#as in she would say something and i would hurriedly scribble/sketch it down

[pbnmj]

i deserve a spider-woman nepal..... miles doesn't have to be the only teen spider with a terrible bisexual mentor (enter my own sketches of the world's most annoying spiderperson, who i fling towards pavitr, complete with a design that's subject to change)

[a-strangers-thoughtss]

Summer loving had me a blast

Summer loving happened so fast

Will had been sitting in the sand, knees up to use as a makeshift table for him to set his sketchbook on. He used to do that a lot back in Lenora. He had never been big on friends, more adept to people watching.

He was similar to Jonathan that way, accept he drew people and Jonathan took pictures.

It was the summer after sophomore year, and two years or so after El had moved across the state to be with their dad for Highschool. She had always had a stronger connection to him, and Will to Joyce.

When Jonathan had left for collage he couldn’t bare to leave her alone, no matter how much it tore him up to be away from his twin.

The day had been so picture perfect, and so many gorgeous people had been roaming around, splashing in the water, sun bathing. It was the best place to find people joyful, emotions out on display for him to capture in pencil.

Something had caught his eye, a black leather jacket.

A boy looking around his age occupied it, walking slowly through the sand in sneakers, jeans, a white shirt and that leather jacket. Why he was wearing any of those things at the beach, Will did not understand. He must be insane, mentally ill.

But it would have been a completely insane lie to say that Will wasn’t drawn to him.

He was handsome, ridiculously so. He was tall and gangly, but not overly so. His face looked straight out of a marble statue, sharp, defined features. Shoulder length black hair messily spilled over his face, going in all different directions.

He was pretty too, and god, life was unfair.

Will glanced up, in the way he had learned after the time someone had caught him and angrily broke his nose, hidden and deliberate. He studied the boys face, slowly etching what he saw onto the page.

Will had just got done with a very rough sketch of his face when he looked up again.

Shit.

The boy was looking at him.

Their eyes met, and Will froze.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

This guy was most definitely not someone he wanted to mess with. Greasers like him usually had a gang of buddies just waiting for the perfect opportunity to pick on someone they deemed “different” and Will was most definitely different. He was queer and every single person who looked at him seemed to clue in pretty fast.

But now he was walking towards Will and he was frozen and unable to move, rooted to his spot on the sand.

“What you doin’?” His voice had the harshness of a greaser, but his eyes were curious.

“Uh, people watching I guess.” Wills suppressed himself a little when his voice didn’t shake. What else was he supposed to say?

“Mind if I join then?” He asked, “Bored as shit.”

All Will could do was nod a little. He hurriedly turned to the next page before the other boy plopped down next to him.

“I’m Mike by the way.”

“Will.”

They sat in silence for a long while, Will finishing up the scetch of Mike and deciding to sketch out the figure of a house on the horizon, highlighted by the setting sun. As he was erasing a line to draw a new one, Mike spoke. It was startling, Will had forgotten he was even there for a bit.

“Hate beaches. Always so sandy and overly hot.” Will snorted at that.

“Well maybe you’d like them more if you took the jacket off for five minutes. You gotta be roasting right now.” That pulled startled laughter out of Mike.

“Just missin’ my boys.”

“Got kids? Though you were close to my age, looks like I misjudged.”

“Nah, still pretty young, not quite balding.”

“Got a bit for that.” They fell into an easy banter, something Will hadn’t known he was missing. The conversation just flowed with Mike in a way that just felt so natural.

“So, what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ out here so late.” Mike asked, light and curious.

“Already told you, people watching.”

“That’s a nice picture you got there.” now Mike was pointing to the sketch of the house, outlined with bold scribbles on the page.

“Thanks, I usually just draw people.”

“Well If that’s not what you ‘usually draw’ I’d like to see what type of shit you can come up with when you’re really drawin’.” Mike said, sincerity laced through his voice. “Any of those I can have a look at?”

Will felt self conscious, but before he could really think about it, he was flipping the page back to his unfinished Mike sketch. His eyes widened and his face grew hot.

“Damn, shit, sorry. Just saw you and I had to draw you, you look so out of place.” Not the words he should have used, but he can’t take it back now.

He looked warily to Mike, whose eyes were wide.

“Damn that’s good.” Was all he said, turning to face Will. “I don’t got any money on me but If I did you bet I’d be giving you a few quarters for that.”

He was dumbfounded, but quickly moved, going to rip the page out.

“Here, have it for free, I don’t mind.” Mike looked down at it, pleased.

“Thanks man.”

There was a long pause, a moment they both just sat there, grinning awkwardly at each other.

It was broken by a loud female voice.

“Mike, it’s time to go!”

Grinning, he saluted Will, “That’s my cue to split. Gonna be here tomorrow morning, wanna hang?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Mike got up, stepping backwards as he called,

“Bye Will.” It sent sparks up his spine.

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

The Portrait (An Alcina x Maiden Fanfic)

You walk into the Atelier and find yourself once again gazing at the portrait of the Lady of the Castle, Lady Dimitrescu. She must have commissioned the portrait when she was younger because she looked like she was in her mid-20’s. She stands in an ivory-colored dress with a full skirt, holding a glass of wine. Her face is clear of her laugh lines, under-eye circles, and wrinkles but she is still as elegant and beautiful as ever. You move closer to get a better look and suddenly wonder who might have painted this portrait. Were they close to Lady Dimitrescu?

“Do you like it?”

You whirl around swiftly and find yourself face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. The corner of her mouth quirks up in an amused grin, making her laugh lines indent into her cheekbones. Her golden eyes are glittering with mischief.

“Well?” she prompts.

You come back to yourself. “I-It’s lovely, my Lady,” you stammer. “Did you commission someone to make it for you?”

Alcina lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Why, yes. In fact you could say that the two of us were rather close.” She steps closer to you and the portrait, a knowing smirk on her face. “It was actually me that painted that portrait.”

“You?” you blurt out suddenly. Then you realize how rude you must sound. "Forgive me, my Lady,” you say, ducking your head in apology. “I meant no disrespect. I just didn’t know you were the artistic type.”

“Oh, I’ve dabbled in a lot of different art forms in my life, pet,” she says, and you see her eyes mist over as she reminisces. “I was classically trained in opera, I’ve painted landscapes and portraits, written poetry...I even was a jazz singer for a time. I made that portrait when I was 25. I was a very different woman than the one you see now.” She smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well, aside from the obvious, anyway.”

“It’s exquisite,” you breathe as you lean your head to get a better look at the portrait. You think of something and turn to her. “Do you still paint, my Lady?”

“Lately I’ve taken to sketching. And now that you know my secret,” she says, giving you a conspiratorial wink. “Perhaps I might come in here and do my sketching while you clean.”

You suddenly remember the actual purpose of why you came to this room in the first place. “Right! I need to polish the bells! I’ll just get started on that, then!”

You hear her chuckle low in her throat as you scramble up the ladder, taking out your polish. You look over back at her and she has sat down on the sofa, slipping a pair of pearl chain half-moon spectacles over her nose. She takes out her pens and charcoal, flips to a new page in her sketchbook and bends her dark head down to work.

Soon you and Alcina have a little arrangement going where every time you enter the Atelier to work on your tasks, you know you will soon see Alcina ducking her head under the lintel to work on her sketching. While you are on the ladder, you sneak glances at her every so often. Her lashes kiss the tips of her cheekbones and her brow is furrowed in concentration. Sometimes you will look from her to the portrait and you conclude that if possible, her aging has made her even more beautiful.

You feel a hand on your back and jump making the ladder wobble slightly. The hand braces you against the ladder so you don’t fall and you hear a soft chuckle behind you. “I’m sorry, dear. I suppose I should have announced my presence beforehand. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s not a problem,” you say and you feel color flood your cheeks as you see you are truly face to face with Alcina Dimitrescu. Her face is merely inches from yours. Her golden eyes catch the light from the chandelier and up close you see they are not just golden but with hints of silver around the iris.

“There’s this spot around the gears that doesn’t get enough attention that I’d like to show you,” Alcina hands hover around your waist. “May I?”

You nod your consent and she gently moves you on the ladder until you’re on the other side. She bends down and whispers in your ear. “Just between the cog and the gear. Do you see it?” The smell of her perfume is intoxicating. You nod that you understand and she smiles. “Good! I know you always do a thorough job and I wanted to bring that to your attention.” With that she settles back down and resumes her sketching.

This goes on for a while, you working while Alcina is sketching. Occasionally she will take a break and stand nearby observing you as you work. You find it difficult to concentrate when she is around but she eventually smiles to herself saying, “Yes. Very good,” before returning to her seat. A couple times you are not certain but you think you might have seen a flush creep up her cheekbones before she resumes her sketching.

A couple of weeks of this go by and you notice Alcina is not satisfied with the progress of her drawing. You see that she is erasing more often and often starts from a completely new page in her sketchbook. “No, no, this isn’t right!” you hear her say aloud one day. You chance a look at her as you are on the ladder polishing the candlesticks. She is furiously scribbling on the sketchpad and when a loose lock of her ebony hair falls into her eyes, she pushes it impatiently away. You try to lean down further to get a better look. You’ve seen how talented she is, surely the sketch couldn’t be that bad…

Suddenly you feel the ladder twist from under you as you lose your balance. Your arms pinwheel helplessly in the air as you try to regain your footing but to no avail. You shut your eyes tight as you fall, hoping at the most you’ll just sprain an ankle.

Instead of the hard floor, you fall into something soft. You open your eyes and jolt back as you see Alcina’s aureate eyes staring back into yours. She chuckles. “It appears I cannot do much but startle you these days it seems.” She looks at you with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, my Lady, I’m fine,” you mumble. You blush scarlet as you are very aware that her gloved hand is on your upper thigh, your skirt riding up in her haste to catch you. She becomes aware of this too and smoothes your skirt down, murmuring an apology, but not before you catch the blush in her cheeks.

She turns her head quickly away to hide it, her hat covering her profile. “Would you like to take a moment and rest, dear? You’ve been working so hard, you deserve a break.”

You nod soundlessly and she takes you over to the sofa where she has been doing her sketching. She closes her sketchbook with a snap before you can get a good look at it.

A maid arrives with Alcina’s afternoon tea. “Set out an extra cup for Y/N, if you please,” she commands the parlor maid. The maid nods and pours you both cups of steaming apple cinnamon tea, perfect for a cold winter’s day.

When the maid bows and leaves, you turn to Lady Dimitrescu. You clear your throat. “Um, my Lady?”

She smiles at you over her teacup. “Yes, pet?”

You can’t help it. You’re positively burning with curiosity at this point. “What have you been drawing?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Alcina’s cheekbones flood with color. “Oh, it’s nothing special really,” she says hurriedly. “Just some scribbles.”

You can hardly believe it. Was Lady Dimitrescu, usually so full of pride and grace, embarrassed? You see a scrap of paper on the ground near the sofa and pick it up. Alcina tries to stop you but you’ve already turned it over in your hands. You let out a little gasp of surprise as you see what Alcina has been drawing all this time.

There on the paper is a charcoal drawing of you polishing the bells. In the corner of the page is a closeup of you, your face shining in the chandelier light.

You look back at her, your mouth open in shock. When you finally gain the ability to form words, you ask, “Is this what you’ve been working on all this time, my Lady?” you ask quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Alcina nods and opens her sketchbook to show even more pages of you. You staring at her portrait, you reaching up on your toes on the ladder to dust off a high shelf, you pouring her tea. There are pages upon pages of your likeness.

Alcina turns her head to face you. “I must confess that I had been in need of a new muse for my art,” she says. “When I saw you gazing at my portrait, something stirred within me. There is something about you that draws me to you.” She takes your chin gently in her gloved hand.

“Your hair,” she says, and she takes off your cap and settles your unbound hair about your shoulders. “Even pinned under your cap, it cannot conceal its beauty.” She takes your hand in hers. “Your skin,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to the back of your hand, making you feel a pleasant shiver go down your arm. “How it shines under the lamplight. Your eyes.” She is moving ever closer. “The way I could get lost in those fathomless depths. And your lips…”

Her face is so close to yours now, her lips parted. “What about my lips?” you whisper, scarcely daring to breathe.

You are not quite sure who closes the distance between you first, but you are suddenly in Alcina’s arms and you are kissing her fiercely, your hands weaving their way through her ebony locks. Her hands settle themselves around your waist as her tongue gently parts your lips. You lay back on the sofa and bring her head gently down with you. She braces one hand on the side of the couch while the other gently holds the back of your head.

The sound of the clock chiming startles you, making you break apart suddenly. Alcina lets out a girlish giggle. “We simply have to do something about those nerves of yours, draga mea,” she purrs. You smile and lift your head up to receive her kiss again.

[o-foramuse-of-fire]

Happy New Year! Here is my Secret Santa gift for @ubilupus! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Alice Brandon has a massive crush on law student Jasper Whitlock. The only problem? She’s never actually spoken to him out loud. AH/AU

Title: Apricity

Words: 3,450

Rating: G/K+

Read on: AO3 or FFN

The snow fell in feather-light flakes in the crisp winter air. Alice chewed her lip as she gazed at the historic building across the street, almost mystical in the snowfall. She walked back and forth by the bus stop, hesitating to cross the street. A dark blue bus pulled up to the stop, its sign flashing yellow. Several students descended and the driver waited to see if Alice would board. She shook her head, shaking flakes out of her pixie-cut. The driver shrugged, closed the door, and drove off.

“What are you doing?”

Alice jumped at the voice. Sharp yet sweet, like a slice of key lime pie, with just a hint of caramel smoothness. She turned and plastered a huge smile on her face.

“Oh, hey, Rosalie!”

Rosalie Hale was one of Alice’s closest friends. The two had met freshman year signing up to assist with one of the many student theatre groups on campus. Rosalie, a Business major, wanted to get involved in marketing and Alice, who was studying Art and Design, was interested in assisting with designing posters or helping to paint sets.

“Don’t ‘hey, Rosalie,” me,” Rosalie retorted. “This is the third time this week I’ve caught you loitering out by the Law Quad.”

“Is it?”

“C��mon, Alice, something’s going on with you. And don’t just say you’re trying to plan out where to take grad photos because I know it’s something more than that.”

Alice quickly shut her mouth. That had been the excuse she was about to give. Everyone knew the Law Quad was in high demand for graduating seniors. In a few months, once the majority of winter was behind them and the temperature rose above freezing, Alice knew there’d be people crowding for the perfect cap and gown shot.

