase they were saying sooner that day “They’ll never take us alive”.

After 20 minutes of agony, low whispers of memories of how they met, what they had been through together and a huge amount of blood moisturing the covers, Frank says he’s feeling light-headed, Julie looks at him and he’s paper white, the blood loss is finally getting to him, she wants to cry, scream, curse and stab that damn cop a hundred times again, but all she does is cuddle her head harder against his shoulder and tell him she loves him, that she will keep his legacy alive, with Joey and Susie, she will revenge him. He chuckles and slowly feels the life being drained from his weaked body until everything goes black.

Julie need a few seconds to process. Frank died. For real. He was good a few hours ago, he was right. They would never take them alive. Death could do them apart, but, he never said for how long they would be apart.

She reaches for the gun on the hand under Frank’s body. THAT DAMN GUN. She aims it to the side of her head, never leaving Frank’s side on the bed. Triggers it.

“Partners in crime”

Damn did I just write a fucking fanfiction? This shit is way longer than I expected, did anybody even get down here?

Well, this is the part of the drawing where i left cause I just couldn’t afford to work on it, have in mind everytime the file were opened the whole lore came in my head, and fuck did i feel dizzy writing it all down. Hell the bloody details get me, seeing Frank so white with a blue undertone simulating the lifeless body gave me headaches fr. My escape was drawing other things until the courage to finish it came back. It was easier because the story kinda faded away from my mind, the drawing became “lighter” to deal with.

Well, guess that’s it. I hardly have this big insight while drawing, to visualize the finished piece on my brain and it’s just so fucking cool, making art with so many mixed feelings along, and overall pride, cause i feel so proud with the result you have no idea. It isn’t perfect tho, but i like it anyway. So, thank you so much if you made it all the way here. gonna sleep now for fucks sake im gonna pass out bye

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sourcherrybomb · 5 years ago

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SoKai Week 2020 - Day 6 - One More For the Road

Synopsis: At an unknown time, in an unknown place, Kairi asks Sora for one more of his beloved stories.

(There are two more bonus sketches at the end of the oneshot!)

Sneak Peek: “What are some of the more… romantic ones you know, then?”

Tags: Romance, All Ages, F/M

Prompt for the Day: Connection / Fate

Words: 1k

Fanart by: Popipapepu (Fiverr)

---

“Hey Sora?”

“Yeah Kairi?”

“Tell me a story.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, right now!”

“Kairi, as much as I’d love to-”

“Oh I know you would.”

“I’m just not too sure if there’s enough time for that right now.”

“Come on, please?”

“It’s just that I promised everyone that we’d be quick about this, I don’t wanna leave them worried, you know?”

“Listen, everyone’s doing fine right now! I’m sure they wouldn’t mind waiting just a little bit longer.”

“You’re really pushing- Oh come on, don’t give me that face!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah right! That’s the face you always make.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh!”

“Sora you might as well just give up now, this face always gets you and you know it!”

“Get real! Look at my face and how your stupid one doesn’t affect me at all!”

“...”

“Okay fine, one story!”

“Haha! Score one for Kairi!”

“So which one is it gonna be this time around? Altair and Vega like usual?”

“Sounds tempting, but honestly I think I’d like to hear a new one.”

“A new one, huh? Did I ever tell you about Aquila? How about Endymion or Bismarck?”

“As much as I love hearing you talking about stars and constellations, maybe something from one of the worlds you’ve been to.”

“I mean from our perspective right now, how could you even tell the difference between stars and other worlds?”

“Hey, don’t get smart with me! If I wanted snark I’d talk to Riku or Axel.”

“What can I say, they’ve rubbed off on me. Anyways, what kind of story would you want to listen to anyways?”

“I know I turned it down, but something like Altair and Vega. Except maybe a more happy ending.”

“It always comes back to them, huh?”

“What can I say, I relate to it. Especially after all we’ve been through. A happier ending would be nice, maybe one where the hero and heroine get to stay together.”

“Hmm, I might have to think about this. I’ve heard so many stories from a bunch of different worlds.”

“What are some of the more… romantic ones you know, then?”

“Romantic, huh? With the same vibes as Altair and Vega… Oh, I think I got one!”

“You do? Sweet!”

“Yeah, it’s one my friends Mushu and Mulan told me. It’s called The Story of the Red String of Fate.”

“Sounds mysterious… I like it!”

“I have a feeling you will!”

“Hey now, don’t look all satisfied when you haven’t even told me the story yet.”

“Okay, okay. Let me start then.”

There once was a young noble girl and the son of a stablehand.

Bored with her life, she desired adventure, something the boy and his horses were more than willing to entertain.

Over time, the stablehand became smitten with the noble girl. In secret, she returned his affection.

They kept this romance a secret until they grew into young adults. They planned to elope and leave by horseback when the time came.

However, war broke out in their country.

The noble girl and stablehand realized that they would be separated. She would have to stay in the safety of her castle while the stablehand would be sent to war.

Wanting him to always have a way to remember her, the noble girl asked the stablehand to close his eyes. Agreeing, she unwound a red string from her royal garments.

Cutting the thread in half, she tied one piece on her finger and the other on his.

Shocked by this, the stablehand declared that he would come back to her and return the keepsake hundredfold.

After this, the two were separated. For many years the war raged on, the noble girl becoming a noblewoman.

When the war finally came to an end, all the soldiers who survived returned home. In disguise, the noblewoman looked for her lover amongst the common soldiers, but could not find him.

After days of searching, she resigned herself to the idea that the stablehand had died in battle.

In memory of him, she decided to keep the red string tied on her finger.

The next day, the noblewoman’s father approached her and told her that she was to be wed to one of the war heroes that fought for their country.

Hiding her dejection, she thanked her father and followed him to meet her future husband. It was a soldier around her age.

When her father left the two alone, the soldier looked at the noblewoman. Smiling, he politely asked her to close her eyes. Uncaringly, she closed them.

When asked to open her eyes, the first thing she saw was a gorgeous red dress made of the finest silk. Surprised, the noblewoman asked the soldier why he had gifted her such an extravagant engagement present.

Laughing, the soldier simply responded that he was only keeping the promise that he made to her.

Briefly confused, it took a moment for the noblewoman to look at the soldier’s hand that was holding the dress.

On it was a red string, tied on the same finger as the one she had done the same to the stablehand all those years ago.

Realizing who this soldier was, she pulls the former stablehand into an embrace that, to the two, felt like it lasted for ages.

She and her husband would wear the red strings on their hands for the rest of their lives.

“So? How was- Kairi are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah! Just… Something flew into my eye for a moment. Shouldn’t I be asking you the same?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Geez, just don’t rub your eyes too hard like that. You’ll just make more come out, which will do the same to me.”

“I know, I know…”

“...”

“Hey Sora?”

“Yeah Kairi?”

“Thanks for telling me one last story. I can’t help but feel like it’ll be… a while until I could hear another one from you.”

“You’re not wrong about that. You were right about something, though.”

“And what was that?”

“That I love telling you stories like this. I’d love to tell you another one, but I think we’ve run out of the little time we’ve had left at this point…”

“I had a feeling… Hey Sora?”

“Yeah Kairi?”

“Come here for a sec.”

“Sure, but we’re going to have to- mmph?!”

“...”

“Sorry… Just had to get one for the road. Sora, promise me one thing.”

“Anything…”

“When you come back to me, you better return that a hundredfold. Promise?”

“Promise.”

---

This was another little experiment for my writing. Just dialogue, nothing else. This totally wasn’t a last-minute decision in order to get something out before the deadline for Day 6. Nope, not at all. Still, I had fun writing it.

Just like with my Day 5 entry, I got to make my own spin on a legend. The Red String of Fate is such a prevalent tale in modern romantic media that it’s fun to see how different writers and authors use it (with various success)

As I said, this was my entry for Day 6 of SoKai Week 2020! The themes for the day were “Connection” and/or “Fate”. Once again, shoutout to the Sokai: Destined Oath Discord server, and a special thanks to the server member Gee for acting as my Beta Reader.

Thanks for Reading!

---

*Bonus Sketch Commissions*

#sokai #sokaiweek #sokaiweek2020 #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kingdom hearts #fanfiction #sora #kairi #oneshot #f/m #sourcherrybomb

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syilcawrites · 4 years ago

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flickering

Series: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild Type: One-shot Main pairing: Zelink (Zelda and Link) Rated: T Tags/Genre: post calamity, pre botw2, what’s the tag for his adventuring in between?? just botw?, then that’s it LOL, angst Summary: Link scouts out Hyrule Castle to see how he should prepare to fight Ganon, and stumbles upon Zelda's bedroom and her diary after he believes he sees her there. Snippet: “It was a silent vow that always lingered around in his thoughts—from when he spoke to the remainder of the Hylians to listening to the sweet melodies of a past long gone, sung by Kass.” A/N: I am terrible at summaries and was never good at them LOL. Anyway, this is just a little something for linktober Day 19: phantom/ghost! This is also loosely based off of my other fic archived memories chapter 6 :~) (which will be out tomorrow on Oct 20 haha). Hope you enjoy!! I like to spend a week editing whatever I write 'cause I tend to change it a lot but didn't have the luxury of doing it for this piece since I wrote it last night afouhgkjds. You can also read it on ao3!

The first time Link stepped into Castletown, he was barraged with an incessant amount of echoing whispers.

Chaotic, haunting, loud and quiet, begging, pleading, bargaining. It felt like they were whispering about him, but he couldn’t decipher one word drifting into his ears.

He was by no means ready to take on Calamity Ganon—he had simply wanted to scope out the area, to see what he should expect—and he was hit with a wave of nostalgia that he didn’t understand.

Then came the nausea, and the painful throb against his head whenever he gazed upon the castle. It was different up close—the pain was worse, the stench that rifted off the malice was almost unbearable, and his eyes watered by being within ten feet of it.

But he marched onward—past the rubble and decay of a once grandiose town—or at least that’s what he assumed. It was hard to decipher what it used to look like amongst the ruins.

Link strolled up to one of the glowing eyeballs, staring into it for just a moment, before he stabbed it. It sputtered, shrinking, shriveling, before it withered away. He tightened his grip on the handle of his sword as he scanned the rest of the area.

More, his mind chanted. He wanted to see more of them crumble up into dust.

An unbearable anger always overcame him when he encountered anything inflicted by the malice—he wanted to tear at it with his own hands, rip and shred it into pieces until there was not even a speck left.

The overwhelming sense of hatred and revenge that dwelled deep within him feared him—because he couldn’t pinpoint why. He understood why, knew why, from an outside perspective. It took all of his dear friends and family one hundred years ago, but how the anger simmered within him like it ran through his veins felt unfamiliar to him.

His body remembered but his mind didn’t.

Link traversed the ruins of Castletown speedily, taking out the glowing eyeballs one by one and watching with satisfaction as they faded away—it felt like he was reclaiming the town back from the Calamity—whatever was left of it, at least. It was all he could do now.

“Okay,” he huffed out, peering at the large iron doors that stood between him and the castle. “One quick look inside, then you come right back out.” He whispered, gulping. He more frequently than not spoke to himself whenever he was alone—it grounded him, reminded him to stay focused.

“Free Zelda and all will be well,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on the various Guardians loitering the front. He would chant this before he fell asleep and it was the first thought that passed his mind when he woke up. It was a silent vow that always lingered around in his thoughts—from when he spoke to the remainder of the Hylians to listening to the sweet melodies of a past long gone, sung by Kass.

Link pulled out his shield and sprinted forward—holding his breath as he struck his sword at a stationary Guardian before it could respond to his presence.

Again—that bloodthirsty anger laughed in joy as he watched it implode, and he pushed down the desire to tear apart the ones that had long stopped working, and forged ahead.

The heavy metal doors of the entrance slammed open as Link used magnesis, echoing. His nose scrunched up as the putrid stench of the malice slammed against him at full force—causing him to double over. Link his behind a crumbling wall to hide from the wandering eyes of the Guardians as he gathered his bearings.

“Do not encounter Calamity Ganon, not yet.” He whispered, warning. He wasn’t going to go in until he was absolutely prepared—he had already failed once. Link gritted his teeth as his grasped at the small, vague memories that he’s so far recovered. They were so fragmented and confusing, full of questions and questions and questions that lingering on them for too long caused his head to split open while his mind desperately tried to remember. But he never did, and in the end it only left him feeling like a hollow and fractured version of himself.

All he knew was that he had to stay alive—stay alive long enough to seal Calamity Ganon and to free Zelda.

Zelda.

His blood ran cold at he thought of her.

“Will she fade away, too?” Link whispered to the castle, glancing up at it.

It did not respond.

He forced his way through the entrance, using the wreckage to avoid needless confrontation. He needed to be quick, no matter how much he wanted to slaughter the rest of the Guardians and the malice. Once Link was inside, he found the orange glow enveloped around the castle unsettling, as if the air around here had stayed stagnant for the past century. It felt it was holding its breath, waiting. Or maybe it was slumbering.

Zelda. She was here, waiting.

Then, he thought of Mipha—and the way his heart dropped when he saw that cursed blueish glow around her, just like with the late King. She smiled at him with so much familiarity, but he could only stare blankly at her, mostly just confused. Her eyes gazed upon him with such love and comfort, but he could not return the same affection, even if he wanted to. He found it easier to—to detach himself a little bit. Untangle himself from the Champions when he encountered their spirits. He had one left—Urbosa—but he had to mentally steel himself to confront her, like he had to for Revali and Daruk. When he confronted the both of them after Mipha, he forced himself to reflect upon those past memories—his own past memories—as a mere spectator, and it helped.

Link shook his head, drawing himself back from the depths of his plagued mind. He circled around the ransacked interior—taking note of the blocked passages, the crumbles in the walls that acted as a makeshift pathway to another part of the castle, and attacked slumbering monsters who blocked his path with an all too personal rage.

And then he saw a tower outside from one of the windows, set a little apart from the main building. He would have to paraglide to it and climb up if he wanted to get in.

His eyes trailed up the tower, to the caved in wall and blinked—eyes widening when he saw something shift—blonde hair, green eyes, flickering.

He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head and peered again, but it was still there—she’s there—looking at him.

Link, without a second thought, jumped through broken glass window, his paraglider wide open as he headed toward the isolated tower, heart racing.

He latched onto the broken tower and glanced up—he saw her peering down at him, smiling. She was familiar and warm, and... and so close. So, so close.

Link desperately climbed up—almost slipping toward the end—but reached up just far enough to latch onto the edge of the opening, and threw himself over. He fell onto the ground of the room with a heavy thud, and found himself face to face with an alarmed moblin.

Link quickly rolled off to the side, narrowly missing getting slammed head first with its stolen weapon, and was up in a heartbeat, his own weapon drawn. He mindlessly went through the quick, precise motion of eliminating it—simply allowing his body to move on its own, because if he dwelled too much on it, he became rigid.

He hated being out of sync within his own body.

Link exhaled with the final blow, and watched the moblin scatter into thin air, leaving him alone in the room.

With no one in sight, to his dismay. He wasn’t sure how long he searched every nook and cranny for those familiar green eyes and golden hair, but there was not even a hint of her ever being there in the first place.

With a heavy heart, Link walked toward the rotten desk, observing the scattered, torn books that lay in its wake. There was a flimsy notebook—leather ripped and torn, pages missing, but some of the writing was still legible.

Link flipped to the first page, reading the barely legible text at the front.

Zelda’s Diary.

He flipped through the carefully, as to not tear the pages, and found various scribbles and sketches—then a pressed cherry blossom flower in one of the pages, now brittle and brown. When he brushed a gentle finger over it, it crumbled immediately. His eyes scanned the next pages—various face portraits of Hylians. His lips tilted up a little when he passed by some sketches of food, of pastries and breads, or at least that’s what he assumed they were. It was hard to tell since many of them had faded away into the obscurity of time.

Then he found a familiar face, a face that he knew all too well.

It was messily sketched, but it was him—smiling, laughing, sometimes stoic, and it peered back at him like a stranger. It was him, but not really him. Link wished he could talk to the person he used to be, to ask him all of the questions that had piled up, but it was a futile desire.

He sighed as he peeled his eyes away from the sketches and flipped through the pages once more.

“Bit by bit, I’ve gotten Link to open up to me…”

He paused, lifting the journal up closer than ever to his face. His eyes drank in the words—words about him, who he was, how she saw him. He stopped at the end of the paragraph and closed the journal, staring down at it with confliction.

He took out the Sheikah Slate and slipped it into his inventory, and along with it, a little hope.

“I’ll keep this journal safe for you,” he whispered into the quiet room, his eyes roving around the falling, rotting objects that Zelda once owned, “so when you return, you’ll still have something.”

He waited for a couple moments, listening to the still air around him, as particles of malice floated peacefully by. He found it foolish that he even considered the possibility of her responding back and slapped his cheeks.

“Get ahold of yourself,” he muttered tiredly. He knew coming here would prove difficult—in terms of physicality, at least. He thought with time, settling into this new world would prove easier, but the distant reminders of the past associated with the wreckage of a world he once knew seemed to nail in how... alone he was.

Even without all of his memories, his heart ached with a heavy loneliness amidst a vast and broken land, because when it mattered most, he couldn’t save a single one of them. And then he left her, he left Zelda, to suffer by herself for one hundred years.

But he could do something now, even if it couldn’t bring back the lives lost. Even if she was going to simply drift away into the sky with the others, he could at least free her from the century of pain and torment she had endured waiting for him.

#botw #zelink #breath of the wild #botw fanfiction #linktober #my fanfics #nervous to post this.. idk why..#but hope yall enjoy!#ehehe #made a lil graphic with this but i didn't want to clutter the post #so it's only on my twitter lolol

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shipmistress9 · 4 years ago

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FTLOAP: Chapter 48: Reminds Me Again It's Worth It All

For The Love Of A Princess Masterpost

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

Taglist: @drchee5e @hey-its-laura-again @thepixiedustfactory (If you want me to add you to this list, just say so. ^^)

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If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

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AN: How... how is it already almost three months later again? Time is a lie! xD But I won't apologise. Life is just absolutely crazy right now, and not just because of this virus. But I'm not abandoning this story, don't worry! :)

And I don't want to ramble here too much, but... I was worried how you all would take it that I implemented the canon events as legends. And I'm very happy and relieved to see that you guys generally seem to approve. ^^

This week's title comes, again, from Memories by Within Temptation. I've picked this title before I wrote the chapter and I have to admit that it fitted better to the original vision I had of this chapter than to the end result. But it still works and it's not that important anyway, right? ;P

. o O o .

“Do you think you can do it? Can you kill a dragon?”

Grimacing, Hiccup averted his face at that question. Killing a dragon… There once had been a time where this prospect had troubled him. It had been something he had to do, but not what he’d wanted to do.

But now, things were different. He'd already lost so much to a dragon’s attack once, and now could gain so much more if he did it… It wasn’t a question about whether he could do it anymore.

But… would he be able to do it?

“I get that it’s a lot to think about,” Eret said when he didn’t reply immediately. “Especially after what you just told us and in such a short time. The thing is just… You legally winning that title for yourself would be the easiest and cleanest solution. But we can prepare you as much as we want; if it’s more likely that you’re getting killed, it’s not worth it. Then we have to come up with something else. I’m sure there’s something we can do. There has to be.”

Hiccup pressed his lips together and lowered his head. Astrid was still sitting right next to him, her hand in his. So close. It could be so easy. All he had to do to be with her was kill a dragon. But after all his failures, he wasn't likely to be too optimistic.

“I don’t know,” he eventually said in a low voice. “I became a better fighter over the last years, I had to, and… and I have the best motivation imaginable.” Chuckling weakly, he lifted his hand to breathe a soft kiss onto Astrid’s knuckled. It made her smile, tentatively. “But I don’t know if I can do it. It would be difficult, nearly impossible . During raids and other occasions, we use special tools and weapons against dragons that make it easier to capture and kill them. If I had some of those, I think I could do it. But without them?” Gulping, he shook his head. “I’d need a lot of luck, and, well… given the past few years, luck is not something I would want to count on.”

Next to him, Astrid flinched. The fingers of her free hand painfully dug into his arm; she clearly didn’t like his answer. But as much as he wanted to give her another one – lying just to comfort her wasn’t an option.

“But you can build these weapons,” Eret objected. “I know you can, I’ve seen you work in Berk’s forge and you even managed to fix the music box. Just tell us what you need, and we get if for you.”

Hiccup’s gaze shifted back to Eret. He was grateful for his enthusiasm and optimism, that he wouldn’t give up. But in this case, just thinking positively wouldn't help much. With a tired sigh, he shook his head. “You’re right, I could build what I need. But not within only a couple of days. I’d need special moulds to forge the pieces, special tools I don’t have… It would take me weeks to build all that from scratch.”

“Can’t you get some of those things here?” Dagur threw in. “I mean, the markets here might not be as big as Southshore’s… but this is the capital. There’s a lot you can buy here.”

Hiccup grimaced, his free hand tightening into a fist. He gazed down at Astrid, tightly clinging to his arm and her face hidden against his side. He couldn’t give up now. Eret was right, winning that hunt would be the cleanest solution. And for Astrid, he was willing to try and risk everything. Whatever it would take.

With a heavy sigh, he turned back toward the others. “Maybe you’re right and we can find at least some things. So far, I haven’t seen anything of that sort though, and finding the tools I need, let alone the functioning weapons, might take just as long as trying to build them. But yeah, it’s at least a possibility.”

“All right, what should we look for?” Tuff asked.

He shared a look with his sister who added, “Tuff and I know the city pretty well. And we know some people… If the things you need exist somewhere in Volantis, then we’re your best option to find them.”

Frowning, Hiccup took a moment to think. “The most important thing,” he eventually replied, slowly, “would be a bola shooter. The best way – the only reasonable way, really – to fight any dragon is to first incapacitate their wings, if possible their legs too. If they can’t fly or move much at all, they’re relatively easy prey.”

“A…. what shooter?” The question came from Tuff, but except for Eret who’d seen a bola shooter in action before, everyone looked equally confused.

“A bola shooter.” He released Astrid’s hand to use both arms for his explanation. “A bola is a weapon made for hunting. It’s made of three – or more – strings of rope, all tied together at a centre point and each with some form of weight at the end, usually a rock of this size,” he held up his fist, “or bigger, depending on what kind of prey you’re after. If you fling it the right way, it wraps around the beast’s body, preferably around its legs or wings and renders it immobile.”

“Makes sense,” Dagur agreed, nodding. “But I don’t see your problem. Making such a bola doesn’t sound that complicated.”