But that wasn’t the reason she’d spent more hours than she could count recently, wrapped up in her warmest--yet still fashionable--winter clothes and staring longingly at the gray stone arches. Alice heaved a sigh, her breath forming a tiny cloud in the wintry air.

“Okay. Fine. C’mon.”

Alice adjusted the strap of her cross-body bag and swung her scarf over her shoulder before leading Rosalie across the street. The two of them wandered into the Law Quad, looking more like Hogwarts at Christmas than it had any right to. Snow dusted the tops of the stone towers and turrets and coated the rooftops. Icicles hung from the mature trees like crystals. Students meandered through the Quad, ducking in and out of the grand arches, crossing pathways lined by Victorian-style street lamps. When they reached the door to the Law Library, Alice hesitated.

“Just don’t get me kicked out, okay?” The Law Library was notorious for having a strict no-talking policy.

“I won’t make a peep,” Rosalie said, her ruby lips curling into an intrigued grin.

They walked into the Reading Room, and no matter how many times Alice stepped foot inside there, she was always struck by its grandiose beauty and ambiance. The room was large and open, with a 10 story ceiling surrounded by beautiful stained glass windows bearing the seals of great universities around the world. The ceiling itself was intricately designed with squares of floral-like designs sculpted in gold. The Reading Room was illuminated with soft light from elegant two-tiered chandeliers, stylized to look like candles. Wooden shelves filled with legal books lined the long hall, interspersed with elaborate doorways and stonework. With finals fast approaching, students from all across campus crowded the oversized tables with curved reading lights, their books and notes stacked high. Anxious, academic energy crackled in the air. Alice walked down the aisle, Rosalie trailing at her side, until she came upon the third table from the back on the left. There, like he had been every day this week, sat a god.

A golden-haired young man with storm cloud eyes. Sculpted cheekbones and lips that Alice just knew were soft and kissable. A few strands of curly blond hair fell in front of his face as he pored over a thick tome, and the man pushed them out of his way with a flick of his long fingers. He was dressed in a knitted black sweater that complemented his tanned skin and accentuated his lean figure. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

Alice delicately pulled out the chair across from him, and slid into it as silently as she could manage. As she sat down, the man looked up from his book. His face lit up, eyes sparkling and lips stretching into a heart-stopping smile. Alice’s heart fluttered, and she returned his smile with an uncharacteristically shy grin. She opened up her bag and pulled out the textbook she kept in there for this exact purpose. She flipped through the pages until she came across the midnight blue bookmark denoting the last chapter she’d attempted to slog through. But before she could even attempt to read the first sentence, a crumpled piece of paper landed in front of her. Alice opened the note with excited fingers, her eyes eager for the words scrawled inside.

Art history again?

Alice’s mouth twitched. She scribbled a response on the paper, folded it up neatly, and passed it back across the table.

Yeah. My last final. I’ve been really slacking on the reading.

Maybe you know more than you think. You’ve been reading that book every time you’ve been in here.

Alice bit her lip. Had she done that? She’d meant to rotate her books, her excuses to be in his presence.

I keep getting distracted by the architecture. It’s just so beautiful in here.

It is. But if it keeps pulling your focus away from your studying, maybe you should try one of the less decorated spots on campus. Like Starbucks.

He shot her a smirk as he watched her read his words.

Never. I like the view here too much.

Me too.

Rosalie surreptitiously watched the exchange from a table across the aisle, quirking an eyebrow when Alice flushed scarlet and covered her mouth to hold in a giggle. She narrowed her eyes further as the note passing spanned a whole page. Then a second. Then a third. She didn’t think either of the two had touched their books in a while. Pursing her lips, Rosalie rose to her feet and sauntered back over to Alice’s table. Alice didn’t even notice her approach, she was too engrossed in whatever she was writing. Rosalie tapped her on the shoulder and crossed her arms. Alice gave her a sheepish grin, hurriedly wrote one final message, and passed the note to the blond-haired guy. He glanced it over, and the good-natured smile seemingly glued to his face fell ever so slightly. He gave Alice a wave as she stood, returned her book to her bag, and hoisted it over her shoulder. Alice returned his wave with her own, then tripped over her feet as Rosalie grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to the exit.

As soon as they were back outside, Rosalie spun on Alice.

“Okay, spill. Who was that guy?”

Alice’s voice took on a dreamy tone. “Jasper Whitlock, first year law student. He’s originally from Texas and he went to Rice, majored in Political Science and History. He’s got a younger brother who’s studying Engineering at Rice now, and a little sister who’s in her senior year of high school. He likes horseback riding, Mexican food, and horror movies.”

“Wow, Alice, did you stalk the guy?”

A rosy blush colored Alice’s cheeks. “No. We passed notes. And then I Facebook stalked him.”

Rosalie snorted. “You’re crushing on him hard.”

“Except I haven’t said a word to him!” Alice cried, dragging her hands over her face. “I came to the Law Library to sketch last week--you know how I feel about Gothic architecture--and he was just there! Sitting at that table all gorgeous and studious. I don’t know how I worked up the nerve to pass him that first note, I swear my hands were shaking the whole time. But I’ve never actually spoken with him, like, words out loud, you know?”

“And he’s never tried to follow you out of the library to actually speak with you?”

“Nope.”

“Hm. He loses a few points for that. But maybe he’s just shy.”

“How could anyone that looks like that be shy? He probably just doesn’t like me.”

“Oh, he likes you, Alice. Trust me.”

“You don’t know that.” Alice whined.

“Did you not see the look he gave you? Like you were the sun and he was a mere flower. He bloomed in your presence. And practically wilted when you left.”

“I don’t know, Rose...”

Rosalie spun on her heels to stop and face Alice. She reached down to place her perfectly manicured hands atop Alice’s shoulders.

“Alright. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Tomorrow, we’re gonna dress you up and make you look so goddamn gorgeous, that he’ll follow you outta there like a little lovesick puppy.”

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

Early the next morning--earlier than Alice would’ve liked--Rosalie was in her apartment, clucking her tongue as she parsed through Alice’s wardrobe. Alice sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Rosalie had roped their friend Bella into the scheme, and the brunette was sitting next to Alice, almost as tired as she was, her head falling onto Alice’s shoulder every now and then.

“You owe me Starbucks for this,” Bella mumbled.

“Yeah, Rose,” Alice agreed. “Jasper doesn’t usually make it into the Law Library until after 11.”

“Which means we only have four hours to get you looking jaw-droppingly sexy,” answered Rosalie. She picked out a black dress that was way too short given the current temperatures, shook her head, and returned it to the closet.

“At least she’s keeping in mind the weather,” Bella muttered under her breath.

Bella was the most practical out of the three girls. She and Alice had met in their first year English class and had become fast friends. It had taken some time for Bella and Rosalie to warm up to each other--Bella had a knee-jerk response to anyone involved in a sorority. But after Rosalie had chewed out a sleaze-ball who’d attempted to run his hand up Bella’s skirt while the three were out dancing one night, the two had forged a tight bond.

“Okay, how about this,” said Rosalie as she held up two hangers. In one hand was a black pencil skirt. In the other was a silk purple blouse with a deep V-neck. It was long-sleeved with bunching at the wrist. “Some tights, your black pumps and--”

“I’ll look like a librarian,”

“A sexy librarian,” Rosalie corrected, but she returned the items to the closet.

“We’re trying to get this Jasper’s attention, right?” asked Bella.

Alice nodded.

“Well then, what do we know about him? What does he like?”

“Ooh, good idea Bella. Alice, has Jasper ever looked at you more than usual or in a different way? And what were you wearing when he did?”

“Um, not that I can remember...”

“Does he have a favorite color?” Bella offered.

Alice straightened, like a jolt of electricity had run through her body. Her eyes sparkled and she grinned with exuberance. She hopped off the bed and rushed over to her closet, pushing aside dresses and sweaters with ferocity until she found what she was looking for. She pulled the emerald green sweater dress out of the closet and held it out in front of her proudly. Though unassuming on the hanger, it clung to her body like a second skin. It had a scooped neckline, which artfully showed off her delicate collarbones, and an intricate knitted design.

“Green,” she said with a joyful smile.

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

“Girls, I don’t know if I can do this,” said Alice, clutching the front of her black peacoat with white knuckles.

“Alice, you look beautiful,” Rosalie assured her.

“Yeah, it’s going to be fine! You’ve got this!” Bella encouraged.

Once the emerald dress had been decided upon, Alice had spent the next few hours under Rosalie’s direct care. She’d picked out a pair of black leggings, as well as a pair of black booties, plus the black peacoat with silver buttons to complete the look. Bella had chosen the knitted white beret style hat that hung loosely off the back of Alice’s head, displaying her dark hair with contrast. Alice’s hair normally stuck out in all directions, but Rosalie had coaxed the energetic strands into becoming tendrils. Rosalie was an artist with makeup, and had accentuated Alice’s features without overpowering her. Black eyeliner and mascara heightened Alice’s doe-like eyes, and the silver eyeshadow shimmered with every blink. Alice’s cheekbones were highlighted and dusted with a soft pink blush. Alice had always thought her lips were small--just like the rest of her--but Rosalie had worked her magic and now the lips, painted cherry-red, appeared pouty and full. Bella had talked Alice through exactly what she was going to say to Jasper, filling her up with self-confidence. She gave advice to Alice on how to win over Jasper with her words, not just her looks.

Now, the three of them were standing in front of the entrance to the Law Library. Alice’s knees knocked together. Rosalie and Bella were on either side of her, practically pushing her in.

“You know, I think I might be coming down with something, I’ve been standing in the cold too long, maybe I should go home and we could try this another day--”

“Uh-uh, no way!” Rosalie stopped Alice from running away and turned her right back towards the Law Library. “We did not give up valuable finals studying time for you to back out now. You are going to go in there, and you are not coming back out until you have a date!”

Rosalie shoved Alice forward, causing the shorter girl to almost trip. Alice recovered and gathered herself with a determined puff of air. She brushed a stray curl out of her eyes, rolled her shoulders back, and strode into the Law Library with as much confidence as she could muster.

As expected, Jasper was there, seated at his usual spot. He was surrounded by piles of books, and hunched over a thick notebook. He looked very focused and very hot. Alice closed her eyes, thought back on everything Rosalie and Bella had said to her that morning, and began to walk towards Jasper’s table.

He heard her approach--the clicks of her black boots echoed in the silent hall--and glanced up from his notebook. At first, he gave her his usual genteel grin, but then Alice watched his eyes widen and his lips part as he took in her appearance. Alice slowly undid the buttons of her coat, feigning nonchalance as best she could. She shrugged the coat off her shoulders, and Jasper gasped. The big reveal, Rosalie had called it.

Alice slowly sunk into the chair, smoothing her dress as she sat down. Gracefully, she extracted the small notebook and ballpoint pen she’d hidden in her coat pocket. Her heart was beating a mile a minute but she forced herself to appear calm as she placed the notebook on the table, flipped open the metallic golden cover, and began to write out the words she, Rosalie, and Bella had planned.

I’ve really enjoyed our chats over the last week, but I’d much prefer to actually speak in person. I like you a lot, Jasper, and I want to get to know you better. Grab a coffee with me?

With a final flourish of her pen, Alice tore out the sheet of paper, folded it, and tossed it over to Jasper, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since she sat down. The note landed in the center of his notebook.

Jasper blinked dumbly at the sound of the paper hitting his book. He glanced away from Alice and nimbly unfolded the note. He smiled as he began to read it, and Alice’s heart skipped a beat. But then an odd expression came over his face. His smile fell. His jaw dropped. His eyes became pitying, disbelieving.

Alice felt her heart sink into her stomach.

He didn’t like her.

Feeling tears well up in her eyes, Alice haphazardly threw on her coat and hastily stuffed her notebook and pen back into her pockets. Biting her lip, she ran out of the Law Library as fast as she could.

She burst out into the Quad, her face stinging in the cold. Rosalie and Bella were waiting by the door for her, but she ran past them, ignoring their perplexed faces and questioning calls. She couldn’t talk to them right now. She wanted to run back home and hide under her comforter, forgetting every foolish action she’d taken today.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered under her breath.

“Hey, Alice, wait!”

Alice turned as a charmingly accented voice with just a hint a twang called her name. Jasper was running after her, his unbuttoned coat flying open in the wind. Alice tried to hide her gape as she took in Jasper. She knew he was tall, but she hadn’t realized he was quite this tall. He towered over her by over a foot at least. Alice sniffed and wiped away the few tears that had fallen.

“It’s okay, Jasper, you don’t have to humor me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw how you looked at me in there. It’s clear you don’t like me the way that I like you. And that’s fine! I’m fine! I--”

“Alice, what?”

“--really, you don’t need to let me down easy or anything, I got it, and--”

“Alice.” Jasper’s tone became more pleading. “I was just a little taken aback, is all. You surprised me.”

Alice’s breath caught. “I...surprised you?”

The edges of Jasper’s lips turned up. “Yeah. I’ve been working up the nerve to ask you out all week and you beat me to it.”

Alice’s mouth fell open. Her brain was a mess of white noise as she attempted to process his words

“You...you like me?”

It was Jasper’s turn to blush.

“But you never...I mean...all this time...and the way you are I...” Alice stammered.

“My apologies for not speaking up sooner. But I’ve never,” Jasper hesitated, “I’ve never felt like this before. The words we shared on those scraps of paper weren’t much, but they meant everything to me. I’ve actually been coming to the Law Library every day, hoping you’d return,” he added with a bashful grin.

Alice gave a little start. He’d been doing that, too?

“I’m not good at expressing my feelings,” Jasper continued, running his fingers through his long blond locks, “but I felt a connection with you right away. I just didn’t know how to deal with it, cause it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything close to that. I’ve had some pretty messed up relationships in the past,” he said with a sheepish shrug of his shoulders.

“I don’t understand,” said Alice. “If you felt like this, why didn’t you say anything? Why did I have to do all this,” she motioned to her outfit, “to get you to come outside with me?”

“I came outside cause I could tell I’d upset you. And that ain’t right. I only ever want to see you smile.”

Alice flushed. Jasper took a slow step closer to her. Alice was struck again by his imposing stature. He had to duck and push snowy branches out of his way to get to where Alice was standing. And yet, with the way he was gazing at her, Alice didn’t feel small at all. In fact, she felt terribly emboldened by his adoring look.

“So it’s not cause I look amazingly sexy?” Alice teased.

Jasper chuckled. “You look beautiful today, really you do. But I think you look beautiful every day.”