Hiccup nodded. “It’s not. But using a bola just on its own, that’s not advisable if you’re out to hunt a dragon. Flinging a bola over your head is not exactly stealthy. If you’re in a raid where there’s chaos already, it doesn’t matter much. But if you try to sneak up on a dragon and want to capture it before it attacks or simply flies off? Not a good idea. So what I need is a shooter. It’s a device to launch such bolas without the eye-catching gaining of momentum.” His gaze wandered to Astrid’s servants. “What you would be looking for is–”

“Wait a moment,” Eret interrupted him. He got up from his chair and walked over to a desk, then returned with a sheet of paper and a pencil. “It’s not as if I have much need for letter paper anyway.”

Gratefully, Hiccup took the paper and pencil, and leaning over the low table in front of him, he made a quick sketch of what he needed.

“It’s a wooden or metallic tube,” he explained. “Wide enough for weights as such rocks and with a mechanism to launch them attached to it at one end.” He handed the sketch over to Astrid’s warder.

The man narrowed his eyes as he looked at the sketch then showed it to his sister next to him. She too narrowed her eyes, then the twins shared a knowing look and a nod.

“What?” Dagur asked, a little annoyed. “Have you seen anything like that before?”

“Maybe,” Ruff replied slowly. She inspected the sketch for a moment longer, then shared another strange nod with her brother before she left the room without another word.

Everyone gazed after her, perplexed, then threw Tuff a questioning look.

But Tuff’s answer wasn’t very enlightening. “She needs to check something,” he simply said.

Dagur snorted. “Don’t bother trying to make sense of their twintuition. It’s pointless.”

“I can hear you, you know?” Tuff muttered.

“So what?,” Dagur cackled. “Nothing I wouldn’t say to your face.”

Rolling his eyes at their bickering, Eret cleared his throat to draw Hiccup’s attention again. “Who knows how long Ruff will be gone. So let’s use the time to talk options. I agree, flinging a bola isn’t stealthy, but it would still be possible, wouldn’t it? Or how about a weighted net? I’ve seen you use those sometimes, too.”

With his lips pressed into a thin line, Hiccup nodded. “Possible, yes, but not advisable. A shooter would give me another advantage over simply flinging a bola or net myself. I wouldn’t need to get as close to the beast since a shooter can hurl them farther than I can throw them, and they could be bigger too as it can handle higher weights. And with a net, I’d need to be in a higher position to throw it on top of them. It can be done, obviously, but, yeah… It would require a lot of luck.”

Eret frowned but didn’t object and didn’t come up with some other option, either. Grateful for the break, Hiccup leaned against the cushioned backrest, relaxing a little when Astrid cuddled to his side without hesitation. She’d been surprisingly quiet throughout the whole conversation, and now he noticed just how tense she was; her shoulders, her expression, even her hands clenched into fists around his tunic. As if she was subconsciously holding on to something invisible.

It was strange in a way. But just like he'd drawn from her strength earlier when the memories of his dead family had threatened to overwhelm him, it now seemed as if she was relying on his strength in return. Even though he had no idea why she needed it.

He let his hand run up and down her back, slowly, comfortingly, and after a minute or two, she relaxed at least a little bit.

It didn't take long until Ruff returned. In her arms, she carried a large basket full of laundry which earned her confused looks from everyone waiting.

"You came to bring fresh clothes?" Dagur asked, a little incredulously. "Do you expect anyone to rip theirs off?" He threw an insinuating grin at Astrid and Hiccup, but nobody was really in the mood for joking.

"Haha, funny," Ruff deadpanned. She placed the basket on the ground and rummaged about for a few seconds until she found what she was looking for. With a satisfied grin, she glanced from one to the other. "No, the laundry was just for cover; I didn't want people to get suspicious if they saw me with this." She pulled an object out that had been hidden by layers of cloth, a smug smile on her face as she looked at Hiccup. "Is this what you were talking about? A bola shooter?"

Hiccup could only gape. Disbelievingly, he reached for the device when Ruff held it out to him, his fingers reverently gliding over the sturdy metal tube. It was dusty, the mechanism getting stuck when he tried to wind it up, but it was undeniably a bola shooter. It even was the same model they used on Berk, the size and length of the tube distinct. And the mechanism! It was just like–

Hiccup sucked in a sharp breath and turned the device around until his eyes found what he’d been looking for, a sign that was etched into the metal at the underside of the tube. A horizontal line crossed by three vertical ones. Or, the way he read it, ‘H H’.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, his eyes on the twins.

This couldn't be… It made no sense! How?

"What's wrong, Hiccup?" Eret asked, frowning, a note of worry in his voice.

Mutely and without looking, Hiccup handed the shooter over to his cousin. His eyes were still on Ruff, still waiting for her answer.

Ruff exchanged a frown with her brother, and they both shrugged. “It’s Astrid’s,” she replied.

Stunned, Hiccup turned toward Astrid, but she looked just as surprised as he was. “Excuse me?”

“It’s true,” Tuff said with another shrug. “It was in one of your birthday chests from three or four years ago.”

Still confused, Hiccup cocked his head. “Birthday chests?” he asked for clarification when even Dagur just nodded in understanding.

“Usually, there aren’t as many people here for my birthday as there were this year,” Astrid explained in a low voice. She sounded distracted, as if her mind was somewhere else entirely. “But since ignoring the Princess Royal’s birthday could be considered an insult, practically every noble family sends a gift every year. Nothing extravagant in most cases, just a sign that they remembered. Often, it’s some local speciality, food, clothes, or craftsmanship. I… some pieces I kept, and the food always gets eaten, of course, but the rest gets stored away, and…” She trailed off, shrugging.

“Exactly!” Tuff nodded. “There’s an entire room just filled with shelves and boxes full of stuff – for every member of the royal family. And there’s some weird stuff in there, that I can tell you.” He snickered.

Somewhere in the depth of Hiccup’s mind, a memory was rising, but he couldn’t grasp it yet.

“Very true!” Ruff said with a smirk. “Some of these things are great for pranks; it’s just a hassle to sort through them sometimes. Anyway, there are a few chests that are different… bigger. Sometimes, higher noble families don’t just send one gift but an entire chest full of various gifts. There is one in particular that contains a number of strange things I’ve never seen anywhere else. Clothes in an unfamiliar style, wooden carvings, instruments… and this weird fellow.” She pointed at the bola shooter in Eret’s hand. “We never knew what to make of it, but when you sketched your shooter just now…” She broke off, looking over at Eret as he grunted in surprise.

"Is… is that one of yours?" he asked, baffled.

Next to him, Astrid shuffled to sit up straighter. “Yeah, apparently it is. Even though I can’t–”

“He means me,” Hiccup interrupted her gently. He held his hand out for Eret to give him the shooter back, then turned it around to show her the symbol etched into the metal. “See this? That… well, you can call it my signature, I guess. I used to mark everything I made with this sign. H H. Hiccup of House Haddock.”

He shrugged, a little embarrassed. Putting that signature on his works had been an act of pride and rebellion, he knew that all too well. So many people had called him useless for not being a good fighter and not going after the dragons as he was supposed to. And yet, they’d been happy enough to use his weapons and devices.

Astrid traced the symbol with her fingers, her touch careful. “So… you made this?” she asked, visibly puzzled “But… how did it end up in that chest?”

Hiccup’s memories were all falling into place then. “I haven’t thought of this in a long time, didn’t even remember until just now,” he said slowly. “It was on the day the council had decided that I would have to prove myself in the arena, and I was… well, I was terrified, to be honest. Torn on whether I even wanted to kill a dragon and scared by having to do so in the arena, without support or the usual methods. I had just finished working on this shooter, but more felt like throwing it out of the window and into the ocean. What was the point of crafting all these weapons if I wasn’t allowed to use them? I think I was pretty lost, wallowing, and didn't pay much attention to my mother when she came into my workshop."

He had to pause and swallow at that memory. What would he give if he could go back to that moment, for the chance to talk to her again? To ask for her advice, or just to listen to what was on her mind. If only he hadn't wasted so much time only focused on his own problems...

"She tried to cheer me up and encourage me, said that she had faith in me. But I didn't want to hear that and in the end, it wasn't why she'd come looking for me anyway. She was about to send a chest of gifts to her friend, for her daughter's birthday, and wanted me to contribute something, too." His lips twitched into a rueful smile. "I remember how annoyed I was. What did the birthday of some stranger matter to me? I had more important things on my mind, like not losing my honour in front of the entire tribe, for example. Or my life. So I just gave her the shooter I'd just finished, unreasonably angry at the device itself for me not being allowed to use it in my fight against the dragon."

With slightly shaking hands, Astrid reached for the shooter to inspect it a little more closely. "Is it still working, though?" There was an odd tone in her voice, so quiet and almost trembling, something he couldn’t quite place. “I mean, it’s been lying around in that chest for three years now. Are you sure it’s not rusty? What if the mechanism jams when you need it?”

Hiccup took a moment to think, then nodded. “Yeah, it should still work. Maybe not right now, but it shouldn’t be a problem to get it to work on time. I just need to disassemble it, clean all parts, and put them back together.” He paused, trying to think it through. All parts were there, working and in his usual high quality. They shouldn’t have suffered much over time, and even if one or two parts were broken, it shouldn’t be that hard to replace only those.

He sucked in a deep breath, a confidant grin on his face. “So, going back to your question,” he said, looking at Eret. “Yes, with this baby here, I think I can do it. I can kill a dragon!”

. o O o .

Hiccup was itching to get started. Three days weren’t much time to prepare for the task that lay ahead of him, and he didn’t want to waste even one second. But no matter how eager he was to disappear into the royal armoury and work on the shooter, he grudgingly had to yield to Eret’s logic.

“You can’t go and spend all day locked up, working on some secret project. If you do, people will get suspicious, and we can’t have anyone pay overly attention to what either of us is doing.”

So he spent most of the day assisting Eret and Dagur during their training – which probably wasn’t that much of a waste of time, either. It was a little tricky as on the one hand, it couldn’t become obvious that Hiccup was training some techniques for real, while on the other hand, Eret and Dagur couldn’t put too much obvious effort into it. But all he could do was hope that the ruse worked.

Astrid was watching them from afar, but something was strange about her. Hiccup was ecstatic, even as his leg was acting up a little from the unusual workout. For the first time since Astrid’s birthday, he felt true confidence, for their future but also for himself. The plan Eret had come up with was good. It wouldn’t be easy by any means, but it could work. And even more importantly, it was something he could do.

But Hiccup noticed that Astrid wasn’t nearly in as good a mood as he was, even from a distance. She looked tense and anxious, even more so than this morning, almost constantly biting her lip. He wished he could go and talk to her, could ask her what was bothering her. But there were too many people around on the fighting ground; all conversations would have to wait until the night.

And until then, he had to use every bit of time he had. He didn’t join Eret and Dagur for their lunch break and instead spent the time at the armoury. And even though he only had about an hour, he made good progress with the shooter. It was years now since he last worked on a device like this, but it still felt natural, easy as breathing.

After a first inspection, he was relieved to see that nearly all pieces were still in working order. One rod was warped and needed to be pounded back into shape with some work on an anvil. Another was broken and he would need to replace it, same as a bolt or three. But all that was manageable, no reason to worry. If he used his free hours in the evening and on the next day without wasting time, then he should be done by tomorrow night, the morning after at the latest.