Alice giggled, and her cheeks turned pink with new warmth. “So about that coffee,” she said, a hint of coyness slipping into her tone.

Jasper smiled sweetly. “I’d like that, ma’am.”

He took her hand, and Alice was surprised to find how well hers fit in his. Like they were made for each other, despite the height difference. Warmth raced through her body as he interlaced their fingers and gently ran his thumb over her skin. Alice hummed contentedly, and nestled into Jasper’s side. Another perfect fit.

[heartwoodventures]

It’s Probably Pirates

The letter arrived on Heartwood’s doorstep and almost immediately set off a flurry of speculation among the tight-knit group. It appeared that one of their own was in the gaol. 

Hi! Wow, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I hope everything’s been running smoothly. How’s the garden doing? Has it been sunny?

<What follows is several lines of text that’s been scribbled out to the point of resembling a black blob. Following many smudges and water damage, it continues...>

So, to get to the point. I’m writing from Aleport’s jail. Weird, huh? Pretty wild. And unjust! I probably should’ve written that first but jailers only gave me this pen, so I can’t erase and I’m running out of space. Oh, anyway, I was just visiting La Noscea to check on my farm, one thing leads to another, and I get tossed into jail! I’ve told them countless times they have the wrong person, but they won’t listen. They’ve got me mixed up with some pirate and think I’m feigning ignorance. Maybe you guys could tell them otherwise? I don’t know how much more...questioning...I can take.

-Aiswyda

Certain that this was all a misunderstanding, Heartwood hurriedly sent a small team out to Aleport to set things straight and secure the Seawolf’s release. While the port itself was a drunkard-filled hub of commerce, it was also home to one of the Maelstrom’s jails. Built of stone stained white from salt, the gaol was tucked away in one of the settlement’s darker corners guarded by Yellow Jackets posted at the entrance. 

Near the jail’s door was a wooden bulletin board, covered in layers of leaflets old and new. This was where the party agreed to meet. It was cold. The wind was salty. The Yellow Jackets didn’t even bother looking up as the team gathered. 

For his part, Nazyl had been on his way to inform N’yami of the newest development regarding other business. Of course, Heartwood seemed to get up to strange things while he was gone. So now he was...apparently breaking an ally out of jail. He really couldn't get on the Maelstrom's bad side, else it would adversely affect the aforementioned business. Nevertheless, he joined with the rest on the way, grumbling.

Crific meandered through the gate, a scowl on his face as he cast his gaze across those gathered. He'd come as soon as he'd heard the news. Fifteen minutes late, with coffee he’d gotten to go.

To the point as ever, Rolanda arrived and merely looked around at the dreary scene before her, before taking matters into her own hands. "You there! Guard! We're looking for Aiswyda, is she inside?"

The guard’s eyes were glued to his paperback. He wet a finger and turned the page. “What d’ya want.”

Rolanda walked up to the guard. "Our comrade has written us from jail, claiming that she was wrongly imprisoned. We are here to help set matters straight, and to help our friend, who is surely innocent."

Khora joined the Au Ra in her take-charge approach.  "Roegadyn. Named Aiswyda?  Probably wearing a straw hat."

Haila glanced up from the tome she had been reading as others began to gather, all thankfully familiar faces. As she tucked on the tome by her side, the viera took a deep breath before speaking up. "I'd ask despite having tried to look into matters myself, but no one has an inkling of what happened with Miss Wyda right?"

Crific glanced at Haila, shaking his head. "Just her letter." He shifted his gaze to the Rolanda and the guard.

"I'm unsure of what's going on." G’lewra replied, humming in thought for a moment. After hearing what happened she had decided to join the investigation. Right before leaving, however, she had a very long conversation with her daughter about how her loud mouth would've had her end up in jail as well. She just phrased it....in a more motherly way.

"Hard ta b'lieve she'd be considahd a pirate, she's rathah pleasant companeh." Nazyl added. But then again, so were Claws for a time, "Might we...know why she's bein' accused of bein' a pirate?"

The guard now looked up from his paperback, the cover of which featured a petite au ra, swooning in the arms of a very beefy roegadyn. 

“Tch...persistent buggers. Aye, I know that straw hat wearing pirate.” he snorted at Rolanda and Khora. “Set matters straight? Oh, just let me get out me keys and unlock her cell, an’ we can all part ways smellin’ of biscuits and gravy!” The guard rolled his eyes.

Unimpressed, Khora arched a brow at the guard's sarcasm.  "And for what is she even being imprisoned?  A pirate you say?  And how did you come to such a conclusion?"

Haila frowned at the remark, her research into Aiswyda's case had turned up no results at all... But if such an accusation was true, well, she was both hesitant and reluctant to connect the dots in that case.

For the moment, Crific remained silent. There were enough voices, though his scowl was growing deeper by the minute.

After some grumbling, the guard hobbled to the bulletin board, and directed the party there. “Just comb through those papers. She’s part of a pirate crew. Red Argos. Bleedin’ ‘ells, it’s me break. Can’t get a wink of rest ‘round here.”

Crific brushed forward to peer at the bulletin board, though he left enough room for others to search as well. "Red Argos," he repeated, muttering to himself. He found several papers detailing a mysterious cult of zombie worshippers. Interesting, but useful? Nope.

"Red Argos huh..." Nazyl added. There were so many names it was difficult to keep track of every crew in the sea. Given the height of the board, he'd need someone else to read it, and he wasn't about to start being antagonistic now.

Rolanda walked over to join Crific at the board. "What have we here..."

She found several advertisements for the Arcanist’s guild in Limsa Lominsa. A picture of what appears to be a carbuncle being ridden into battle! Neat!

There were so many papers. Bounties. Advertisements. It may take some digging to find what they were looking for.

Crific exhaled, and started digging deeper. Could be the charges against Aiswyda and her purported crew were old. "When were these bounties placed?" He directed the question to the guard, though he didn't look up.

The guard waved a hand in the air. “Eugh. Maybe like, two weeks old.”

Crific glanced at the dates on the current flyers, and started flipping through, looking for dates a sennight earlier and found something. Labeled ‘page 2’, a paper that detailed Red Argos’s exploits. They’re known to attack ships that are part of the Eorzean alliance. Not just that, but...generally speaking, there were no survivors. The ships might be seen again later, but the goods? The sailors? Gone. Outside of that, the pirates were known to even target local settlements for coin, supplies, and people. Kidnapping.

Crific tugs a flyer down, frowning as he noted the page number. "Have the second page of something, here. Concerns the crew, at least. Nasty business." He runs his finger down a list, "Attacking alliance ships, leaving no survivors--or at least none aboard. Local settlements, too--pillaging, kidnapping.""

Khora found something that looked promising. A bundle of marks, all detailing the last known actions of a group of pirates known as ‘Red Argos.’ Page 1 described the physical appearance of the gang. All Sea Wolves, donning a red ribbon earring. Approach with caution! They are well equipped, and attack on sight. Unfortunately, the other pages are scattered elsewhere.

The Seeker rubbed his chin, squinting as he read over leaflets and pamphlets sprawled across the bulletin board.  "Hrrmm..."  Thoughtful hum echoing in the back of his throat as his eyes wandered across the page.  "I mean Sea Wolf yes but...  Does she even wear a red ribbon earring?  Gods I cannot recall..."

Unable to peruse the board, Nazyl approached the cells instead, glancing through them. The system of 'law' they used certainly could use improvement, but it was better than nothing. Had he been born anywhere else, he likely wouldn't have considered living in Vylbrand. He glanced back at the guard, still hesitant to say anything.

Rolanda, meanwhile, found page 3 of Red Argos’s report. It was a list of scattered observations. Unlike bandits, or other pirate groups, these pirates seemingly strike at random. No discernable pattern in their attacks, or the locations at which they strike. There’s even been alleged sightings of the pirates in Coerthas! Rumors, or facts? It’s unclear. She shared the information with the rest of the group. 

"Perhaps we could look for clues in Coerthas, if we find nothing else useful here. There are certainly more pages to this report that may hold some useful information.” she suggested. 

"Pirates...in Coerthas?" Nazyl raised a brow, "Uh, that's...an odd place fer seafarin' bandits ta be. Water's all but frozen there."

With so many flyers torn from the bounty board, the last page of the Red Argos reports could be seen by all. It contained sketches of known members. One perfectly resembles Aiswyda, albeit in a different outfit. There were notes under each sketch which indicate that each was likely to be a leader of some sort. However, the captain of the crew had yet to be determined.

Crific did a doubletake as he noticed the board. 

"Now that is troublesome..." Haila muttered upon seeing the sketch resembling Aiswyda. 

G'lewra pressed a finger to her chin for a moment as she thought it over. "I believe since our company is under the orders of the Adder's I do believe we would need Captain Alarone to come collect our fellow member." Her ears flicked. "But if these pirates are stationed in Coerthas then we'll also have to worry about the Ishgardian Knights collecting her as well."

"The uncertainty of who may have to collect her could give us time to look deeper into this case. Because as it stands right now, a striking resemblance won't help us getting her out soon." Haila said. 

Crific frowned slightly. "We'd need to provide the actual pirate to prove Wyda's innocence, if I had to make a wager."

The guard snorted and wiped his nose roughly with the corner of his arm. “Hah! Let ‘er out. Yer jokin’, right?” He gave them all a smug smile. “Maelstrom’s got plans to hold on to this one, ‘til the rest of the bloody crew can be brought in.”

Nazyl nodded to Crific, then turned to the guard, "....There's othahs that ain't been caught yet?"

The guard nodded. “No dice. Damned pirates be actin’ weird, poppin’ up in all sorts of places. Unpredictable. An’ we can’t be spreadin’ our forces so thin. So this lass here be our best clue to findin’ the rest.” He shook his head slowly. “Now if we could just get a clue out of that bleedin’ straw hat. Some idea of where the scoundrels might strike next.”

Khora arched a brow.  Silver eyes settled on the guard for but a moment before shifting to the rest of his party.  "Did someone say..."  Excitement grew in his expression, a smile running wide as suddenly Khora drew his sword and raised it to the air.  "PIRATE HUNT?!"

Haila startled briefly, unsure of whether it had been Khora’s excitement at such a thing, or the fact that the miqo'te had just waved a sword in front of the guards like that. She sighed rather audibly, shaking her head in disapproval as she kept silent, praying that the small outburst didn't bring trouble in and of itself.

G'lewra reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small bag that was filled with biscuits. "Here darling, have a biscuit." She said while holding the bag out to Khora, hopefully to calm Khora down and to make sure the guard doesn't think the group was filled with idiots.

Khora's excitement settled as his attention was drawn to G'lewra, with ears falling flat over his head.  "What is...?"  The Seeker peered at Lewra as he sheathed his blade back into its scabbard.

She then strolled forward to speak with the guard, a calm smile curving her features to show she wasn't about to rip him a new one. "My dear, if possible, our company is under the order of the Twin Adders and we have a captain that keeps an eye on us. If it would be alright with your captain might it be alright for us to take this prisoner to help us hunt the rest down? That way your forces aren't spread so thin and our company can have one less worry when we do our trade."

Nazyl bit his lip. He felt it wouldn't be so easy, the Grand Companies rarely work together so well...the Frontlines were invented for settling disputes after all.

The guard pursed his lips. “Huh. Twin Adders?” He looked across the area, suspicious but interested. “I’ll bring this up, but no promises. The ‘igher ups are interested in ‘er, and me hands are tied. I don’t have that authority.”

“If you want though, I could let ye in to visit ‘er. Maybe you can get something outta ‘er now.” The guard shut his book. “It’s almost time for me shift to begin anyway.”

Crific glanced at G’lewra. She was far too optimistic towards the Grand Company's leniency--but at least they could visit. "We'd be much obliged." He nodded at the guard’s offer.

The Seeker’s eyes lit up as the guard offered them to let the group speak to Aiswyda. "If you don't mind, dear, we would appreciate it." Looking over to Khora, the head medic simply smiled at him. "Snacks, I've learned to keep some on me to keep the members going in tough situations."

"Oh I am far from a 'tough situation' there friend."  Khora’s ears rose once more to flicker over his head while a wide grin spread across his lips.  "I'm actually getting excited about this pirate hu-  Wait..."  The Seeker froze up, tension clear in his body as his eyes went wide.  "C-Coerthas...?"

Bloody. Frozen. Coerthas. 

The guard nodded, and got up with a big stretch. “Alright. Stay close now.”

He led the party down a narrow hallway, cells to the left and right of them. It was a cramped walkway that required everyone to walk in single file, and shoulders brush as oncoming jailers went on their patrols.

Some jail cells were occupied, others were not. Thick, iron bars separate the criminals and the law. A few rowdy individuals rushed up to the gates of their cells and reached out towards the party, calloused hands grasping for freedom. Such behavior was quickly halted by the jailers, but that didn’t stop the imprisoned from clapping back with insults and jibes.

After several turns and going through locked doors, the guard stopped. To the left, an empty cell. To the right, Aiswyda sat on a stool, facing away. She was looking out the small, reinforced window that lets in a thin trickle of light.

The guard rapped on the iron bars, and the Sea Wolf quickly turned. On seeing familiar faces, she lit up, and stumbled up to meet them. Her long hair, though matted, was still tied in a messy braid. She donned a cloth bandage around her eye. Bruises and small cuts could be spotted on her body.

"Evenin' sunshine. Prison rags hardleh suit ye." Nazyl greeted. 

Crific seemed unmoved by the state of the prison, bringing up the rear of the party as the guard led them through the winding passages. His scowl grew at the state of her, but he didn’t seem surprised.

“Nazyl! Everyone!” Aiswyda looked excited and relieved. “Aha, yeah. Jail isn’t exactly the place for expressing one’s creativity in fashion though.....”

"Oh dear.....who did this to you, sweetpea?" G'lewra had to stop herself from moving in to try and heal Aiswyda but with the current situation at hand she had to stay put.

“The...guards.” Aiswyda briefly glanced at the Yellow Jacket that was currently monitoring the prisoner visit. “I think.”

"Yer good fer toughin' it out though. We're here ta try n' set things right." Nazyl replied. 

Aiswyda was nearly in tears. She couldn’t seem to express herself at the moment, and so she simply gave Nazyl a hearty thumbs up. When she finally collected herself, she managed to reply, “It’s been rough. Not exactly thriving, but living.”

Crific glanced at G'lewra, biting back on a sigh as Aiswyda answered. He'd thought as much. "Expect it to get worse afore it gets better. There's more pirates in the crew they've mistaken you for a part of, and they want them, one way or another." He tried to keep his tone neutral, but there's a gruff displeasure in his voice.

“Ah yeah. Red Argos, I think?” Aiswyda visibly deflated at Crific’s statement. “ I swear, I don’t know the first thing about them. You all know I’ve spent most of my time with Heartwood, in the Shroud.”

"Oh Wyda.." Haila’s voice trailed off with worry over the roegadyn's state. "Do you think you can hold on just a little longer while we figure this whole mess out?"

Aiswyda was grateful for Haila’s concern. “I think so. But I won’t lie, it’s pretty...wild. In here.”

"Good news is, there seems ta be othahs out there that ain't been caught yet. I reckon if we can find 'em first, we could squeeze info outta 'em regardin' this othah woman who jsut so happens ta look like ye." Nazyl paused for a moment, blinking, "Ye don't happen ta have siblin's, do ye?"

“I don’t.....think so?” Aiswyda crossed her arms, a little sheepish. "You think I have an evil twin?"

"Not rulin' out the possibiliteh. The similaritehs between ye two -are- rathah uncanneh."

Crific raked a hand back through his hair, his stoic expression fracturing slightly as he turned away, silent for a long moment, though he had ears on the conversation.

“That’s what she said too......” Aiswyda scratched her head in thought. “Oh! I mean. There’s been someone who’s been visiting my jail cell often. She’s always asking me stuff like that.”

Nazyl canted his head some, "Someone...? Who? From that response, it sounds like she's seekin' the same as us..."

"Maelstrom officer, if I had to guess." Crific muttered.

"More than likely given how serious the Argos’s crimes are." Haila agreed. 

“Yeah, the Maelstrom and I have had a lot of. Talks.” She pauses. “But also, someone else. A lalafell who goes by the name of Momori. I think she works for someone who had something stolen by the pirates.”

Crific glanced back at Aiswyda. "Do you know where this Momori can be found? She may have more information on the pirates that we'd be able to put to use."

"Aye, she could make it easiah fer us ta hunt down the rest in hidin'." Nazyl added. 

“I don’t know where she is, for obvious reasons.” She motioned to the cell around her. “But given that she’s visited me several times, maybe she’s still in town? She’s a red haired lalafell, about yay tall.” Aiswyda crouched down and placed her hand on the ground, then raised it up somewhat. “Like Nazyl.”

Crific grunted at the description. It wasn't much, but it was probably enough, if she was staying in Aleport.

"Plains, or Dunes? Small detail, but it helps." Nazyl asked. 

“She’s visited about four times. Mostly to ask me about the pirates, or to update me on her own investigation status. She doesn’t...” Aiswyda abruptly stopped. Pursed her lips together, words failing her. “She doesn’t think it’s a coincidence, that I happen to look like one of the pirates. A hunch. I think it’s all baloney, but hey. Anything’s  possible I guess. She’s quite tan. Which, em, I don’t think is specific to either? OH. Her eyes are glassy. Dunesfolk! ....right?”

"That'd be Dunesfolk aye. Alright, that'll make it easeh ta track her." the lalafell nodded. 

The Yellow Jacket piped up. “Dunesfolk? Oh, aye. Right. That ones got ‘eavin pockets...Ye might find ‘er in the alehouses. Seen ‘er there many times.” He shook his head. “Haven’t ever seen a lalafell down so much drink. God forbid.”

"This lalafell sounds like a good lead. Should we head to the tavern and see what we can see?" Rolanda asked, looking to the rest of the group.

"Sounds like the best option for now while we try to figure everything out." Haila agreed. 

Aiswyda nodded. “Good luck. And thanks for visiting!” She tried to sound her usual, bright self, but it sounded a little hollow. The guard, sensing the party’s intent, pushed the group along towards the exit, as Aiswyda watched for as long as she could.

Crific lingered behind, turning to Aiswyda with an unreadable expression; he held up a finger to the guard ushering the others out and motioned that he'd follow in a moment. "Eat whatever they give you, regardless of what it is, you'll need your strength to heal. Keep all your wounds clear as you can, and out of the damp." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "We'll figure this out before long." He turned, then, without giving her a chance to reply, and hurried after the others.

The Aleport tavern was bustling with activity! Seamen, merchants, adventurers, farmers...they all came here to share a table. To play a hand of cards while guzzling ale. As such, it was incredibly loud inside the tavern. Orders were hollered above the noise, above the brawl that had broken out in the corner. All and all, a good time.

Nazyl wrinkled his nose at the smell of a Limsan bar--generally unpleasant, and the sheer amount of alcohol didn't help. He grimaced, scanning the area--a lively lot, but it wasn't hard to spot one out of place.

At one of the tables, a red haired lalafell was playing a game of poker with several others. Her hair was neatly tucked in a bun, and her attire reflected someone of a scholarly nature. She was out of place, surrounded by salty sailors and the like.

They were betting at the moment. The lalafell wordlessly slid in a hefty amount of gil, and as they went around, a few others dropped out. Three, including the lalafell, stay in. Cards were exposed. Sweat beads on a sailor’s forehead. The lalafell is unblinking. It was almost like she was wearing a mask.

The final turn came around, and it was down to two. But the pressure gets to the final player, who folds. The lalafell takes the pot without ever revealing her hand.

Rolanda motioned to the lalafell playing cards. "This looks like the one, eh?"

Nazyl wasted no time and approached the table.

The lalafell already had her eyes on Nazyl. She hopped off her stool and simply stared at the other lalafell. “Hello. What do you want.”

Khora leaned close to G'lewra, nearly hovering over her shoulder as he whispered.  "Think we'll get to see a Lalafell fight?"

"I would hope not, my dear, as I'm the only medic currently here and I'm not too sure these two would give up too easily." She whispered back.

Nazyl had to do a double take. He swore for a moment he was looking at a former employer, but smaller. The surprise was quickly wiped from his face, "Nazyl. I hear ye've been down ta the jails questionin' a good friend of ourse recentleh."

Crific hovered in the back, his shoulders sagging slightly. He seemed more distracted after leaving the gaol, somehow, though his expression was as hard to read as ever.

Momori stared at the group, expressionless. Stoic. There’s a long pause, and then finally. “Nazyl. You all must be from her company. She told me about all of you.” She raised a brow. “Are you here to speak business?"

Khora's hands rose to rest atop his head.  "As much I would like to say leisure...  Business it is."

"Straight ta the point, aye. We also think she was wrongfulleh imprisoned, n' will do what we need ta get her out, lawfulleh mind." Nazyl nodded, "I got the idea of huntin' down the crew o' Red Argos n' seein' if we could squeeze info outta them."

Momori tilted her head. “Our goal is one and the same then. To bring those pirates to justice.”

Nazyl nodded again, "So it is. Thought ye might be able ta help in that regard, ye seem ta have been on this case longah."

“Oh and I’m Momori. Nice to meet you all, the weather is great, have you tried the ale.” she said dryly. “Now that we have that out of the way, yes. I have been to visit your friend. While I don’t think she did it, I also don’t think she’s giving us the full picture. Nothing is quite as it seems.”

Momori snapped open a small, worn journal. “Pirates spotted in Coerthas. Targeting very, very particular ships. An interest in trafficking bodies. I dare say, we may have something fun on our hands.”

Crific grunted quietly at mention of 'fun'. Their definitions probably varied.

"What...ships? There's no large bodehs of water that way lest ye head towards Dravania. Unless..." Nazyl tapped his chin, "Airships?"

Momori drew her lips back slightly. “Before I can tell you more, I’d like to propose a deal. You want your friend freed and I want my client’s treasure recovered. We’re both chasing after the same pirates. Shall we work together?”

"That was the idea. What deal were ye proposin'?"

“I have some ideas of where Red Argos might strike next. What their goal is. But I’m just one lalafell.” She looked to the company. “That’s where you guys come in. To wherever the pirates strike, you can go and capture them. Collect their bounties if you care to. I’m only interested in the stolen artifact.”

Khora's ears flattened over his head with his posture slouching greatly.  "Gods...  Coerthas of all places?  I thought pirates preferred warm and sunny weather, not the freezing cold and snow..."

“I can also tell you a bit about what to expect. These aren’t your ordinary pirates, that’s for sure. Most would pawn off stolen goods as soon as a buyer is found, but these? They’re hanging on to what they get. It’s dangerous.”

Nazyl narrowed his eyes, "They sound like the type ta carreh tainted shite thinkin' they can control it. As if I alreadeh didn't have enough on me plate with Focalor..." He sighed, "Should mention I make me livin' as a Void huntah, so this ain't news ta me. I'm still baffled as ta why they set up shop in Coerthas of all places, but whatevah. It'll be their folleh when they're stripped n' freezin'."

“Of course they can’t control it. They’re pirates, not scholars.” She sighed, taking off her glasses and polishing each lens with her sleeve. “Anyway, we have a deal. Still compiling my research, but I’ll send word as soon as I’m certain where the pirates will strike next. Let’s stay in touch.”

The lalafell seemed very pleased by this outcome, and she gave each member a hearty handshake and a small bow. “I look forward to working with you all.”

"Mm. Ye'll probableh need ta contact one o' them, not me. I've got...business out in the sea." Nazyl replied. 

Crific shook hands reluctantly, looking not at all thrilled by the prospect of mysterious pirates and worse -- artifacts -- but he'd do his part.

It seemed there was nothing else to do except wait for Momori’s investigation to bear fruit.

[acelikesturtles]

“What’re You In For?”

Prompt: #22 (Two Miserable People at the same Wedding) - Raphael x Olivia

Warnings: Light Alcohol Mention, Cursing (duh, its Raphael)

Word Count: 1,568

A/N: This is from an ask game that I reblogged a couple days ago. It took me a while to finish editing it because I really and truly prefer quality of my work over quantity, plus I needed to find the right soundtrack for this so I could focus 110%. I hope you like it @headhalfling!

As much as Raphael cherished April as a friend and Casey as his “fourth brother”, he had despised almost every last moment of the last 8 hours. The tie around his neck was too tight and the suit that April requested be tailored to his exact measurements still felt like it was smothering him. When he had finished the first suit fitting at the lair he had figured that all it would take to break free from this prim and proper prison was a well-timed stretch. That is, until Leo had very gently patted him on the shoulder and reminded him that they were putting all these fancy trimmings on for April and Casey, and that after the "incident" at their engagement party, Raph would likely do better blending in.

Oh yeah, that.

As if the clothing and the standard wedding formalities weren't enough to bother Raph, he had promised April he would only have one glass of champagne after the last time. Out of respect (and maybe a fair deal of embarrassment) following the unforeseen events of the engagement party, he decided that it might be best to stay alert, especially since being a ninja and all doesn't really pay in hard cash. Or at least...not enough cash that could cover the fees associated with a professional carpet cleaner.

One finger lazily circled around the brim of his empty champagne glass. Amongst all the chatter in the room his eyes remained fixed on Casey and April. He couldn't tell if he was trying to read their lips and decipher whatever lovey-dovey conversation they were having or perhaps just trying to understand the ins and outs of the event in general. He couldn't really say that he'd ever felt in love, and maybe he was just being incredibly cynical, but this felt like a strange way to celebrate it; stuffy outfits and distant cousins you've only seen twice in your life didn't seem like a celebration of love or a union of two families but like a strange ritual that he couldn't quite wrap his mind around.

Just as his brain was finally translating something admittedly pretty juicy happening between the happy couple, someone shuffled past him and took a seat beside him, drawing his attention reluctantly away. She didn't seem to be paying him much attention, instead tapping away at her phone rather furiously with one hand while brushing stray strands of blue hair away from her eyes. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she set her phone face down on the table and grabbed the entirely unclaimed glass of champagne sitting in front of her place mat, then tapped her fingers rhythmically on the sides.

"What're you in for?" She said playfully then took a small sip from the glass.

He laughed, then leaned back in his chair. "Does 'best man' count?"

"Hey, sure, I'm not the police. Besides, I knew that already." Once again pushing her hair from her eyes, she crinkled her nose when she smiled. "You guys were, er, I guess--you are--kind of distinct. Kinda cool if you ask me."

She set the champagne glass back down, before gazing up at her new conversation partner. Her striking hazel eyes connected with his own and caused him pause for a moment. Again, full of surprises, she didn't seem to react in fear or shock so much as intrigue at his physical appearance. He couldn't say that this wasn't a first, all night long at both the engagement party and this reception he and his brothers had been getting unwarranted looks that definitely indicated the unspoken feelings of the person staring. This, however, was different. As for how, he wasn't quite sure, but for now he simply felt unusually awkward and unable to figure out what he was supposed to say next. Mikey was always the better one at socializing. It was in his blood. Raph on the other hand, despite all the time he had to learn, was about as good at talking to humans as a fish was at flying.

He glanced down at the name tag that had been so carefully placed in front of where she sat before taking a shot in the dark that maybe she was the table-mate that hadn't showed up yet. Awfully late for her to arrive now...but not impossible.

"Umm...are you Lorraine Bri-...Brinch-...you know what, fuck, not even trying to pronounce that."

"What?" She followed where his eyes led to the cutesy black and gold calligraphy neatly engraved on a piece of folded card stock. She frowned and shook her head. "No, that's not me. My name's Olivia. Does make me wonder who that is though, and why they didn't show up. Kind of disrespectful, to not even RSVP honestly."

"Well what about you?" Raph countered. As if he even cared about this random other woman's dignity when he didn't even know who she was beyond her impossible to pronounce last name. "I didn't see you until just now."

"I’ve been here,” she responded. She broke eye contact with Raph and began picking at the skin surrounding her fingernails. She had noticeably callused fingers which matched the overall aesthetic of her chipped and unpainted fingernails. “I just don’t really want to be here. I don't typically like stuffy events like this, as much as I'm really glad to see Casey and April together. These things make me anxious, and I would drive home, but that wouldn’t be cool because I’m the photographer’s ride." She gestured vaguely towards the woman in a pantsuit with long black hair that had been tirelessly capturing every last angle possible of the bride, groom, and bridal party.