The good mood carried him through the day, even though it was a long and exhausting one. After his simple dinner in the servants’ kitchen, it was time to sneak into Astrid’s rooms again, and if it hadn’t been for this happy prospect, he would have just gone to bed directly. His leg hurt more with every step he made through the narrow tunnels as he followed Tuff, and it was only the thought of Astrid that kept him going. Of holding her, but also of the anxiety he’d noticed in her.

And when he entered her bedroom and Ruff closed the door behind him, it quickly became apparent that her mood hadn’t improved all day. She was still as tense as she’d been before if not more, sitting on the edge of her bed with her hands nervously fiddling with her nightgown.

"Hey," she greeted him. There was a smile on her lips but it felt off. It didn’t reach her eyes, even though the warmth and love in them were real.

"Hey," he replied. With a sigh, he sat down next to her, relieved when his weight was off his leg. Whatever it was that was bothering her, they surely could talk about it sitting, right? "Is everything okay?"

But Astrid didn't react. Instead, she frowned, her eyes not meeting his. "Your leg hurts."

It wasn't a question, but Hiccup nodded nonetheless. "A little, yes. With all the training today, that was to be expected. I should probably take it a little easier tomorrow,“ he added lightly.

She nodded, still not looking at him. Instead, her frown deepened and she chewed on her lower lip, thinking. "Do you want me to massage it?" she eventually offered.

Hiccup knew that he should decline. The pain wasn't that bad, nothing a good night's rest wouldn't heal, and letting her hands roam his skin wasn't necessarily advisable anyway. All too well, he remembered how that usually affected him.

But something was keeping him from turning her down. There was something in the way she avoided his gaze, how her hands trembled, that told him that, for some reason, Astrid needed this. He wasn't sure whether it was about having something to do in general or whether she craved contact just as much as he did, but it was there. And he didn't have it in him to deny her. Besides, a massage would definitely help, and coming from her would make it all the sweeter.

"Yeah, that would be great."

On her indication, he made himself comfortable in the middle of her bed, with his back resting against the headrest and the leg of his trousers rolled up as far as possible. Claiming that he didn't enjoy how her hands glided over his skin and worked the tissue and muscles beneath would have been a lie. It felt wonderful, both the relief it brought to his aching leg and the sensations her touch elicited in the rest of his body alike.

But as much as he enjoyed the massage, he also was aware of how anxious Astrid still was, of the wrinkles in her forehead, the tension around her mouth, and how her hands were trembling. She clearly was not okay. But since she’d evaded his question before, all he could do was wait for her to be ready to tell him what was bothering her.

"It makes sense now," she eventually murmured. She wasn't meeting his eyes, her gaze resting on his scarred leg, on her fingers tracing the ugly ragged lines.

"What do you mean?" he asked when she didn't continue.

Astrid swallowed. "Your leg. I... I've been wondering about these scars ever since you showed them to me. Not where they come from!" she quickly clarified, "But... It's just that I've seen the scars on your back. Those wounds there must have been so much worse than the one on your leg. And I always wondered why your back healed so well and your leg didn't. But now I know."

Hiccup sighed. "Yeah... my night in the forest really didn't do me any good. The infection–"

"It's not just that," she interrupted him. "A wound like this needs constant care to heal properly. Cleaning and treatment and fresh bandages and time. Bu-but if you got imprisoned and exiled, your leg got none of that, right?” Her voice was trembling now. “That's why it's still bothering you. Not because the wound was so severe or because it got dirty or even infected. It’s because it never got time to heal."

Hiccup closed his eyes and nodded. "You're right. I only got the barest minimum of treatment before they sent me away. And then, I had to leave quickly and couldn't risk resting for a week or even longer to let the wound heal. I was lucky I didn't lose the leg altogether…" He trailed off as the painful memories made a lump form in his throat; memories of cold nights in the northern forest, of hiding from thieving groups… and of being scared but at the same time not feeling worthy of even the care one of Freya’s temples would have offered.

Astrid shifted, finally looked at him as she reached for his hand. There was a shimmer in her eyes, as if she was close to tears. "Oh, Hiccup," she sniffed. "That... that must have been horrible!"

Swallowing, Hiccup lowered his head. She was right, it had been horrible. Not just because of what had happened, though, but mostly because he hadn't thought it possible that the Tribes' leaders, his own people, would be so callous and cruel. He'd always known that there were some who'd wanted House Haddock removed and even more had been in doubt about him. But he hadn't expected them to directly exile him without a proper trial. To all but execute him without solid evidence.

Astrid's hand was shaking around his, causing him to look up at her again. Her eyes were filled with sadness. "I-I'm so sorry for what you've been through. I wish there was a way to make it all undone. I wish I could spare you all the pain you've been through. And your family! I knew they were dead, but... but what happened to them – it wasn't fair!"

Again, Hiccup swallowed. "No, it wasn't fair," he murmured. He took a moment to take a deep breath and slowly let it out again. "But it's all in the past. What happened happened, and nobody can change it anymore."

Astrid nodded, weakly, her hand tightening around his. "And I'm sorry. For making you talk about them this morning. I can only imagine how much that must have cost you! If there's anything I can do to make it up to you or–"

Hiccup put a finger over her lips, effectively silencing her. "It's all right," he assured her. "You're already doing more than I can ever put into words, just by existing, by being here. Besides... I think it was actually good that I finally talked about it all, about them and what happened. I feel... lighter, somehow. I still miss them, of course, I do. But at the same time, I know that they will always be with me as long as I remember them. They are my past, and while I’ll never forget them… Thinking about them made me remember how happy I was. And it reminded me that it’s worth fighting for a happy life. For our future.”

Astrid sucked in a harsh breath. Again, she began to tremble, so much so that Hiccup pulled her into his arms to comfort her, grateful when she didn’t resist even though he didn't understand what troubled her.

“Hey, hey,” he mumbled into her hair, one hand soothingly rubbing her back. “What’s up? Why are you so upset?”

Sniffling, she burrowed deeper into his embrace. “I don’t like it.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?” There were many things not to like lately, and while he was reasonably sure that she wasn’t talking about their shared future, there were just too many options left.

“Eret’s plan. You having to hunt and fight a dragon. I don’t like it!”

Her words were muffled and it took him a moment to fully understand them. Then he frowned. “Why? It’s the first time we actually have a plan. Finally, it’s something solid we can do, something I can do.”

She snorted against his chest, a humourless laugh. “You know that you don’t have to prove yourself, right?”

“I know,” he sighed. “Not to you. But… I know that it’s stupid, but I feel like I have to prove it to myself – that I’m worthy of you and our future. That I’m not a failure. And I need it to get closure. I couldn’t kill that dragon back then and it ruined my life. So if I now can ensure our life together by killing a dragon… It’s like settling old scores, you know? Besides, Eret is right. If I can earn this title, then we’re going to face far less resistance. It will be easier, all things considered.”

She was silent for a few heartbeats, not replying in any way. Then she seemed to burrow even deeper into his embrace, her mumbled words barely audible. “But only if it works.”

Hiccup grimaced, glad that she couldn’t see his face. “It will work,” he then replied with conviction. “It has to. Remember what the Goddess said? That I have to do what comes naturally? Well, this does. This is something I can do. Even more so, it’s like this is a task that’s made for me, just like Eret said. I have the training and knowledge needed for this Hunt. This has to be what the Goddess meant.”

But Astrid still wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I see what you mean, but… I just have a bad feeling about all this! As if something will go terribly wrong...”

Sighing, he pulled her up until he could look at her. “It won’t go wrong, okay? I won’t let that happen! Not when I have you to come back to.”

“But what if you don’t?” She sounded desperate now. "What if that shooter doesn't work? Or someone attacks you? Or the dragon you find is stronger than you thought? What if you don’t come back?” She shook her head, a single tear running down her cheek.”I don’t want you to leave, don’t want to be apart from you. It feels wrong! I just have this weird feeling about it, as if something will happen when we’re not together, someth–”

He cut her off with a quick kiss. He could see what she was doing, spiralling down into worries and fears. He recognised it, had been there often enough in his life. But thinking like that wouldn’t do them any good. “It won’t go wrong! Do you hear me? For some reason, the Gods need us for their plans, so it won’t go wrong. You’ll see, I’ll be back here before you really notice I’m gone. That I promise you!”

With a pained expression on her face, she shook her head. Slowly, she crawled up the bed until she sat above him, straddling him. Her eyes were sad when they searched his, worried, her hands coming up to brush away strands of his hair. When she kissed him, it was hesitant, careful even, her fingers against his jaw and neck trembling. And yet, it was full of an urgency he didn't quite comprehend, lingering desperation thrumming beneath the surface. Without a doubt, it was fueled by her anxiety, but why she felt that way, he still didn't fully understand.

When she deepened the kiss, he didn't resist though. Her tongue was delving into his mouth, seeking closeness and reassurance, while her hand roamed to the back of his head to hold him close, fingers tugging at his hair. She was trembling, whimpering. Clinging to him as if to dear life. And he just didn’t have it in him to push her away at that moment.

His body liked her squirming in his lap more than it should, but he tried to ignore it, focused only on Astrid instead. For some reason, this was what she needed right now, just like he'd needed her support earlier when he’d talked about his family. So he didn't deny her and instead wound his arms around her lithe frame, holding her close, safe.

And who was he kidding? Kissing her and feeling her so close was a joy on its own. She was so warm, so soft, melting against his chest and into his embrace as if they were one. No matter how good this day had turned out to be, being here with her right now, tasting her kiss and hearing her little sighs, was better than everything else.

And even though he knew he should, he didn’t stop her when their kiss grew more passionate. Her fingertips scraped over his scalp and wandered down to caress his throat in a way that sent shivers all the way down his spine. It made his hands clutch her more firmly, hurl her closer still, made him groan into their kiss, and made heat pool low in his belly. She was all he wanted, all he needed, all that mattered. And, Gods , he wanted her so much.

Without his help, his hands wandered down her body, gliding along the curves of her waist, her hips, and her thighs. The thin fabric of her nightshift did little to cover her; he could feel everything, every muscle moving beneath hot skin. He eagerly swallowed the low moans his touch drew from her, luxuriating in the knowledge that it was he who made her feel like this. It was something he hoped to never lose, the simple joy of making her feel good.

However, when she broke free of their kiss to let out a louder groan and she ground herself down against him in that clear search for more stimulation, he remembered that there was a line they mustn't cross. As if he'd burned himself, he pulled his hands away from her thighs, though only to let them land on her hips instead, holding her still.

“Astrid!” he implored, pleading in a low and hoarse voice.

A low whimper escaped her, but she didn’t move and only let her forehead drop to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I… I got carried away.” She chuckled, embarrassed and a little breathless. Her hands tightened into fists around the fabric of his tunic. “But you better keep your promise, you hear me?”

Hiccup tilted his head to place a soft and relatively innocent kiss below her ear. “I will,” he vowed, his lips twitching. He knew that she was referring to what he'd said a few minutes before, but he couldn't resist teasing her a little, if only to lighten the mood. “I will come back to you. And don’t worry, I’m not going to scam you out of all the nights I’m going to make it up to you, either. You might even beg me for a break every now and then.”

His words had the desired effect as she was chuckling for real now. Her arms slid around his neck and she settled against his shoulder in a comfortable embrace. “Just promise me that you’ll be careful. Promise me that nothing will go wrong. That you won’t get overconfident, that you won't take unnecessary risks, and won’t do anything stupid.”