"Hey, uh...me too." He answered. He was starting to feel anxious too seeing the way that she picked at her fingernails. “These events, they aren’t really for me. This tie ain’t doing it for me either, its kinda been choking me,” He gave her a small smile, hoping that it might ease her mind to have someone sympathize with her, even if it wasn’t entirely on the same page. Again, Mikey would’ve been better at this kind of thing than he was, but it helped that the connection between them was already sort of going well. Well, aside from him accusing her of being late to the wedding, that is.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed on his black and white striped tie. She pressed her lips together, holding back a smile while a short breathy laugh escaped her nostrils. “Well, there’s your problem. You tied it too tight, dummy. Here-”

Her callused hands reached up and began loosening the fabric fastened around his neck. Earlier when he had tied it himself he hadn’t bothered to ask for help, assuming that this was just how ties were supposed to feel, but the gradual feeling of relief that came with the freedom to move his neck like normal was ethereal.  While she couldn’t fix the constricting fit of his suit, having the tie a little looser was already helping him feel more relaxed and adjusted. Their eyes locked again as she gently pulled her hands away from the satin, although this time something felt different. Like he was sweating. Everywhere.

With the relief of one discomfort came the creation of another. He cleared his throat.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, anytime, I learned how to tie those for a friend of mine a couple years ago. You should’ve asked for help from somebody sooner.”

Now he was beginning to feel really embarrassed. Did she think he was stupid? Or incapable of learning how to do normal human stuff like tying a goddamn tie? “Nah, they’re busy, didn’t wanna bother ‘em.” Now that made him at least seem noble.

“Well you weren’t bothering me.” She smiled and raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you would’ve bothered your brothers by asking for help, their ties don’t seem to be bothering them.

Fuck.

Still feeling sweaty, Raph shrugged and chuckled. “Awright, fine, then I’ll call you next time I gotta wear this damn thing, yeah?”

Once the words had escaped his mouth he realized how silly they must’ve sounded, but he didn’t take them back. He wasn’t an entirely socially inept fool, that was Donnie’s job. She paused for a moment at his words and began searching his eyes for an answer that he didn’t know he had in him. This was uncomfortable and sweaty and hot...but he kind of liked it. Raph swallowed and broke eye contact with her unceremoniously then twisted the watch on his left wrist back into center position.

“Maybe I will.”

Olivia reached into her silver crossbody that until now, had been closely kept by her side entirely untouched. She uncapped a black ballpoint ink pen and scribbled a string of numbers onto a blue sticky note that had already been lightly doodled on (likely during the ceremony) with rough sketches of motorcycles juxtaposed against delicate daisies and baby’s breath she had likely seen in April’s bouquet. She tore the sticky note off and nervously stuck it onto his placemat. With a quick swig of the rest of the champagne left in the glass she had claimed, she stood up from her chair and gave him one last smile before hurriedly heading off in the direction of her photographer friend, leaving Raph with more questions than he did answers.

Maybe this whole lovey-dovey shit wasn’t so dumb after all.

[ihaveakoreanseoul]

Shoot Out Part III

Part I  Part II

Word Count~ 3.7

Warnings- None!

Hyunjin (Stray Kids) x Reader

Juyeon (The Boyz) x Reader

Mafia! AU; Werewolf! AU

I took a moment for myself, trying to only focus on the feeling of my breaths coming in and out of my body. After I felt steady enough to perform basic functions, I changed out of my sticky mess of a shirt and grabbed a replacement out of my closet. I washed off my face and pulled my hair into a bun, figuring that washing it would be a challenge that I would leave for a later time. I cracked open the door and scurried over to my brother’s room, grabbing a plain black t-shirt for the beautiful boy sitting in my kitchen to change into.

As I walked down the stairs, I mentally prepared myself to see his face again and ignore the pesky feelings that he caused to arise in me. He was sitting at the counter, his hair freshly slicked back, as if he had tried to wash it in the sink. He was hunched over a notebook of some sort, furiously dragging the pencil across the paper, as if he was sketching something. “Hey,” I said and he jerked up, slamming the notebook closed as if trying to hide something. “I brought this shirt for you to change into. We can stick your shirt in the washer when you’re done changing and I’ll get the brownies in the oven.” Once again he responded with a grunt of agreeance and I wondered what had changed. Gone was the boy who used every possible opportunity to fluster me with a flirty comment or cocky remark, he simply behaved like he didn’t know how to act around me anymore.

After I knew he had made it up the stairs and heard the sound of a door shutting, I tiptoed over to his notebook, curious of its contents that he seemed so desperate to hide from me. I opened it up and at first glance realized that it was indeed a sketchbook and also that Hyunjin was insanely talented. The first pages were all drawings of nature scenes of some sort, with a common theme of there being wolves in the sketches, either in the foreground or peering out from behind trees that looked so real that I could almost smell the fresh scent of pine.

Knowing that he would come down soon, I quickly flipped to the later pages, hoping to locate his work in progress. I was continually skimming the pages until I came to a halt upon a face that was oh so familiar but also looked like a face I had never seen before. It was my own face, deep in thought with a pencil pressed to my lower lip. I saw my eyes, my lips, my nose, the furrow in between my brows that formed when I was deep in concentration. I knew all these pieces were drawn to perfection but I could still hardly believe the sketch was of me because it was beautiful. I had never been what I considered severely insecure about my looks but I knew where I lied on the scale of beauty and it was not like this. The way he drew me felt like a caress on my face, his pencil lightly running over my features.

Wholeheartedly shocked by my discovery, I flipped past the first sketch to see drawing after drawing of me in various states. In most I was in class, either furiously scribbling down notes or with my hand raised high and eagerness to learn in my eyes. But in some I was with friends, smiling mischievously with a glint in my eyes or with my hands waving in front of me, caught up in the magic of storytelling. I finally came to the last sketch, which was rougher than the others, with the lines drawn in an almost frantic manner. If I had questioned that Hyunjin at least had some type of feelings towards me when I was looking at the previous drawings, all those doubts disappeared immediately when I saw this one. It was a moment that had occured only minutes ago, in the midst of the food fight. I was crouched on the ground, hands reached out in surrender and my head threw back as laughter wracked my body. Somehow with only the gray of the pencil he had made my eyes look like they were sparkling from within. I knew at that moment that he cared about me, much more than he would ever let on but the question I had was in what way did he care for me? Was it the joy of companionship that made him draw me? The tingle of new friendship? Or possibly something more?

With those thoughts shaking me back into reality, I realized that he would probably be down any moment. I slammed the notebook closed and ran over to hurriedly pour the brownie batter into the prepared pan, all while my mind spun out of control. I was debating what to do about what I had seen as I reached down to put the pan in the hot oven. As I slid the brownies onto the rack I was so caught up in thought that I didn’t notice my fingers coming into contact with the scalding metal rack until pain shot through my fingers.

I shot back, shaking my hand as if it would take away the pain as I heard a call of “(Y/N)” echo through the kitchen. I looked over to see Hyunjin running toward me and as he reached me he grabbed my hand to inspect my reddening fingers. Like a nagging mother he started on with “(Y/N) you have to be more careful next time. For christ’s sake you only have one set of fingers, they won’t regrow if you burn them off.”

As he mused, he placed a hand on my back and guided me towards the sink, where he turned on cool water and ran it over my fingers, still gingerly holding my hand in his. For the first time since he had come downstairs, I looked to him and our eyes met. In a low voice I said “Thank you for taking care of me Hyunin. I promise I will be more careful next time.” Instead of looking away, we both held the gaze for a few moments that felt like an eternity and I could feel my cheeks flush under his stare. He leaned in minutely for a moment and breathed in deep like his lungs were begging for air before he said “Be more careful from now on (Y/N) or you could get burned.” Somehow I knew that he didn’t mean that the oven would burn me.

Panic coursed through me as I struggled to come to terms with all the extraordinary events that had happened in the last hour. I yanked my hand out of his and I swear I saw pain flash in his eyes for a moment. “We had better get started on the project,” I said, trying to convince myself to focus on schoolwork instead of the feelings that I was drowning in.

I sat down at the kitchen counter, spreading all the class materials out in front of me. Looking down at the rubric for the project, I let out a deep sigh. Our english teacher was known for being a harsh grader, and I was worried that this project could drop my grade down to an A-. My parents have always been a major source of pressure when it comes to grades and I knew they would be displeased with a grade like that.

I heard the noise of the chair scraping across the floor as Hyunjin sat down next to me. I began to go over the basics of the project with him and then decided it was best to discuss the novel to see if we could agree on a theme to focus on. I was shocked that when I began to throw out ideas into the mix, he responded with eloquently spoken, well thought out responses and used examples from the novel to support his statements. A few minutes into our discussion I was stammering in surprise when I finally decided to voice my confusion.

“So Hyunjin, I’ve got a question for you.” He lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Yeah?”

“I thought you slept everyday in class, how do you know all of this?”

He immediately burst into laughter. “I’d already read these novels in my free time and I’d rather sleep than listen to our teacher try to explain the beauty out of the book.”

“So I’m not the only one who gets upset every time he brings up literary devices that I’m relatively sure the author never intended to mean anything?”

“Not at all. Do you remember one of the first days in class when he tried to say that Twilight was a modern day Romeo and Juliet and as such, should be treated with more respect? That’s the first day I fell asleep.”

“Okay I have to admit, I did question his sanity a bit at that point but he is the one who writes the tests so I still try to listen.”

“Fair enough.”

For the next few hours we worked in comfortable silence. I began making the powerpoint that was necessary for the project, while Hyunjin began searching for sources to cite. I did not realize how late it was getting until I heard the familiar sound of the garage door lifting, signaling that my mom was home from work. I let of an “Oh shit,” without thinking about it. Hyunjin looked up from his work. “What’s wrong?”

“Well I hope you’re ready to meet my mom.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No, she’s one of the kindest women to grace this earth.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“Well… when she sees that you… look like you do, she’s going to you know, bug me about it.”

A knowing smirk appeared on his face. “You mean when she sees how devastatingly handsome I am she’ll want you to date me?”

A flush came upon my cheeks as I responded. “For lack of a better way to say that… sure. Whatever makes you feel good about yourself.”

“Well then I might just appreciate your mom’s help.”

“Help in what?”

“Dating you.”

As the words left his mouth my jaw dropped open and my heart began to race but as I was about to respond, I was interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening.

“Hi mom!” I called out.

“Hi sweetie!” She responded.

It was almost as if I could see her thought process as she walked in and her eyes fell upon Hyunjin. She was shocked at how attractive he was at first and my eyes jumped to his figure to see how he was feeling about the situation. Once again I was enraptured by his enigmatic aura and captivating eyes. When I glanced back at my mom, her eyes told me that she had not missed the way I had looked at Hyunjin and it made me nervous and embarrassed in an instant. Now that she had noticed my very obvious attraction to him, I knew she would try that much harder to get us together.  

I was surprised when Hyunjin confidently strode towards my mother and reached out his hand towards her.

“Hello ma’am, I’m Hyunjin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Instead of grabbing his outstretched hand, my mother pulled him into a warm hug. “Oh you are just too cute! It’s so nice to meet you.” I saw Hyunjin’s body immediately tense, before he relaxed into the hug and reached up to awkwardly pat my mom’s back. He looked shocked by the motherly affection I was used to having, and it was kind of sweet to see him interacting with arguably the most important person in my life. When she pulled away, she turned her head towards me and said, “Have you asked him if he wants to stay for dinner?”

“No, mom I haven’t.”

“I thought I had taught you better manners, (Y/N).” She scolded, but I knew she was not actually mad at me. “Hyunjin, would you like to stay for dinner? I’m making pasta.”

“Mom I’m pretty sure he’s busy-“

“I would love to ma’am, thank you.” Hyunjin said, interrupting me. I glared at him, upset that he was beginning to fully invade my life, but he took my glare and met it with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Oh, how wonderful! (Y/N) why don’t you two go and hang out for a while. But I’ll be vacuuming in the living room, so you’ll need to go to your room,” she said mischievously, sending me an extra conspicuous wink. “Mom…” I began, bothered by the forceful way she was trying to make me confront my own feelings. But then I felt a warm and comforting hand wrap around my own as Hyunjin said, “Let’s go (Y/N), your mother must be an extremely busy woman, we don’t want to distract her.” With a sigh, I let him pull me towards the stairs and when I peered over my shoulder, I could see my mom with a hand thrown across her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

As Hyunjin led me up the stairs, his warm hand still sending tingles through my body, I had mixed feelings about the situation, simultaneously feeling excitement course through my veins, as well as a distinct sense of anxiousness. I was becoming increasingly aware as time passed that I was quickly developing feelings for Hyunjin and feelings like these are truly unfamiliar territory for me. I have never been one to quickly fall in love, letting infatuation overtake my sensibilities. My sole focus has always been schoolwork and academic success, and everything else, including romantic relationships, has fallen to the wayside.

While I was in my practically catatonic trail of thoughts, Hyunjin looked back at me for direction. “(Y/N)... (Y/N),” he called, waving a hand in front of my face to snap me out of my own head. “Yeah?” I mumbled, still slightly dazed. “Where’s your room at?”

“Oh my room?” I questioned, a flush rising on my cheeks, “Oh umm yeah… it’s just right around the corner there.” As we walked over the threshold into my room I began to move around uncomfortably. I twiddled my thumbs and shifted my weight between my feet, not sure what to do with this Adonis of a man standing in my room. To my surprise, he fearlessly launched himself onto my bed and grabbed my TV remote from the bedside table. “Do you have Netflix? We can watch something,” he said, and then proceeded to pat the bed beside him, indicating that I should sit beside him. I nodded and hesitantly walked towards my bed, delicately seating myself on the very edge of the mattress.

Hyunjin looked over to my tense figure and chuckled. He began to scoot towards me, with a knowing smirk on his face. As he moved closer, I could barely remain seated on the bed. I was on the very edge of my precarious seat when, unexpectedly, he lunged towards me, sending me careening off the bed. In an attempt to keep myself from crashing to the ground in a heap, my hands reached out and grasped onto Hyunjin’s. Unfortunately, this did not prevent my fall but instead pulled the boy who began this along with me.

As my back hit the ground, I felt my breath leave my lungs in a rush of air. Before my body had time to fully register the impact, I felt a weight coming from above. As I cracked my eyes open I realized that Hyunjin had landed on top of me, his face only inches from mine. Before I could speak his hands were framing my face and tilting back and forth as if checking for any major injuries.

“(Y/N) are you okay? I’m so sorry I should have been more careful. Where are you hurt?” Instead of telling him that I had suffered no injuries, I became flustered by his nearness. He had not yet bothered to move, and my body was all too aware of his closeness. Afraid of what semi-coherent thoughts may come out of my mouth if I spoke, I bit down on my lip to keep these stray words from coming out and embarrassing me permanently.

When Hyunjin’s eyes landed on my lip in between my teeth, I could see his eyes darken and the temperature in the room felt like it skyrocketed. Our eyes made contact and I let my lip go from between my teeth with an audible pop. With a look of manic hunger in his eyes, Hyunjin let out a sigh and a barely decipherable “Fuck it,” before his lips fell on mine.

For a moment I was stunned into stillness. It was almost as if I had forgotten how to perform all of the major functions of my body. My heart stopped beating, my breaths stopped coming, and my lips had turned to stone. Frustrated with my lack of response, Hyunjin nipped at my bottom lip, trying to coax me into returning his affections. It worked, with my lips parting in a gasp, giving him a chance to kiss me deeper. I began to mirror his movements, falling into somewhat of a rhythm. As I gained confidence, I wound my arm up around his neck, running my fingers through his silky locks. His hand moved up to caress my face, making me feel cherished. While our lips continually met, he sat up, pulling me with him and onto his lap, so that I was straddling him. As we kissed, I fell deeper and deeper into the trap that was my feelings for Hyunjin. I knew at this point that there was no going back from what had happened tonight.

At some point I forgot where I was, how long we had been kissing, and my own name. It was just so easy to fall into the kiss and let my emotions run rampant. His kiss made me feel desired and wanted but never pressured to do anything further. As our breath ran out, we finally broke apart from the kiss. When we made eye contact an uncontrollable grin came on my face, a smile so wide, my cheeks strained. His face then reflected mine as he said, “My god, (Y/N), you put the brightest star in the sky to shame.” He stopped speaking but I could see in his eyes that there was more that he wanted to say. I reached up and pushed a stray hair out of his face. “What is it?”

He looked momentarily embarrassed, as if he was caught in the act of a crime. “I just… This might be too fast but… (Y/N), would you be my girlfriend?”

It felt like I had just won the lottery, a gold medal at the Olympics, and American Idol all at once. Even though I was overwhelmingly filled with joy at his question, there was still a whisper of doubt nagging at the back of my mind. I just couldn’t help but wonder why all this way happening. Why me and why now and why so quickly? Hyunjin could get pretty much any girl he wanted at our school, whether they were taken or not, and I was by no stretch of the word the prettiest girl at our school. I wanted so badly to just believe that Hyunjin truly liked me for me but that was a notion that I could barely wrap my head around. Gathering my courage, I decided to voice my concerns, instead of cutting myself off from him.

“I just was wondering something…” I mused, peering into his chocolatey eyes from my vantage spot on his lap. I could see that my comment made him nervous and I wanted to kiss away the little wrinkles that formed between his eyebrows while he worried. “Why me? I mean you could have practically any girl you wanted and I’m… I’m me. Nothing special, just your typical nerd but with possibly too much sarcasm. And I look like-” He cut me off in the middle of my self-deprecating rant.

“You look like the most extraordinarily attractive woman I have ever, and will ever, lay my eyes on. When you smile, my heart clenches and when we kissed… that’s a feeling that I will never grow tired of. But the most beautiful parts of you are the huge brain and heart you have. I have never met anyone as intelligent as you or as kind and loyal to your friends. The only fault I could ever find in you is that you don’t see all these beautiful things about yourself that I see. (Y/N) from the moment you woke me up in class and stomped all over my asshole front that I put up, I knew you would be someone I treasured forever, either as a friend or hopefully something more.”

My eyes began to well up with tears from his heartfelt confession. I had never felt so desired and treasured as I do now. It was at this moment that I knew I had my answer. “Hyunjin, I would be so honored to be your girlfriend,” I choked out before I burst into tears. He simply pulled me into his chest while I sobbed for all the insecurities that Hyunjin had begun to assuage.

Looking back at this moment, years later, I realize that this moment, along with the next year with Hyunjin, were the happiest times in my life. I lived in a state of constant bliss as I was showered with affection and reassurance.

The height of my happiness emphasized the severity of my heartbreak, when Hyunjin disappeared one night and in the past two years, has been gone from my life but never my heart.

[the-quiet-winds]

Shake it till You See it

so this one was an idea i had that @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i wrote together and, to be quite honest, it is hands down one of my favorite ones we’ve ever done (not including the ward au because that is our damn CHILD but you understand (which btw the first part of the next installment should be up tomorrow))

this one is pretty soft overall, but there are some moments of self-deprecation. otherwise, we should be pretty good.

being on tour had given the queens the opportunity to travel all over europe, and the producers told them that in the future they were planning on taking the tour global. right now, the queens were in Spain, and aragon had delighted in the opportunity to show her fellow queens around. on this particular day, however, both jane and parr had decided to stay at home while the others went to a nearby beach; parr immediately retires to the tiny room she’d commandeered as an office in their rented accommodation, while jane decides to get some cleaning done. the other queens, as lovely as they were, did not seem to have ‘keeping tidy’ mastered in their list of skills. it was a tie between boleyn and katherine as to who was the messiest with their belongings, and so jane decides to tackle katherine’s room first. she starts by sorting the large pile of clean laundry sitting on the desk that katherine had never got around to putting away. she starts placing them in the correct drawers, but upon opening katherine’s sock drawer she’s faced with a notebook. the cover is plain pink and jane picks it up, frowning slightly. she was going to put it back, but then a photo falls out of the notebook and drifts to the floor.

jane picks it up and a wave of nostalgia washes over her.

the picture is of jane and parr from when they were in finland, touring helsinki. parr had taken the picture, jane remembers with a fond smile. the two of them had been sitting at a table outside a tiny cafe, eating finger sandwiches and drinking iced tea (a horrifying concept to jane, but it wasn’t absolutely horrible). the moment captured in the picture was when jane let out one of her trademarked ‘mum puns’, as they were called, causing katherine to uproariously laugh and jane to grin quite goofily at katherine’s reaction.

jane smiles down at the photograph for a moment or two. she opens the notebook, intending to just tuck the photograph in the pages, but the page it falls open on catches her eye.

there was a photograph of her and katherine, both fast asleep at an airport. katherine’s legs were tucked under her and her head was resting on jane’s shoulder. next to the photo were some sparkly silver star stickers, placed seemingly randomly across the page, and underneath were the words “Glasgow Airport, 23rd December” written in pink glitter pen. in smaller letter underneath it reads “me and jane talked about the brönte sisters - she loves them (note to self: read bronte sisters?)”

a rush of affection runs through jane’s system at the note. she’s suddenly struck with a memory of seeing katherine toting around one or two brönte books not too long after.

the opposing page is all written in fine green ink:

“it’s christmas! jane loved the CDs, she says she’s going to listen to them all the time. she got me this gorgeous jewelry box from stockholm and i think she wants me to put a picture in the lid. i just don’t know which one to choose!”

a soft smile grows on jane’s lips; she remembers vividly katherine running into her room a week and a half after christmas to proudly display the box, complete with a photo of the two of them at their London press night. both of them had been shocked at the positive response and had giddy smiles on their faces, wearing the gorgeous dresses they’d bought specifically for that occasion. from what she’d written, it seemed as if katherine had agonised over the choice for that full amount of time and the thought was sweetly endearing to jane.

she doesn’t even realise she’s turning the page until it’s already happened, eyes already skimming the next passage.

“18th January - we arrived in norway yesterday and the first show was a blast! lots of positive reception.

last night i had a stupid nightmare. the usual. i don’t really know how, but when i woke up, jane was there. she did that thing with my hair that calms me down.”

there are some water droplets on the page, presumably tears to jane.

“i don’t know what i did without her, to be honest.”

jane stares down at the page, heart aching for katherine. “oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, even though there’s nobody around to hear her. she looks over at the opposite page, where katherine had stuck a ticket to Oslo Aquarium at the top.

“19th January - we went to the aquarium! just me and jane. i think she wanted to make me feel better after last night. when we were in the cafe jane went to pay for everything and a woman asked me where ‘my mum’ got her coat from!!” the word ‘mum’ was underlined three times and jane stares at it, trying to work out if it was meant to be positive or negative.

jane knows she shouldn’t keep reading. these were katherine’s private thoughts, obviously not meant to be read by anyone else.

but jane’s curiosity was killing her.

she flips the page.

“katherine’s 2am thought #46” is written across the top. “jane really really REALLY loves when her mum puns”

this brings a smile out of jane and she gives a small laugh. the journal continues on like this, memories and tickets and photographs littered throughout. one page features a small sketch of a person; it was difficult to tell who it was supposed to be due to the fact it was unfinished and had a scribble through it, with “WHY CANT I DRAW” written in biro underneath. jane frowns. she personally thought the drawing was quite good. the next page was even worse, however.

katherine had just written the word “stupid” over and over again, in shaky handwriting and with tear stains littering the page.

jane’s heart twists and her jaw falls open in a small gasp. it seems so logical, jane realizes, that katherine would have some (...a lot, really) of self-esteem issues. jane hates knowing that she’s suffered in such a way and somewhere, deep down, promises that, if she can help it, katherine will never feel so low about herself again.

little does she expect, when she turns the page, to read a similar sentiment echoed in katherine’s words.

“25th January - we went on a walk this morning. there was a woman with a little boy, she was helping him learn to ride a bike. jane tries to hide it but i know it got to her, seeing that. i wanna try and make her feel better. i don’t know how, but i’m gonna try. she deserves to be happy.”

tears well in jane’s eyes and the little statement. she then very clearly remembers what must have been that evening when katherine came into jane’s room, blanket around her shoulders and ‘wuthering heights’ clenched in her hand, shyly asking if they could read together. it was a tender moment, one which ended in katherine asleep practically in jane’s lap at that point. it had, in fact, made jane incredibly happy to share something she loves with someone she loves

jane is flipping through a few more pages when suddenly there’s a clatter of the front door being thrown open and a gaggle of overexcited voices float down the corridor. jane hurriedly goes to shove the journal back into the drawer, but a charm on her bracelet catches on a page and as she yanks her arm away the page rips.

she doesn’t even realize the page ripped and simply closes the drawer and hurried back to where she was folding the laundry.

katherine walks in a moment later, hair slicked back from the water, a ‘six!’ tank top and gym shorts over her bathing suit.

“oh, hey jane,” she says surprised, but not displeased at having this particular guest in her room. “whatcha up to?”

katherine’s eyes fall on the single discarded page and picks it up. her eyes widen. it’s the page from her journal where she had simply written ‘stupid’ over and over. she looks at jane with wide eyes. “what were you doing?” she asks fearfully.

jane freezes, eyes widening as she spots the page in katherine’s hand. “I-” she starts. “I was just doing some tidying, love.”

“how did this end up on the floor?” katherine asks, voice with a thin veneer of calm over the clear panic. jane doesn’t answer for a moment. she doesn’t want to tell the truth, doesn’t want to admit that she violated katherine’s privacy by reading her personal thoughts, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out how the paper ended up outside of the journal, and jane knows that katherine already knows the answer to her question.

jane deflates, shoulders sagging. “i’m sorry, love,” she says quietly, not meeting katherine’s shocked and probably hurried face. “i didn’t mean to, i just opened the drawer and saw the book. then something fell out so i went to pick it up and i was stuck. please forgive me, kat.” jane looks down, ashamed, waiting for katherine’s response.“nobody was meant to see that,” katherine says quietly. she doesn’t know how to react; she mostly just feels embarrassment. her cheeks flush as she thinks of jane reading the parts where katherine is thrilled to be mistaken for jane’s daughter, or the stupid childish stickers she’d put on some pages, or her self-pitying rambles. she’d be surprised if jane could see her as anything except a stupid little girl after reading that, and she looks down to avoid eye contact.

jane notices katherine’s cheeks and ears burn bright red. katherine isn’t mad, she’s embarrassed. about what, though? what was she not meant to see?

she suddenly remembers seeing ‘mum’ underlined three times on the aquarium page.

“i’d be honored if someone thought you were my daughter,” she says quietly and suddenly.

katherine looks up, eyes wide and almost disbelieving. “r-really?” she asks, voice practically reaching a squeak. jane nods, not reaching out to her but just subtly opening her arms, in case katherine wanted a hug. just as she predicted, katherine lets out a tiny, slightly embarrassed noise of happiness and darts into her arms. her hair and clothes are still damp from the water but jane doesn’t mind.

“i still shouldn’t have looked at your journal, though, kat,” jane says as she hugs katherine. “and for that i really am sorry, I promise you it won’t happen again.”

“it’s okay,” katherine squeaks. a thought strikes her and she pulls away. jane panics, hoping that katherine didn’t have a sudden change of heart. katherine digs the book out and flips wildly on it, looking for a certain page. she blushes heavily as she shyly hands the book to jane.

“this is like the only good drawing in here,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

the sketch is in dark pencil, a drawing of her and jane together on the couch. katherine looks to be curled up, head on jane’s lap, the other woman’s hands gently resting in her hair.

“kat, this is brilliant,” jane says softly, eyes transfixed on the drawing. katherine fidgets slightly.

“you really think so?”

“i do,” jane smiles. katherine looks uncertain for a moment.

“would you like it?” she blushes again. “the drawing, i mean. you can have it, if you want.” she shrugs, as if nonchalant, but her cheeks pink and ruin the effect.

“i’d love it, sweetheart.”

jane, remembering what else she’d seen in the journal, sets it down and katherine’s heart sinks. it only gets worse when jane takes her hands and tugs her to the bed, where they sit down next to each other. jane turns to face kat before speaking.

“about what else i saw in there,” she starts and katherine cringes, knowing exactly what she saw and what was about to come.

she didn’t expect jane’s hands to leave hers and gently come to cup her cheeks, tenderly bringing her face up so they were eye to eye.

“kat, love,” jane says, “i know that you have a lot of...,” she searches for the right words, “self-esteem issues, perhaps.” katherine flinches slightly, so jane strokes a thumb lightly on her cheek. “i just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything, and i’ll never judge or think anything less of you.”

katherine looks down, and then back up at jane, eyes wide and uncertain. jane does her best to pour all the love she has into her reassuring smile, and katherine sends her a weak one of her own.

“thank you,” she says quietly. jane tucks a strand of hair behind katherine’s ear.

“it’s no trouble, love. i’m here for you, always.”

katherine’s eyes well with tears again, and jane hopes they’re tears of relief.

sure enough katherine’s resolve crumbles as she falls into jane’s arms, mumbling words of thanks and love into the crook of jane’s neck.

jane gently strokes her hair. “always, love. always.”

[artificialqueens]

we break but we're not broken (craquaria) - dis_connected

AN: Aquaria cares far too much for her friends.