With his hands slowly caressing up and down her back, Hiccup smiled, hidden within her loose night braids. “All right. I promise not to do something stupid. And don’t worry, I know how dangerous dragons can be; I won’t get cocky. I have too much to lose.”

“Same here,” she mumbled before kissing him again, though sweeter and lighter this time.

After only a few seconds, she pulled back again and even slid off his lap to cuddle to his side instead. Hiccup missed her warmth right away but knew better than to protest. This was not the time for intimate closeness but it would come, soon.

“So, what about that shooter of yours?” Her voice was light, but a little strained. As if she was forcing herself to sound untroubled.

Hiccup grimaced. He didn't want her to pretend for his sake. He pulled her a little closer and brushed his lips against her forehead. "We don't have to talk about this," he mumbled against her skin. "Not if it makes you uncomfortable."

Astrid hesitated, then sighed. "It's… okay. And I think I do need to hear this. I need to know that everything will work out."

Hiccup chuckled. "That limits how I can reply to your question. You realise that, right?"

She snorted, and he could practically hear how she rolled her eyes. "Well, if you tell me now that the shooter won't work then you won't participate in this Hunt anyway."

His lips twitched at her adamant tone. "The shooter is in a good state. A little dusty so I need to clean it thoroughly, and I need to replace a couple of parts. But those are all manageable details. Don't worry, it will be in perfect shape for the Hunt."

"Okay." She nodded, the movement soothing against his arm, and sighed. "Maybe I'm just overreacting after all…"

Hiccup shrugged. "I wouldn't call it overreacting. To be honest, I'm a little nervous, too. But I refuse to let that deter me. You'll see, everything will go smoothly and next week by this time, we'll laugh about all this. And then you'll have to admit that I was right."

She snorted again and shook her head. "Is this a thing of yours? Do you always have to be right?"

Hiccup flinched as her words echoed in his mind but in another voice, a little deeper but with the same playful annoyance.

“What is it?” Astrid looked at him questioningly. She'd noticed his reaction, of course, she had...

“It’s… nothing. Just… Arndis used to say that, too. Complaining about how I’m usually right.” He chuckled, even as a fresh wave of sadness tainted his mood. “Wasn’t my fault she always tried to go straight through the wall instead of taking two steps to the side and around it.”

Astrid sat up until she knelt next to him, watching him carefully. “Would you… tell me more about her? About your family? Only if you feel like it, of course,” she added quickly.”But they meant so much to you, and I… Well, I wish I’d known them.”

Smiling sadly, Hiccup nodded. He leaned back, his eyes on the ceiling as his hand searched for hers.

“Arndis was… a little pigheaded,” he began, chuckling. Absentmindedly, he weaved his fingers through Astrid’s, her touch so soothing and comforting. “She wasn’t unreasonable, just… She had her own mind and wouldn’t let others tell her what to do. Or what she couldn’t do. I told you that women in the Tribes have more freedom than they have here. But Arndis still was the daughter of the High Chief and Grand Duke and was expected to enter a political marriage one day, possibly outside of the Tribes. Our parents tried to teach her certain manners so she wouldn’t be completely lost… but she barely listened. She refused to even learn how to ride on a side-saddle, for example, easily kept up with father’s guards when they got drunk in the Great Hall, and was far better at wielding a sword than her knitting needles. In fact, she was better at wielding a sword than most of Father’s soldiers, I included.”

He chuckled at the memory and marvelled at how easy it was to think about her now, with barely any pain.

"Sounds like my kind of person," Astrid replied, watching him with a smile.

Hiccup nodded. "Yeah, I think you two would have gotten along very well," he said wistfully. "You're a lot like her, in many ways. She never had the patience to master an art like archery, though that’s for the better, I think. She was very competitive – not unlike you, if I think back to our occasional horse races.” In general, those were happy memories but he flinched nonetheless, hadn’t meant to remind her of Markor again. But Astrid didn’t seem to mind.

“Mmh. I wish I'd known her. I met a lot of other highborn daughters over the years, but they were all so boring.” She chuckled, then grew quiet again. “And your brother? Teitr? How was he like?”

Hiccup swallowed, and his hand in Astrid’s twitched. “Teitr… he-he was…” He trailed off with a helpless shrug, then tried again. “He was a surprise, in every aspect. After Arndis and me, nobody expected our parents to have more children – not even them. When my mother became pregnant again and gave birth to another healthy boy, it was like a miracle. And that’s how he got treated, too; he got spoiled rotten by everyone.”

“And by you, too?”

Hiccup’s lips twitched into an involuntary smile at her guess. “Most of all by me. You should have seen him… He was so sweet. Brave and curious and always so full of energy, so eager to explore the world.”

Next to him, Astrid sat up, and only when her fingers brushed over his cheek did he notice the lonely tear there. “You loved him a lot, didn’t you?”

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Hiccup nodded. “It was more than just that, though, he added, a little hesitantly. ”There were many quarrels among the Tribes over the last few years and Father was always busy mediating between the arguing parties. So I often took care of him when Mother had other duties to fulfil – Arndis rarely had the patience for that and I always felt responsible for him – until I kind of… became something of a replacement dad for him?”

Biting his lip, Hiccup dropped his gaze. It brought fresh pain to think of Teitr like this. He’d certainly looked up to Hiccup – and he hadn’t been able to save him.

“Sometimes, he even called me Dad, when he was just learning how to speak and didn’t know the difference mostly, but also a few times when he was older, too, distracted by whatever he wanted to show me.”

He’d never told anyone about this, hadn’t even acknowledged it to himself, but it had happened. Yes, Teitr had been more than just a little brother to him, in a way. Telling Astrid about him, the woman he wanted to start a family with someday, felt both incredibly awkward and absolutely right.

He wasn't sure how he'd expected her to react, but a part of him wasn’t even surprised at how she took it. She wasn’t angry, wasn’t jealous, wasn't rejecting the bond he'd shared with his baby brother as ridiculous. Instead, she offered comfort for his loss, kissing him with the salty taste of sadness on her lips before she straightened to hug him close to her chest. And he could feel it, the sorrow and understanding thrumming through their bond. It showed him again that she was worth it all.

He held her close, his arms wrapped around her waist, and listened to her steadily beating heart until the turmoil in his own chest had settled again. It took a long while, with her all but wrapped around him for comfort, her hands soothingly running through his hair. She seemed to sense when he’d calmed down – or maybe he’d made some noise or movement, Hiccup wasn’t sure – and pulled back to look at him again.

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how that must have been for you. I mean… I lost my baby brother, too. But even though I mourn him that obviously wasn’t the same. I never got the chance to know him. So…” She paused, biting her lip. She averted her eyes and looked a little embarrassed, a slight blush on her cheeks. “I don’t know, I don’t want to come across as presumptuous. But I was thinking… Maybe, if that’s okay with you, then we could name our son Teitr. As a memento?”

Hiccup was momentarily stunned. All too well, he remembered the vision they’d shared, remembered the little boy Astrid had held in her arms there. But now, his mind made up details he wasn’t sure had truly been there before; an open but cheeky smile and a pair of green eyes brimming with life and curiosity.

He had to swallow against the lump in his throat but at the same time, he felt warmth spreading from his chest and through his entire body, not erasing the sorrow and pain but making it easier to bear.

“I… Yes, I think I’d like that,” he mumbled with something of a smile creeping onto his face.

When her eyes met his again, there was a deep understanding in them, a reassuring warmth, and just so much love. It made something melt inside him, and with a sigh, a tension he hadn’t known he’d held left his body. He leaned his forehead against Astrid’s, drawing upon her strength. If that was still possible, he loved her even more now.

“Thank you.”

These two words were too weak to express what he felt, but he hoped that she could feel it, his love and gratitude.

Astrid just hummed in response, tilted her head to kiss him lightly, and then leaned against his chest again.

They stayed silent for a long while after that and just basked in each other’s closeness. Hiccup kept caressing her back and shoulders until her breathing became calm and even, her warm weight against his chest telling him that she was falling asleep. Gently, he guided her to lie down, undressed toward a comfortable state, and slipped beneath the sheets next to her. Astrid only woke up for long enough to cuddle into his arms before her consciousness slipped away again.

Hiccup stayed awake for a little while longer, though. He wasn’t tired, despite the long day, and instead was content with watching her in her sleep. There was something of a tentative smile playing around her lips, but some of the tension from before was still there, her worries and fears creeping back into her now unguarded mind.

With a sigh, he leaned down to brush a butterfly kiss to her brow, then whispered, “Don’t worry, Milady. I’ll do better this time. This time, I won’t fail. I will kill a dragon! I’ll do whatever it takes, for our future. For you. I promise– no, I vow to you. This time, I won't mess it up!"

. o O o .

Uh oh...

...

In good news, the next update shouldn't take that long. It's going to be another interlude and it's already completely written out. And also... it comes with a "Minor Character Death" warning...

Next Chapter

* - . - * - . o O o . - * - . - *

If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

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wherevermyway · 4 years ago

Text

we’re professional. (1/??) // minbin // 18+

❄ part of yuki’s favourites! ❄

we’re professional. chapter one: sophisticated series navigation: [desktop] [mobile]

pairing: lee minho x seo changbin rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, eventual sexual content, age difference, art student changbin, artist minho, fake dating AU. word count: 4,807 also on AO3

originally posted: 17 december 2020

series summary: Lee Minho, or Minho: The Heartless, is a famous artist, which comes with an annoying entourage of paparazzi that are very invested in his life.

Two years ago, a piece at UBC's annual student's exhibit catches Minho's eye: "arranged: in black", a series of greyscale paintings crafted by sophomore Seo Changbin. Minho talks with Changbin at length for hours, then offers to help him financially if they pretend to date for a while, so Minho can please the press. Naturally, a walking exhibit of the "starving artist" stereotype, Changbin accepts the offer wholeheartedly.

There are no strings attached: Changbin can leave at any time. Hell, Minho doesn't even ask him for sex in exchange for the money, just companionship and occasional skinship. Changbin knows that Minho is emotionally damaged from several bad relationships in the past, so to have someone pay him just for providing them company is nice. Sure, he could go off and date someone and work on settling down, but he just doesn't want to. Minho is too interesting, too valuable.

Eventually, something's gotta give. When it does, it could potentially damage their relationship and careers forever.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

chapter summary: Minho brings up an interesting proposal while celebrating the second year of his professional arrangement with Changbin.

“I can’t accept this.” The young, blue-haired man at the opposite side of the table of a middle-aged brunette pushes an open envelope back across the table. “It’s too much. You’ve already given me so much this month, I couldn’t possibly accept anymore.”

“Changbin,” the brunette smirks, bringing the crystal glass of wine up to his mouth. “Please, don’t insult me. I’m not offering this just off the cuff. Besides, it’s not just cash that’s in there.”

The bluenette frowns, bringing his gin and tonic to his mouth, taking a careful, prescribed sip as he watches the older man cautiously. He lets the gin burn its way down his throat before he sighs. “It’s sex, then. That’s what you want, Minho?”

“No.” Minho’s expression quickly turns serious and slightly sour. “Not at all. I told you when we first started this arrangement that this wouldn’t turn sexual.”

“Right.” Changbin cocks his eyebrows up in response, his tone somewhat sarcastic. He brings the glass up again, tilting it and his head backwards, letting the ice slink down and hit him in the nose as he finishes off his drink. He sets the glass down on to the table, ice settling with a soft clink, before he rolls his eyes up and frowns. “What’s all this for, then?” The young man rolls his wrist around, bringing his chin down to his right hand. “You’ve really gone all out for this date.”

Minho softly smiles, then mimics Changbin, mirroring him in the way that he places his head in his left palm. “It’s been two years, officially.” He makes eye contact with a server somewhere off in the distance, and nods upward.

“Two years, eh?” Changbin tuts. “Surprising that neither of us have gotten sick of each other, nor found other people to spend time with.” He takes in a quick breath, then flashes his teeth with a lazy smirk. “Sure you’re not getting serious with me yet?”

The older man opens his mouth to speak, but quickly recedes his statement as a lanky waiter confidently struts over to the table. “Hyunjin, could you please bring me the bottle of Clos D’Ambonnay I have in the back?”

“Of course, Mr. Lee,” the blond waiter nods his head once with a polite smile before he makes his way back to whence he came.

Changbin squinted, knitting his brows together as he shook his head once. “You own this restaurant, too, don’t you?”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t necessarily say own it, no.” Minho hums, bringing his index finger in between his teeth as he ponders. “It’s a partnership with an old colleague of mine, Chan; you met him at the Vivace Vancouver exhibit over the spring. He had that dreadful red hair, the one where you said he looked like he got electrocuted and then spray painted by an angry ex-lover.”

The younger man’s eyes go wide as he tries to hold back his laughter. “Oh my god,” he sighs, “I remember that. How do you forget something so audacious, is that even possible?” He regains his composure and rests upright against the back of the chair. “In my defence, though, I was two glasses of Chianti in when I said that. Please tell me that his hair isn’t that horrible shade anymore. It was so bad.”

Minho smiles widely and softly shakes his head. “No, no, god, no. I met with him the day after and told him that he needed to go back to see my stylist immediately and never go back to the hellspawn that butchered his hair.”

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Lee,” the lanky waiter from before returned, presenting a black bottle before he placed it on top of the table. “As requested.” He placed well-crafted champagne flutes in front of both Minho and Changbin.

“Hyunjin,” Minho tutted as the waiter grabbed the bottle, “I’ve told you several times that just ‘Minho’ is fine.”

The blond waiter half-smiled as he wrapped a hand towel around the cork, deftly wiggling it off with a muffled pop. “And I will tell you each time,” he poured some of the champagne into Changbin’s glass first, “you will always be Mr. Lee when I’m at work.”

“You’re too stiff,” the brunette gently pushed his glass towards the blond as he set Changbin’s glass down. “I know that Chan — sorry, Mr. Bang — is strict with all of you, to maintain a pristine image,” Hyunjin picks up Minho’s glass and bites his lip as if he’s holding back commentary, “but you’re still in your prime. Bend the rules a little while you can get away with it.”

Changbin watches the way Minho’s eyes flutter around from the glass to Hyunjin, catching himself getting caught up in the way the light sparkles against his brown eyes, the way his eyelashes paint shadows on his irises. He doesn’t mean for every detail to be etched into his memory, but there was always something about remembering the details of Minho’s soft face that warmed him. If it were any other world, any other person, perhaps he would be catching feelings.

This arrangement, however, was strictly professional. There was no room for feelings.

Hyunjin sets the bottle back down onto the table. “Sure thing, Minho,” he sarcastically scoffs as he wiggles his shoulders in some sort of strange dance of mockery. “Would you like an ice bucket to keep this chilled?”

Minho shrugs, seemingly indifferent, but his expression turns a bit more serious. “I suppose. Don’t worry about us, though. Tend to the other customers first — we’ll be here for a while longer. A bit of champagne slowly warming won’t be the end of the world.”

“You got it, Mr. Lee,” Hyunjin says, tipping his index and middle fingers off of his forehead in some sort of joking salute before he spins on his heel and walks off to another table.

Minho grabs his champagne flute and flashes his teeth at Changbin. “Sorry about that, love, I’ve just gotta give the staff here trouble every now and again.”

Changbin blushes as he picks up his champagne flute, bringing it close to Minho’s. “Don’t apologize.” He tries to restrain his embarrassment, still mentally replaying the way that Minho called him ‘love’, desperately trying to get the sound to imprint upon his memory. “Anyway,” he lifts his head from his palm and stares directly into the brunette’s eyes. “Two years? I can’t believe it’s been this long since I met you.”

“Your ‘arranged: in black’ series captured me, Changbin, what can I say?” The older man tilts his head to the side, tugging his lips into a smile. “I still think about it every day.”

“It’s hard to avoid thinking about it when all four pieces are hanging behind your bed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Suppose that’s fair,” Minho bites his bottom lip as he avoids laughing. “But, wow, two years. Two very eventful years. To think, you were a scraggly sophomore two years ago when I met you. You really kind of fit the ‘starving artist’ stereotype back then, hmm?”

Changbin’s eyes subconsciously darted down to the maroon tablecloth. He avoided thinking about his life before he met Minho, since it wasn’t something he was overly fond of. Sleeping for a couple of hours a night after a late dishwashing shift at the restaurant, waking up before dawn to run to his part-time barista job, then somehow getting to class just in time to nearly doze off mid-project sketch, all to repeat it again the next day. The chronic sleep deprivation painted him in an ashy grey, and he perpetually smelled of instant ramen and coffee.

No. That was in the past.

He shuddered at the thought of his past life. It was stressful, and he was thankful that Minho came along and offered him some kindness. Most art students either came from wealthy families, or lived in the same shoes that Changbin did. The ones that weren’t from wealthy lineage would probably stay under the poverty line for the rest of their lives, but at least they would be happy creating things that came from the depths of their soul.

For some, it was worth the sacrifice. He knew what he was getting into when he was accepted into the visual arts programme at the University of British Columbia, and he was prepared for the pain and agony it would cause him for the small chance he could make it big while doing something he loved.

“Binnie, love?” Minho’s soft voice pulled Changbin from his memory. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Changbin nodded his head a couple of times, almost as if he was willing himself to be calm. “Sorry, I just kinda got distracted. Thought about when we first met and kinda got transported back in time.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it definitely was far from the truth.

The older man softly smiled and nudged his champagne flute forward. “Well, here’s to two years of whatever the hell this is. Here’s to however long we have left and to wherever we may go next.”

Changbin smiled, turning his chin slightly inward as he tapped his flute against Minho’s. “I like that. To whatever the hell is next.”

“‘Whatever the hell is next’,” Minho smiled as he brought the flute up to his lips. “That’s a good one.”

They didn’t get to the bottom of the bottle of champagne until about a half-hour past closing. It had been two years of the same company every Tuesday and Thursday night, and usually most Fridays and Saturdays, yet they still found new things to talk about each time they met. “You’re still so foolishly young and in university,” Minho would scold Changbin over the phone, “so go out and get hammered at a stupid house party and I’ll come by tomorrow and help nurse you out of your hangover.” Minho was really a sweetheart, even if he didn’t want to date and was, to quote Minho himself, ‘emotionally unavailable’.

It had been two years, and Changbin still didn’t fully understand why people were so pressed on calling Minho heartless.

“And so,” Changbin took a sip of water from his glass, setting it down a bit roughly, some of the water sloshing around and splashing on to the table, “I had to sketch a live model, right? Turns out Seungmin makes a horrible model at two in the morning, but we thought the idea was brilliant.”

Minho loudly cackles, throwing his head back and clapping his hands once in front of his face. “You had just gotten done downing several shots at the bar. What made either of you think that sketching in charcoal was a good idea?”

The younger man folds over, resting his head in his palms as he tries not to collapse on to the floor in laughter. “The project was due on Monday! And, hey, we got it done, and I somehow got a decent grade in the end.”

“Ah,” Minho leans back into his chair as he looks up to the wall to his left, smiling as he wipes a tear from his eye. “I’d love to scold you for that, but the truth is, I can’t. I did the same things in uni ten years ago.”

Changbin rests his chin against the back of his hand, languidly smiling as he watches Minho get lost in memories past. These moments that they shared, where they were just so plainly human — not a famous artist, not a struggling art student, but simply Minho and Changbin — these were why Changbin never sought out another partner. It was unconventional to most people, especially those his age, to have such a hands-off relationship, but it just worked for them. Sometimes, the things that came off the most discordant could somehow still find a way to harmonize, and that was what they did.

“You know, you didn’t totally open the envelope,” Minho points at the middle of the table with an open hand, as if he were guiding Changbin back to the thick paper.

Changbin shrugged his shoulders and bashfully looked away for a moment before staring Minho down. “Come on, Min,” he lowers his voice a bit, “I don’t need to know how much you’re giving me, at least not now.”

Minho dismissively waves his hand before nudging the envelope back to Changbin. “It’s not just money, love, I promise. Nothing too domestic, either. Just,” he pauses, bringing a finger to his chin as he looks up at the ceiling, “I suppose it’s partially a token of my appreciation? Yeah, that sounds right. A way to tell you I’m thankful you’ve stuck around for so long, even with all of the weird shit we’ve gone through. There’s more to it than that, but that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno, you’re making this feel like a real relationship,” the bluenette sarcastically mumbles a bit as he gingerly picks up the envelope, squinting a bit at Minho. He opens it, then pulls out a few plastic-like polymer bills: some green, some red. His expression quickly shifts to confusion when he comes across papery stationary, the textural difference causing a nerve to spark up in his arm. Stationary. A letter? He pulls the light grey paper out of the envelope, eyeing Minho as he opens it. “Really? Getting awfully boyfriend-like on me, Min.”

“Oh, come on, just read it,” the older man tuts, rifling through the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I promise, it’s not as sappy as it looks.”

Changbin plucks his glasses from the table, wiggling the temples to fit just behind his ears, then clears his throat. He tries to swallow down the smirk on his face as he mocks Minho’s intonation and speech. “My loveliest Changbin,” a laugh creeps up from his stomach as he reads on. “Every single day, I wake up and I see your ‘arranged: in black’ pieces, intricately framed behind my bed, and I’m taken aback by the fact that your mind knows no bounds when it comes to expressing creativity.” The younger man peers over the sheet again, studying the somewhat bored, slightly flustered expression on the elder’s face.

“So I had a couple of glasses of wine while writing, I got a bit sentimental.” Minho flutters his lips as he rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist. “At least it’s not as bad as last year’s letter.”

Changbin smiled, but quickly brought the paper in front of his face to hide the subtle reddish tint growing on his face. “I usually don’t like keeping my own work, as you know,” he continued to read off of the letter, still avoiding eye contact with Minho, “but the graphite portrait of you, asleep on my bed from your last bout of finals — it holds a special spot in my heart. I love seeing it every time I enter my closet. It’s like there are little reminders of you scattered across my apartment, and across my heart.”

Oh.

There was a warmth that blossomed and grew in Changbin’s abdomen. The warmth reminded him of ivy hanging off of old buildings, quickly encompassing and embracing everything within its reach. It was a strange sensation, and it gave him pause before he continued reading the note.

Perhaps this was more than sentimental.

Perhaps Changbin was reading too far into things again.

“Changbin?” Minho’s voice pulled the bluenette from the cavern of thoughts he had recessed himself into. “Where did you go?” His tone was firm, distracting Changbin from the fact that Minho had interlaced his fingers between the younger man’s left hand.

This was something they always did. Minho was always touchy-feely, even if it didn’t progress past shirtless embraces as they slept next to each other, or walking hand-in-hand. The way the pads of Minho’s fingertips softly caressed the back of his hand, though, made things seem different. Special.