Inspired by this prompt from happylilprompts on tumblr: Person A has had a crush on Person B, literal sunshine that gets top grades, for years. Recently B smiles and studies less, and is even skipping class. A’s the only one who pays close enough attention to see something is seriously wrong au

Read on ao3

Aquaria has given up with school. Well, she gave up with school not long after she started school. But, still, officially now, all she’s doing is focusing on trying to get into the Fashion Institute of Technology, which has been her only dream since she tried on her first pair of her mom’s heels as a kid, and now she’s just trying to keep all her grades at a C so she can successfully scrape by high school and leave it all behind for good.  

Meanwhile, a friend of hers, Brianna, is a model pupil. Aquaria has sat behind her in both History and French since freshman year, watching the way she flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder, how her head tilts back when she’s laughing and her confidence when talking in class in comparison to Aquaria’s stumbling awkwardness. Not that it’s a big deal that she watches her. She’s just hard to miss, with her big personality and even bigger hair, and you know, she’s right there, what else is she supposed to look at?

Brianna is popular amongst the students, like Aquaria, but, drastically opposite to Aquaria, she’s also loved by all of her teachers, thanks to her general friendliness and attitude to study hard in all her subjects. Brianna has truly excelled in high school. As their four years come to a close, she’s on track to go to a great college and have a great future, whereas Aquaria can hardly wait to get out of this hellhole and finally make a name for herself in fashion.

But, leaving behind high school means leaving her friends, and, unfortunately, that includes leaving behind Brianna. And the back of her head. Which is nice. The big, curly hair that the blonde does when she has a bit more time is Aquaria’s favourite, by far. She remembers vividly the day that she did it for the first time.

It’s a Monday. Aquaria spent the weekend in isolation from the outside world, trying to put together some looks for her portfolio, which she has changed and altered a million times, at least. Just last night, she redrew and redesigned a whole outfit she was obsessed with the week before, meaning she was up until the early hours of the morning furiously scribbling, sketching and sewing until her fingers were red raw.

Now, she’s sitting in her assigned seat at the back of Madame Dupont’s class as it starts, her pen tapping on her desk and her eyelids starting to droop already. Concentrating on the boring lectures on the imperfect subjunctive is hard enough as it is, without the added bonus of just two hours sleep. Aquaria is so tired that she hasn’t noticed that Brianna isn’t already sitting in front of her until she walks in, five minutes late, shooting an apologetic smile to the teacher and the usual grin to Aquaria, and hurriedly making her way to seat, the second row from the back.

“Bonne matin, mademoiselle, et qu’est-ce que la raison que vous êtes si tard?” Madame Dupont demands before she has the chance to sit down, even though the lesson has barely begun.

“Je suis desolée, Madame,” Brianna mumbles, her flawless accent still clear as she sits down and starts to pull out her things.

Aquaria is shocked. Brianna has never been late to class before, especially not French. Normally, she has to drag Aquaria by the arm so they’re on time, or she’s already there by the time the other girl decides to finally trudge into the room at the last possible, looking eager for whatever boring grammar shit they’ll be looking at.

“Et pouvez-vous conjuguer le verbe faire au conditionnel pour la classe?” The teacher continues. Brianna does so, perfectly of course, but she seems tired to Aquaria, who stares at the back of her friend’s head with worry.

Obviously, she’s just looking out for her friend, as she would any of them. Aquaria knows that Monét threw a party that she had to decline thanks to her portfolio work, and Brianna most likely went to it, or slept through her alarm, or would rather not be here, which is fair enough, but she still can’t help but worry.

Aquaria almost has to slap herself, as Madame Dupont starts to drone on about when to use the imperfect subjunctive (which is never in real life. Seriously who needs this?). She tells herself that she’s just looking for something to think about in this dull, dull class, and Brianna being late and tired has literally zero significance. People are allowed to be late sometimes, even Brianna. So, she just watches her as she twirls her hair round her finger, hair that she’s just shoved up in a ponytail without even brushing it. Not that she doesn’t look nice, still, annoyingly.

The class manages to end with no incident, and thankfully Aquaria is one of the few not called on for Madame Dupont’s never ending questions, because she wouldn’t have had a single clue what the hell to answer. She never really does.

She’s packing up to go at the end, grumbling to herself, when Brianna turns around, like she normally does to catch up with her friend after class, but today a frown is furrowing her features, as she looks right at the other girl, who does a slight double take at her unusually sad demeanour.

“Hey, Aqua,” Brianna says, slinging her bag over her shoulder and leaning forward on her friend’s desk.

“Hi, Bri, how was Monét’s?” Aquaria asks casually, trying to pretend that she isn’t worried as she shoves her notebook in her own bag carelessly, too tired to give a shit about the state of it.

“Oh, I dunno, I didn’t go,” Brianna seems uninterested. “Do we have history today?”

“Um, no, not until third tomorrow,” Aquaria replies, a little shocked at the unusual bluntness from her friend.

Okay, something’s definitely wrong. Brianna knows her timetable off by heart, she always has done. Aquaria tries not to think too much of it, but it stays on her mind the whole day. She’s ferociously munching her salad at lunch, sat with her friends on their regular table and staring into space as they talk about what happened at the party she didn’t go to.

Brianna is strangely absent; usually she’s the heart of the table, always cracking the jokes and puns and causing their table to be the nosiest in the cafeteria, but today, though the noise of the girls screaming about the party is extremely prominent, one voice is missing. Well, two, but Aquaria’s quietness is never that unusual. Nobody else has commented on the lack of Brianna, which annoys Aquaria slightly, but also makes her think she’s kind of making a big deal out of nothing.

She notices after a while a drop in chatter and a shift in atmosphere and looks up at everyone.

They’re all looking at their friend aggressively stabbing a poor lettuce leaf with her fork like she has a personal vendetta against it, concern and amusement etched across their faces.

“Um, Q, are you planning on eating you salad, or murdering it?” Blair, Aquaria’s best friend, asks her, laughing slightly.

“Sorry,” she mumbles in reply simply, rolling her eyes as the focus remains on her.

“What’s eating you, bitch? Your portfolio?” Vixen, the most blunt and unabashed of the group, asks. Everyone knows the stress that Aquaria has put herself under; her whole life has basically boiled down to this portfolio that is supposed to showcase who she is as a person, and, more importantly, a designer. To say there has been tears shed would be saying the least.

Aquaria puts down her fork and pushes her salad away, no longer hungry. “I’m bored. You’re all boring,” she jokes, rolling her eyes again.

“Well, sorry you’re too focused on your career to come to the best party of senior year,” Monet cheers.

“Actually, bitch,” argues Asia. “The best party of senior year was definitely my pool party right before school started!”

“Hah, that was before school started so it was technically it was a summerparty and not in senior year, so I win!” Monét laughs back loudly.

Aquaria stops listening. This argument is a regular occurrence between Asia and Monét, who constantly keep a friendly competition with each other. Their group has a specific dynamic, especially as they happen to be the most popular girls in the school, not that Aquaria really cares that much. She’s definitely not a people person.

Each girl in the group seems to have a specific, unspoken role and dynamic, and somehow they all create a powerful sort of clique. There’s no room for anyone else, not that Vixen would let them in anyway, unless they proved themselves to her, a task which few have ever succeeded at.

Which is why Aquaria notices so much when someone is missing, it doesn’t matter who. Just because it’s Brianna now that she’s worrying about, doesn’t mean that if, say, Kameron was acting differently next week she wouldn’t be just as worried about her. Aquaria cares about her friends, so what?

So what?

The week continues in pretty much the same way as Monday. Aquaria picks up on the subtle differences in Brianna, including her lateness to most of her classes, and her lack of makeup. To most people, it’s not a big deal at all, and she could blame it on the stress of nearing the end of the year. In fact, that’s what it would look like to any other person but Aquaria, especially the rest of their friendship group which have failed to notice the shift in Brianna’s behaviour.

God, she is going insane. She starts to drive herself crazy, overanalysing Brianna’s every move, from the back of her head in class, which is unusually slumped and bent over, to her weak attempts at jokes and uncharacteristic quietness at lunchtime, to the bluntness of their normally flowing conversation. It’s ridiculous, and distracting. Especially because none of their other friends have mentioned anything, at least not to Aquaria, and she really doesn’t want to bring anything up for fear of looking like a total idiot.

The worry is crippling to Aquaria, as though somebody is repeatedly whacking her over the head with a huge stick. Every time she tries to forget about it, bam and it’s back. She knows it’s ridiculous, and she blames her own stress. Her mind is clearly looking for something to do, bored to death of her sewing, sketching and designing the same pieces over and over again. It’s insanity. Complete and utter insanity.

But on Thursday, her insanity is justified, just slightly; after the class get a test back in History and Aquaria peers over to see she did better than Brianna, she can tell it’s with due reason. Brianna studies hard. Brianna puts school before everything. Brianna never gets below a B. In anything. And here she is with a C-, not even looking that fazed by it.

It’s like she’s given up. It’s eating away at Aquaria’s brain, so much so that she starts to design a new garment inspired by melting flesh and a revealed skull, and then hates it and screws it all up again. She wants to know why, without having to ask her. Confrontation is not her strong suit, especially when she could be completely wrong.

She’s hanging out at Blair’s house on Thursday night, an excuse to use her mom’s sewing machine, which is a million times better than her own, to test out some material she found that she wants to work with, but it keeps going wrong.

Aquaria is a good seamstress. She prides herself on it, in fact. It’s her thing. But after she fucks up the hem for the millionth time, she screams and rips apart her fabric, throwing it in the air in the most dramatic fashion ever.

Blair looks up from her laptop, where she’s trying to complete some homework, concern and worry etched onto her face as she witnesses her best friend’s outburst.

“Um, are you okay?” she asks, knowing that Aquaria is someone that tends to bottle up her emotions, not scream and throw things.

“I’m just stressed about this whole portfolio shit, I need it to be perfect,” Aquaria lies, rubbing her forehead aggressively.

“Lie,” says Blair nonchalantly, closing her laptop lid and moving to sit beside her best friend, who is trying desperately to stop her eyes from watering.

“Excuse me?” Aquaria says timidly, not looking her friend as she blinks furiously down at the sewing machine.

“You’ve been stressed about this for months. And when you’re stressed you turn it out, not fuck it up. Something else is on your mind and you’re telling me what it is right now,” Blair demands.

“You’ll think I’m stupid.”

“If it’s got you this worked up, it can’t be stupid. Spill! Spill!” Blair starts chanting and it almost puts a smile on Aquaria’s face, who pushes her friend playfully to get her to shut up.

“Okay, fine, Jesus. I’m just worried about a friend of ours who I think there’s something wrong with. She’s just acting really weird and I’m wondering if she’s okay,” she mumbles, trying to play it off as no big deal, which it probably isn’t.

“Who is this?” There’s a long pause whilst Aquaria stares down at her manicured nails in shame. “Aquaria, who?”

“Brianna.”

“Oh for god’s – you can’t let her ruin this for you. I know you’re obsessed with her-”

“Woah, woah, wait a minute, I am not obsessed with her. She got a C- today, B,” Aquaria says dramatically, like that’s supposed to clear everything up. Blair seems unbothered.

“So what?”

“So what?” Aquaria repeats in disbelief, annoyed at the lack of reaction. “This is Brianna. She always gets A’s.”

“Q, I love you, but I don’t think that Brianna getting a C- on one test should be the focus of you little brain right now,” Blair says, gesturing to Aquaria’s sketches that are now littering her room, along with the torn bit of fabric. “Have you even talked to her about it?”

“Well, no, but she’s not really given me much of a chance. We’re not exactly super close anymore, are we?” Aquaria feels her throat close up a little, before shaking her head, her friend giving her a pitying look.

“If it stops you worrying, just grab her after class and ask her if she’s okay. It’s really not hard, babe, it’s just being a good friend, and I’ll bet she’ll be happy to know you’re thinking of her.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to her,” Aquaria mumbles, choosing to ignore the last statement, knowing it probably won’t help, especially as she’s the fucking worst at giving advice.

“Okay?” Blair asks, receiving a reluctant nod in reply from her friend, who picks up her material from the floor in shame.

Aquaria knows how she feels about Brianna isn’t just friendly. She does. Blair might be her best friend, and Monét might be Brianna’s, but they’ve known each other a long time, longer than any of the other girls in their friendship group.

Aquaria recalls the day they met, almost ten years ago. She was always left out and picked on by the other kids; they thought she was way too weird and stupid, always laughing at the things she said and how she acted, which is a huge deal when you’re eight. Aquaria hated them all, and hated school. And then, a new girl moved to Aquaria’s town, and started at the school.

She had the biggest, kindest brown eyes that Aquaria had ever seen, and made it her mission to befriend the quirky girl who preferred to be alone. She sat down next to her whilst all the other kids went out to play, and handed her half her sandwich without a second word.

And that was that.

And then they grew back apart again, after a night which left Aquaria in tears, and unable to look her former best friend in the eye for months. They remained friends, tied together by mutual friends and mutual classes, but it’s nothing like it used to be.

So they’re not the closest of friends, not anymore, but conversation still comes naturally and easily, they can laugh together without it being awkward, and pick up wherever they left off. Aquaria’s quite an awkward person, but Brianna feels like someone who will never judge or ridicule her, who she can always come to for any sort of advice.

Feelings have been brewing under the surface for Aquaria for years now, of course she knows that, she’s just been pretending they’re not there, because a harmless crush is pointless when Brianna has no interest in her in the slightest. Her act of indifference has most people convinced, everyone except for Blair, who can see right through the paper-thin charade and has been teasing her best friend about it ever since.

Aquaria tries not to care. She can admire Brianna in class and be her friend the rest of the time. It’s not that hard, really. It’s not.

Aquaria has French the period before lunch on Friday, so she plans on grabbing Brianna after the class so they can have some time to talk. Her plan, however, is foiled when the blonde doesn’t even show up.

Aquaria spends the whole class sick with worry, unable to concentrate on her work, her nails tapping the surface of the desk rapidly, staring at the door and expecting her friend’s face to poke round it at any second, an apologetic smile pulling at her plump lips. Her mind is in overdrive, and it feels like everything is going off track.

As soon as class is over, she starts to walk to lunch slowly, pulling out her phone and calling her friend once, twice, three times with no reply. Aquaria rakes her hand through her black hair, almost clawing at her scalp.

She needs to calm down. Brianna is probably sick, and that’s why she’s off school, and sleeping, and that’s why her phone is left unanswered. Something in the back of Aquaria’s mind is still buzzing, however, drowning out her attempts to reassure herself and filling her mind with anxiety, like the sea pulling her under on a stormy day.