“Your closet.” Realizing he had spent too much time losing himself in between the grooves of Minho’s fingerprints, Changbin sputtered out some words to barely form a coherent thought. “You reminded me that I still have one of your Burberry hoodies lost somewhere in my apartment.”

Minho furrowed his brows for a moment, trying not to get caught up on how distant Changbin’s response was. “The oversized black one? You know I don’t mind if you keep it, Bin.”

“It was nearly a thousand dollars, Minho.”

The older man scoffs and rolls his eyes a bit, bringing his left hand up to the table, a small brown box of sorts covered up by his palm. “Well,” the brunette squeezed Changbin’s hand a bit, causing them to make eye contact, “when you’re done reading that letter, I’ll be sure to avoid telling you how much your ‘anniversary’ gift is.” Minho winked as he ended his sentence, right when Changbin was thinking about saying something in protest.

“Minho,” Changbin whines, drooping his shoulders a bit as he frowns.

“Changbin,” Minho teases a bit as he mockingly whines in response. “Trust me, it’s not just me spending money aimlessly. It’ll tie into the idea I have in that letter. You know, really make some of those tabloids make us look nice and get off our backs for a while.”

The younger man bit his tongue and scanned his eyes down the letter, trying to find the last spot he had read over. Across my apartment , reading the words caused his hands to sweat, across my heart, made his stomach clench. Domestic and soft, exactly what they were, but also, somehow exactly what they were not. He continued reading off the letter, but his memories started creeping up during the empty gaps between sentences.

There was the callous bite to Minho’s tone during their first real meet-up. “Our arrangement is for mutual gains: you’ll be able to live comfortably, and I’ll get the press off of my back. You won’t be a starving artist, and I’ll no longer be ‘Minho, the Heartless’. We’re professional boyfriends: all of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings.” His bony hands felt cold, like ice, when they shook hands to confirm their arrangement. Changbin had felt in over his head then, but he knew he didn’t have anywhere else to turn.

In contrast, there was the night that Changbin had recently stayed over at the end of October. They had gotten back shortly after one in the morning after celebrating Minho’s thirty-first birthday with a handful of his friends and several well-renowned professional artists and gallery owners. Sure, Changbin had been Minho’s quote-unquote “boyfriend” for the night, but it benefitted his art career a bit, just to branch out and connect. None of that had mattered, though, because the best part was when they had gotten half-undressed and passed out on Minho’s duvet together, giggling about how some of the attendees thought ‘artist’s birthday’ meant ‘licence to dress as insanely as humanly possible’. The one-on-one time was always what Changbin looked forward to the most: that soft, personal connection with another person on such a raw, human level.

That was the weekend he borrowed Minho’s black, oversized Burberry sweater to wear home. Changbin lied earlier. He knew exactly where it was: curled up next to his wall in his bed. The soft scent of bergamot and mandarin of the Dior Sauvage that Minho wore on his wrists and in the divots of his clavicles had slowly started to fade into hints of vanilla and sandalwood. While he knew that his arrangement with Minho wouldn’t last forever, he wanted to live in the moments that made him feel like he was in a true, caring relationship. He had a friend in Minho, he truly did. It would probably hurt like hell when they eventually decided to move on from their agreement.

We're professional. Changbin would remind himself every night as he curled up into Minho’s sweater, remembering the way Minho’s arms felt warm on his back and on his shoulders, how soft his manicured fingers were when they fit perfectly in between Changbin’s. We are not real boyfriends. The sweater would catch his inevitable tears as he lost himself in the confusing haze they had painted themselves under. Business dynamic. This was the price he would pay to get into the elusive elitist art world. Strictly professional.

Even if it cost him his sanity.

“Did I just read that correctly?” Changbin’s voice was alarmed, and he frantically re-read the words on the paper before darting his eyes around nervously. Minho smirked as Changbin leaned over the table, dropping his voice to a just-audible whisper. “You want to do what to get the press’ attention?”

Minho grabbed the ashy brown jewellery box from the table, letting go of Changbin’s left hand. He opened the box and his expression flattened. “Exactly what the paper says, Bin.” Inside the desaturated box sat a contrastingly bright, rose gold band.

It was a ring embedded with actual fucking diamonds.

To anyone else, this would be serious. ‘Call your parents, scream at your best friend, even at two in the morning’ levels of seriousness. However, Changbin and Minho were not ‘anyone else’. They were in their own strange, unique bubble where the rules of modern society did not apply to them.

“How about we graduate from professional boyfriends to professional fiancés?”

Like most Sunday mornings nowadays, Changbin woke up to the scent of freshly-brewed coffee. Minho may have travelled to fancy galleries across the world and tried extravagant blends of coffee during his tenure, but he would always fall back on Starbucks’ blonde roast for his morning routines. “Why bother going through all of the effort of getting my hands on something overly fancy from Europe? I have yet to be let down by this one, and it’s been over ten years since I started drinking it. Why stop now?”

The logic made sense, really, and the coffee wasn’t bad.

“The Vancouver Sun’s already got an article out,” Minho excitedly muttered under his breath, setting a ceramic mug down on the nightstand closest to Changbin. He stared at his phone as he made his way back around the bed, causing the mattress to sink as he sat down. “So many people are speculating, like it even matters. If they had really been following me these past two years, they’d know better.”

It was too early for this. Minho was always business as soon as he woke up: endearing in theory, terribly annoying in practice.

Changbin rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he rolled onto his back, sleepily glaring up at Minho. “You’re loud.”

“And you’re hungover,” the brunette quipped, not looking away from his phone as he smiled at himself. “Drink your water and your coffee, love, you’ll feel better.”

“Whatever,” Changbin grumbled under his breath as he sat up, reaching over to the nightstand. There was a sheen on his left hand that caused him to momentarily lose his breath. Shit. He drew his hand into his face to stare at the ring he had conveniently forgotten about overnight. It felt like nothing before he noticed it, but now that he was staring at it, it felt like the ring was going to cut off the circulation to his finger. It felt like a boa constrictor was tightening around him, making it hard to breathe.

Changbin had every intention to pull himself away from the suffocation of the ring. Instead, he found himself trying to count each small diamond wedged between the two layers of rose gold. A sudden dip right behind him and an arm around his waist literally pulled him from his thoughts. “Min!”

“It’s pretty,” Minho gently grabbed Changbin’s hand, tucking his chin into the younger man’s shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d like rose gold, but I know you hate gold, and silver’s too simple for you. For a fake engagement ring, seems pretty convincing, hmm?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, Changbin sinks into Minho’s embrace. Blame it on the fatigue, he figured, but found himself surprised that the older man didn’t pull away. For the shortest of moments, it almost feels like they’re meant to fit together like this. “It’s expensive,” the brunette whispers, “to no one’s surprise, so please don’t lose it.”

The younger man squints in disapproval. “How much was it?”

“It’s impolite to ask a fiancé something like that, you know,” Minho huffs a bit dramatically as he feigns irritation.

Changbin, however, seems plenty irritated for the both of them. He rolls around, mere centimetres away from Minho’s face as he frowns up at the older man. “It’s a good thing this is all fake, then, right? How much was it?”

“Bin,” the brunette’s expression falters as he cocks his head to the side. “It’s not important, I don’t understand why you’re so—”

Changbin desperately wants to stay this close to Minho, to drown in his embrace and the warmth of his touch. Professional. Fake boyfriends, fake fiancés. “It’s just for show, I know. Since it’s fake, though, you shouldn’t have a problem telling me, right?” There’s a layer of hurt in his voice that he knows he can’t hide. He dips his chin into his chest and closes his eyes, desperate to make this all just stop and go away. Something about this, though, just felt too real, too close to an actual relationship.

What the fuck were they doing? All of this had to cross some sort of unspoken relationship rule somewhere, right? The blurred lines between what was real and what was fake in their arrangement was causing Changbin's head to spin.

Minho doesn’t seem sure about how to handle the situation. The moments pass by in silence until the older man takes in a deep breath, then he wiggles his index finger under Changbin’s chin, tilting his face upwards. “Hey,” he quietly demands, “look at me, Bin.”

So, the bluenette does as requested. He stares into Minho’s eyes and instantly softens.

“If it bothers you that much, I can go out and get something simpler.” Minho’s voice quivers a bit, almost like he feels how uncomfortable Changbin is. “I just… I don’t know what I was thinking when I went out and I got this one. I looked around with the agent for over an hour, and then that one just caught my eye, just as things were looking hopeless.”

Suddenly, Changbin’s hand is in Minho’s again, and the older man stares at the band with purpose, rotating the younger man’s hand around freely. “I guess I put in a bit too much of a personal flair on this. I really prioritized what I figured you’d like before the importance of keeping up the façade that this is all fake.”

They both stare at the ring for a moment, then look at one another. Neither of them moved, neither of them breathed as they stared at each other with shared panic, concern, worry. There was an unfamiliar emotion that lingered at the back of their gaze, but it was hard to place. Changbin hadn’t felt anything like this before. He was equal parts nervous, nauseated, and lost.

If this were like the romantic comedies that Changbin and Seungmin would watch while hungover, this would be the part where Minho would roll on top of him, say something like “fuck the rules, I just want you”. They would cry and kiss and roll around the sheets together. There would be a swell of uplifting orchestral music in the background, indicating that fate had given its blessing on the couple.

This wasn’t a movie, though. This was fucking reality, and there was nothing but tension in the air and a yearning in the bottom of Changbin’s stomach. Their situation was complex and convoluted and it was going to end in heartbreak for him, and only him. Really, he had no one to blame but himself.

Our arrangement is for mutual gains. Minho’s voice was so loud.

We’re professional boyfriends. It was sour.

All of the benefits, none of the downsides, like feelings. It hurt as it echoed in Changbin’s head, but Minho’s voice was all he wanted to hear.

Feelings.

Feelings?

That’s when it hit Changbin: he was falling for Minho — Minho, the (supposedly, yet to be proven) Heartless — and he couldn’t stop himself, no matter how stupid he knew it was. Perhaps the most terrifying part of this, though, wasn’t the fact that Minho didn’t feel the same way.

No, the most terrifying thing was that Changbin couldn’t tell if Minho was actually interested in him or not. Minho always felt strongly one way or another. For them to sit here, struck dumb in silence, was unnerving. The silence meant uncertainty.

It meant possibility.

#we're professional #skz fics #lee minho x seo changbin #seo changbin x lee minho #minbin #minho x changbin #changbin x minho #wherevermyway

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jaeminlore · 5 years ago

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside | Ten

spinoff

summary: your eyes are like starlight now

words: 2.5k+

category: break down the wall extension, prince!ten, arranged marriage au, you should read break down the wall before you read this but i won’t make you

notes: belldom is a made up holiday in the bdtw universe. most of it is explained in the story. Also this kind of sucks but also i really like it so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Belldom is three days away, and the entire castle is on lockdown.

Not because of any immediate danger. Not really. It’s just that the ceremonial bells have been broken, and it’s all your fault. You and Ten, who decided that it would be fun to see just how hard you could ring the bells made of literal sea glass.

“It’s their fault for letting us around them, anyway,” Ten mutters while your parents chide the two of you.

“We let you in there to practice your speech!” Ten’s mother says, pointing a finger at her son. “Not see how loud you could ring the bells.”

“We weren’t checking the volume,” you assure her. “We weren’t even messing with the bells.”

“Yeah,” Ten bumps his shoulder against yours in some kind of silent comradery. “They broke because I threw an apple at her, and I missed.”

“The apples from the kitchen?” Your mother pales just as Ten’s father shouts, “You threw an apple at your wife?”

“A very small one,” Ten says, squishing his thumb and forefinger together.

“Yeah,” you dig into your skirt pocket and bring out another – broken up – fruit. “I threw a pear.”

Pear juice drips down your wrist, and you can feel the stickiness begin to seep down into your dress. Your special, tailor-made dress perfected for the ceremony.

“I liked the two of you when you weren’t a tag team of hellions,” your mother mutters, not much bite in her tone. “Go wash up, and you better find some replacement bells before Belldom, or you two are going to have to break it to the kingdom.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ten giggles. He bows, pulling you down into curtsie, despite your reluctance.

When the two of you exit the castle on foot, ignoring the bodyguards that walk only twenty feet behind you, Ten grabs your hand and brings it to his lips. “At least we get the day to ourselves, now.”

You agree, though it’s a bit hard to voice anything right now. This winter has been absolutely brutal. Frost covers the windowpanes of the village shops. Jingle bells, cowbells, and handbells are set out or strung up in celebration of the musical holiday arriving soon. With every gust of wind, a bell chimes, and it sets off a sort of chain reaction, as people begin to laugh along to the merry sound.

It’s been a while since you and Ten visited the village, simply because of too many duties in the castle. This year preparations for a coronation will start, and before the year is over, Ten will be the new king, while you will be the reigning queen. This is the last Belldom that the two of you have any independence away from shouldering the entire kingdom on your backs.

Of course your parents will be around, but the responsibility won’t fall on their shoulders anymore. Soon the safety of the kingdom will be in your hands. That’s terrifying, and perhaps the only reason you and Ten are trying to hold on to what freedom you still have.

Ten’s hand fits warmly in yours. Like a fitted puzzle piece, and you can’t help but remember all the times you used to long for his hand. Now he’s yours, in more than just title and deed. His heart is yours, as yours is his. The thought keeps your heart softened against the bitter cold.

“Where would we even find bells so late into the holiday?” Ten asks, peering into a shop window. “No one’s going to give theirs away now.”

The holiday is more of a traditional contest. It’s a quest to see who has more bells in their possession. To taper down any greed that might arise, there are only a certain amount of bells in the entire kingdom. Additionally, bells are the only goods in the kingdom not transferable by money. One must trade one of their own goods for a bell throughout the year, and whoever has the most at the end of the year receives a prize.

Not only does it encourage fun throughout the land, it’s also a way to afford stuff when money is tight. Bells are their own currency, a playful and lyrical one.

You haven’t brought any goods to trade. Not proper gifts, anyway.

After washing up, your tailor refused to let you out in anything else that might get ruined, so you had to settle for cotton trousers and one of Ten’s shirts. Ten’s style mimics yours, meaning the two of you forwent any additional accessories. Not even a watch adorns Ten’s wrist, so the two of you play a quick game of rock-paper-scissors to see who must give up their cloak.

All of this is backstory, of course, for the now. The now being, Belldom is two days away, and Ten is sick in bed with a cold, brought on by the chill of the village.

But, he successfully got a bell, which is being painted in the royal artist’s chambers right now.

Ten has the thick covers tucked under his chin to keep the chill off of his body (no doubt still just in his shorts and an unbuttoned nightshirt.) The fan overhead still whirs at high speed, and the fire is fully stoked, leaving you to stand in the middle of the room in a confused daze. “Ten, love, are you cold or hot?”

“I’m bored,” Ten whines. He twiddles his thumbs over the covers and looks pointedly at you.

You sit down on the edge of the bed and kiss your husband’s forehead. “Don’t make me feel bad for winning rock-paper-scissors fair and square.”

“I still think you cheated,” Ten says childishly. His eyes shine up at you, a bit glossy from his cold. But still, the blackwood color comforts you.

You rake your fingers through his hair, heart swelling at the way he preens beneath your touch. “I have to go prepare for Belldom. I’m days behind, and my mother is going to kill me.”

“Aren’t the holidays about spending time with your family?” Ten holds your hands between his and bats his eyelashes sweetly at you. “Namely, me: your darling husband?”

“Oh, you’re something,” you say, standing up. “I wouldn’t call it darling.”

Ten truly looks pitiful, laid up in bed so close to his favorite holiday. At this rate, you’re sure he’ll miss the start of the festival tomorrow. There, dancers will perform and artists will commission their art. It’s a place where Ten can simply be, and you’re happy to sit back and watch. It’s when Ten can find a fellow artist with a similar style and trade tips. It’s where he can find a few dancers and tell them that they’re better than he is.

It’s the time of the year where you fall in love with Ten just a bit more.

But you really can’t stay. “Ten, I have to go help set up booths at the festival.”

“It’s too cold out there,” Ten says. He brings your hand to his hot forehead, as if to prove a point. “You might die.”

“You’re far too dramatic.” You gift Ten with another kiss atop his head, wishing you could kiss his lips. However, two sick monarchs on a holiday isn’t quite the image you would like to put forward. “If you don’t want me to go outside, I’ll stay in and help bake the apple-pear pies. That’s only fair, right? Since we stole some of theirs ingredients?”

“We gave them back,” Ten mumbles.

“Yeah, all mushy and gross!” You stand up, “I’ll come back, alright love? Just focus on getting better.”

Ten spends the rest of the day holed up in his room, sketching as many memories as he can before the colors of the pastels begin to blur together. He opts for lying on his back, gaze focused up at the canopy above the bed. He studies the embroidered flowers, picking out his favorite shades and designs.

Finally, he groans in defeat. “Guards! Come quick! It’s an emergency!”

He waits. No one. Then, after a good ten minutes, you open the door. “Ten, the guards know by now that when it’s an emergency, you just want to see me.”

You look really beautiful. Ten knows you would deny it if he said it out loud, so for now he tucks the thought away. “I missed you,” he says instead. “Can you please stay with me?”

You close your fists over your hips and try to blow a stray lock of hair out of your face. Ten knows you aren’t upset by the way you keep walking towards him.

You finally sit beside him on the bed. Your hands are freezing when you sneak them under his shirt, and Ten lets out an involuntary curse. “Sorry,” you say, “but if I’m gonna stay in here, you’re going to warm me up.”

“Oh?” Ten smirks down at you.

“Not like that!” You slap his chest. “You’re sick.”

Ten laughs giddily, catching the rosy tint across your face, and they way your nose is running just slightly from the drastic change in temperature between here and outside. He knows he’s too sick, and you’re too busy, but moments like this feel more intimate than anything else. He likes seeing you completely comfortable around him, like you feel one hundred percent safe with him. “What if I wasn’t sick?” He teases you further, liking when you bury your face into his chest in protest.

“Maybe then,” you stick your tongue out at him before burying your face back into his chest.

The Belldom festival is in full swing, and Ten is allowed to go if he wears a mask and agrees to be back into the castle by noon.

This news makes you happy, because you get to walk hand in hand with him through the streets of your beloved joint kingdom, now one.

Ten passes by a booth where a young girl is painting her bells and trading them for food.

She’s clearly the only one providing for her family. You can tell in the way she’s selling her art on the only canvas she has; which seem to be a huge collection of bells. You can tell in the way she trades them for barely a meal’s worth of barley.

“Ten,” you nudge his arm.

“I see her,” Ten says, and you are reminded that the two of you often think in tandem.

She’s clearly the only person here struggling, as far as you can tell, and she’s being passed by. But you see her, and Ten sees her, and maybe that’s enough.

“Hey, Love,” Ten approaches her slowly, aware that his mask is obstructing his face. “This is my wife, Y/n, and I’m Ten. Could we hang out with you for a bit?”

The girl looks at you, her brown eyes aflame with recognition. “You’re... you’re the princess. And the prince. I’m- I’m sorry,” she stands up and takes a clumsy bow. “I’m Cass.”

“Hi, Cass,” you grasp her hands and pull her up. “None of that. We just want to hang out.”

“I paint too!” Ten days brightly. He picks up a handbell, painted with lavender and baby pink hues. “This is really beautiful! Where do you get such pigmented paints?”

Cass closes in on herself. The dark shadows beneath her eyes are prominent. “I make them myself.”

“What?” Ten takes a seat in the spare chair outside of the booth and leans in closer, always the invader of personal space. “You can make your own paints? How?”

“I gather different berries and plants to make dyes,” Cass says, voice growing more confident once she notices that Ten is impressed. “Then I mix in a few oils to keep the color fresh. I’m not really sure how the science works, but my dad taught me when I was little, and I’ve remembered it ever since.”

“Your dad sounds cool,” Ten comments. He brushes across a cowbell with his fingertips.

“He’s sick,” Cass says. “Not like you. This is a sick that doesn’t have any medicine. No cure. My mother is so upset about it that she hasn’t been out of bed in weeks. My little brother needs food, and since I’m too young to get an apprenticeship, I’m trading in my bells.”

“You sure do have a lot of them,” you say, avoiding the obvious elephant in the room. You catch Ten’s eyes and he nods subtly. “Would you like to keep them?”

“I can’t, Your Highness. I just said–“

“You know, I really need some new paints,” Ten says. “How about I get you a license to sell your paints? I’ll pay you to send me a new case of paints each month. You can provide for your family and keep you bells for the contest.”

You and Ten know the bells aren’t meant to be traded for livelihood. They’re a type of currency, sure, but they certainly are not supposed to be the only currency a family has.

“That’s too much for a few paints,” Cass says. She tugs on a coil of her dark hair.

Ten leans against the table. “I don’t know. Think about it. You still go to school, so that’s half of your day. Then you have to go into the forest and find the ingredients, which is all dependent on nature. After that, you have to make all the paints, which probably takes a lot of your free time.”

Cass bites her lip and smiles at you. “Is he serious?”

“Of course, he is, love.” You reach out to poke Cass’ cheek. When she giggles, you feel a flood of pain at the thought of her having to take care of her brother by herself. “Can you write down your address for me? I’ll send the royal healer to check on your father and see if there’s something he can do. He might have a special brew that can make your mother a bit happier, as well.”

Cass smiles. “Thank you, so much. Do you guys want to come over for dinner tonight? I know you’re busy, but I’m making pie for the first time ever. It might not be good but–“

“We’d love to,” Ten cuts in, smiling. “We have a fun game to play with the apple and pear cores, too.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “It’s called ‘Try Not To Break The Bells’.”

“That was fun.” You snuggle into the covers, liking the way they smell fresh and washed. “Cass has a lovely family.”

You remember the smile on her mother’s face when Cass told her about the healer. You remember how fun it was to make a pie with Cass. You remember the way Ten picked up Cass’ little brother and spun him around the room. “I love you,” you say.

“Are you just saying that because I held a baby today?” Ten’s tone is teasing once again, but when he turns to face you, his eyes seem to sparkle with joy. “I love you, too.”

You snuggle into him, forehead against his bare chest. You wish you could kiss him, but the bell-ringing ceremony is tomorrow and you can’t risk a cold. “I’m glad I got to spend today with you, even if I’m pretty sure I did get frostbite.”

“I told you it was cold outside.”

#break down the wall #nct au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct scenario #ten au #ten fluff #ten angst #ten scenario #ten scenarios #destwrites

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