So, she bypasses the cafeteria and heads instead straight to her locker. Aquaria takes a second to linger over the polaroids decorating the inside of the door, adorned with stickers and hearts drawn sloppily in black sharpie. They’re mostly of herself and Blair, though it’s closely followed by some of her favourites of her and Brianna throughout their ten years of up-and-down friendship, as well as the other girls that Aquaria is friends with, group selfies and candid shots from parties and movie nights. Her eyes stop on a picture the summer before she started high school, of her and Brianna lounging by a pool, goofy grins on their faces, their bodies clad in bikinis. They had been so excited, buzzing with nervous energy about the adventures of high school that were to come.

Aquaria shakes her head and grabs her gym bag, slamming her locker shut and cutting off her thoughts of a simpler time, before she realised what a hellhole this place actually is, and what the hell it did to her friendship.

She storms through school like a lady on a mission. No matter what, Aquaria can always calm herself down through a vigorous dance session, pushing her body to the limit until she’s drenched in sweat and her only thought is of a shower.

She has a free period next, so she changes quickly, shooting a quick text to the group chat to let them know what she’s up to, planning to use all the time she can get to try to push the ridiculous thoughts of Brianna from her mind, at least for a little bit.

The high school is attached to a leisure centre, which the students use themselves in classes, but is open to the general public also, therefore the students have access to private rooms they can use to practise sports, as the public do, considering they pay.

Aquaria makes use of this any time she can, choosing the smaller rooms any time she can to practise her dance in peace.

Aside from a class playing volleyball in the gym, the area is empty as Aquaria walks back to the changing rooms, every single muscle on her whole body screaming out in pain. She loves to push herself or she feels like there’s no point, but today she obliterated the limit, only stopping when her throat screamed for water.

It worked, as well, as she soaks herself in the scolding water of the shower, her mind is taken up by the success of her session and not a certain blonde. As the heat from the water cascades over her body, she lets her mind empty of all thoughts, closing her eyes against the surprisingly decent stream of water and takes her time washing her body, allowing herself to be at peace for a while.

Finally, Aquaria steps out the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around her glistening body. The changing rooms are empty, therefore she is free to take her time to dry herself with the scratchy material of the towel from her gym bag, not quite ready to face the outside world yet.

She still has half of the period left before the next class starts, so, after redressing and pulling her damp hair into a careless messy bun, she decides to head to the library. Not to do school work, of course, just to flip through the latest issue of Vogue in search for inspiration.

Aquaria is happily walking up to her locker through the deserted hallways of the school, feeling surprisingly refreshed, her usually busy mind feeling almost new again, before it will be undoubtedly hit with a new tidal wave of thoughts. Her locker is up in the music block, as that’s where she has homeroom, and she’s just walking past one of the sound proof practise rooms when she happens to glance inside, through the glass panel in the door, and spots a familiar face, distorted by the glass, but familiar all the same.

Brianna.

She’s sitting at the far end of the tiny room, with her feet propped up on a chair, her head bent over a guitar, and she appears to be singing something. Aquaria inches carefully closer to the door, watching her friend who is oblivious to her presence. She looks so sad.

Brianna has always loved music, Aquaria knows that. She taught herself how to play guitar at a young age, and constantly came up with little melodies and songs that went with them, getting her best friend to chip in on the harmonies once in a while. But, to Aquaria’s knowledge, she hasn’t played in a while. And here she is, when she should probably be in class, strumming her old guitar, distinguishable by the old band stickers that faded a long time ago, and the dent from the time Aquaria dropped in on her wooden floor, by accident

And then Brianna looks up, and spots Aquaria standing in the doorway holding a gym bag and a concerned gaze, and lifts her hand up in a sort of half-hearted wave, getting up and placing the battered guitar down. She goes over to the door where Aquaria is frozen in a sort of silent embarrassment at being caught, and opens it.

“Hi,” Brianna says simply, before walking back into the room and retaking her seat.

Aquaria supposes that this as an invitation, and cautiously enters the room, shutting the door softly behind her, before perching on the piano stool close to where her friend is sitting. She studies her face for a second, all the worry and anxiety that she just worked so hard to get rid of flooding back and smacking her across the head again.

“What are you doing? Are you okay, Bri?”

At least she can finally talk to Brianna, again, and settle the matter for good, but the response from her friend is not at all what she’s expecting, her sad brown eyes lifting up to gaze into her own, her mind clearly occupied by something that has been pressing down on her for a while.

“What happened to me and you?”

It feels like a slap across the face, a cold, hard slap with a wet fish. That’s not even dead. And covered in slime.

“What do you mean?” Aquaria’s mouth feels dry, so she runs her tongue across her lower lip, which helps very little. She knows exactly what she means.

“We used to be best friends, Aqua. We were inseparable. Don’t you remember us sharing everything? I stayed at your house, like, every other night. What the fuck went wrong?” Brianna is angry now, and it takes Aquaria by surprise – it’s a rare emotion in the usually laid back, easy going and happy girl that she used to know so well.

“We’re still friends,” Aquaria mumbles, though it’s a poor attempt at reassurance. Is this what’s been weighing down on Brianna the last week? Surely it can’t be? And yet, a small part of Aquaria’s heart, dedicated to Brianna, lights up in hope that it could be.

“Yeah, great. I can’t remember the last time I was alone with you. When did we last hang out that wasn’t at fucking lunchtime?”

It hurts. It really fucking hurts. Aquaria’s chest feels like it’s closing in on her. Brianna doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember the fatal night that caused Aquaria to distance herself from Brianna, gradually, slowly, because the more time she spent with her, the more it hurt, like a dagger twisted into her chest, plunging deeper as the days, weeks, months passed. She had to get it out, even if that meant the end of their friendship, which it almost did.

She sure as hell isn’t going to bring it up.

“I know,” she says instead, shaking her head, hoping that the hurt she feels hasn’t seeped into her voice. “You know I still care about you. Which is why I want to know what’s been going on with you?”

“Don’t change the subject!” Brianna groans, clearly uncomfortable at what she knows Aquaria is about to bring up.

“Bri, you got a C and didn’t even care. You missed French, and you’re in here in a free period! I’m not crazy, something is the matter,” Aquaria says, mostly to reassure herself. There’s a long pause, as Brianna appears to be thinking something over, painfully slowly. Aquaria chews at the inside of her cheek anxiously, enough so that the metallic taste of her own blood seeps into her mouth

“Well, okay,” Brianna says, at last, looking up at Aquaria with a small, sad smile on her face. “Maybe you can help me. I could use your advice.”

“You know I’m shit at advice. You do know I’m shit at advice?” Aquaria says. If Brianna remembered who she was at all she would know that, but the girl just shakes her head, looking at Aquaria as if she holds a cure for all her troubles.

“I think you’re my best bet, right now.”

There’s something about this statement that makes Aquaria extremely nervous, the worry now pounding through her mind, amplified to a million times to what it was before, but how the hell can she refuse now?

“Um, okay, I’ll try my best.”

“I’ve been, sort of, realising some things about myself recently.”

“Things?”

There’s a long, painful, drawn out pause. Brianna can’t even look at Aquaria, who’s staring at her so intensely she might possibly be about to burn a hole through her skull.

“Like, maybe I’m not actually straight?”

Oh. That was not what Aquaria was expecting, at all. She almost chokes on air, trying her best to maintain a neutral disposition as she nods encouragingly, willing Brianna to continue as her mind starts whirring at a million miles an hour. Is this about her? Can she possibly dare to hope that it is?

“You’re… gay?”

“Maybe, god, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to a single person about this yet.”

God, that feels like old times. A bittersweet wave of nostalgia washes over Aquaria. Sitting up for hours and blurting any random thing that they could ever possibly think of. No secrets, no lies. Come to think of it, Brianna did once say that she had an unexplainable crush on the groovy chick girl that adorned her bedding as a kid.

“I just feel so lost, all of a sudden. I’m eighteen years old and I’m only just figuring out that I like girls?”

“Hey, that’s not that old. People don’t figure it out until college normally.”

Brianna laughs, though it’s painfully bitter, shaking her head in amusement, causing her friend to smile, just slightly.

“See, bad advice! What did I tell you?”

“I just can’t stop thinking about it, like, it’s keeping me up at night. And I have to avoid her, which is where you come in.”

“What?”

“Well, she made me realise I like girls at all. I have a huge, ridiculous crush on her.”

“Who, Bri?”

“Blair.”

And, just like that, the world comes crumbling down.

[wizardwritings]

Worse Than Nicotine

Prompt: “You’re the health-conscious med student and I’m the chain-smoking art student who’s also your barista and you leave me notes on smoking and lung health on your napkins and also a 20-page essay on lung cancer tucked under your saucer” AU. Where Sirius is the chain-smoking art student.

Word Count: About 5,500.

Warning(s): Smoking, sexual tension, kissing, motorcycle ride without all the gear. Don’t accept a ride from someone on a motorcycle unless they supply the proper gear and you’re wearing pants and a heavy jacket, preferably. Do some research before riding!

Note: Sort of a modern, college AU. This isn’t smut, but, I have to warn you, it does end up being smoking hot. Hah. Get it?

To the barista with the pretty grey eyes,

Smoking can cause the lens of the eyes to fog up and the whites of the eyes to turn yellow. Don’t ruin their beauty. If not for yourself, then for those who have the pleasure of seeing them. ;)

Love, Y/N.

Sirius rolled his eyes, a slight chuckle escaping his lips as he pocketed yet another note from you. If you were to open a spare drawer in his flat, you would find a collection of tossed napkins with rushed scribbles littering the surface. Maybe one day Sirius would take your insistent advice, but right now, all he wanted was a drag.

“Another love letter from your favorite med student?”

With a shrug, Sirius rested his palms on the countertop, sending his co-worker and flatmate, James, a smirk. “You could call it that.”

“What does that make it? The third one this week?” asked James, spinning a permanent marker on the tips of his fingers.

“More or less.” Sirius checked the time before peering out the cafe windows. “It’s kind of endearing, I think. You know, in an annoying, motherly sort of way.”

James let out a laugh, pushing his glasses higher on his face. “What did it say this time?”

“Oh, just not to ruin my beautiful eyes by smoking.”

“Beautiful?” James squinted, zealously searching Sirius’ face. “Your eyes? Are you sure these notes aren’t meant for me?”

Sirius snorted, brushing his hair to the side. “They’re definitely for me.”

With a mischievous grin, James drummed the tip of his pen on the counter. “Sure they are.”

When the door chimed, James was ready to take the customer’s order, making the drink himself since business was slow at this hour. Once the latte was ready and the customer was seated, he turned back to Sirius.

“But what if it’s not just for you?”

“Pardon?”

James shrugged. “I’m only saying, what if you aren’t the only mysterious, smoking barista in your little med student’s life?”

“First of all, she’s not my little med student.” Sirius paused, a small smirk playing on his face. “Not yet, anyway. And second, that’s absolutely ridiculous.”

Still, as ridiculous as James’ suggestion sounded, an unsettling feeling entered Sirius’ stomach at the thought of you flirting with someone else.

“I don’t know about that,” James drawled. “Have you even talked to her?” Sirius opened his mouth, but quickly shut it at James’ pointed look. “Besides asking for her order.”

“She’s always busy studying from that textbook of hers,” Sirius said defensively. “I was trying to be polite.”

James hummed, tapping his foot on the linoleum floor. “That’s chivalrous and all, but if she has time to write you a little note on her every visit, I think she would be more than willing to take the time to talk to you.”

Sirius thought on his best mate’s words, just now questioning why he had never made a move.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Sirius snorted, “Since when did I need girl advice from you?”

“Looks like the roles have been reversed,” James said with a grin. “A girlfriend will definitely wise you up.”

Sirius’ only response was a cocked eyebrow.

“And as the one with a girlfriend, and therefore the one who is wisest,” James chose to ignore the huff he heard from Sirius, “I say you need to talk to her before she thinks you don’t like her.”

“I will–”

“And when I say talk to her, I mean soon.” James paused. “And when I say soon, I mean tomorrow.” Taking in Sirius’ amused eye roll, James continued, “Y/N is incredibly smart and–forgive me, Lily–incredibly pretty.  She’s not going to wait around if you show no interest.”

“I show plenty of interest!”

“Then you’ll be fine with showing even more tomorrow.”

“Fine. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” said James with a nod of affirmation. “Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomor–”

“Oh, bugger off, Prongs.”

- - - - -

To the barista with the beautiful voice,

I’ve heard you and your friend with glasses sing along to the music as you guys worked. You have an amazing voice. On a completely unrelated note, smoking can damage breathing control, dry out your vocal cords, and strain your lungs. Be careful and, please, be safe!

Love, Y/N.

Sirius didn’t bother to stop the smile that spread across his face. You really were an observant one, he thought.

Throughout that day, he had been subtly trying to sneak glances at you while you sat at your booth. That time, you had no textbook with you. Just a phone you were hurriedly typing on. It would’ve been the perfect time for Sirius to approach you.

But he didn’t. And soon enough you had left, shooting him a quick grin before tucking the napkin under your saucer.

Maybe tomorrow.

- - - - -

He really is too pretty to die.

You shook your head, blinking once. With a look of determination, you returned back to your textbook, running the cap of your highlighter underneath the words as you read.

You had to focus on studying for your exam next week. The cute barista would have to wait.

A cafe full of potential distractions might not have been the best place to study, but with your flatmates having their monthly movie night, you reckoned that a house full of drunk college girls would have been even worse. And, to be fair, you didn’t think your barista would be working a shift this late.

Plugging your earphones in, you blasted some white noise, turning the page of your textbook. Time to get busy, you told yourself.

About a quarter away from being done with your study session, you felt a warm presence above you. You looked up, your eyes flittering over to their name tag.

Sirius. Your barista. A small smile found its way across your face.

Bringing your gaze to his, you took an earphone out. “Hi.”

He smiled back with an amused expression. “Hi.”

Your nose scrunched up ever so slightly as he got closer, a faint smell of nicotine still lingering on his shirt. Trying not to be rude, you huffed softly.

“Yes, I did just have a cigarette,” Sirius supplied with a deep chuckle, answering your unvoiced question. “My shift ended and I needed to get off store grounds to smoke.”

Disappointed, you hummed slightly. You worried he would never take your notes to heart. Or worse– He paid no attention to the napkins and tossed them on sight.

“But I couldn’t leave you here alone to study without some caffeine to last you the night.” He slid you a cup of coffee, careful not to spill the drink on your books. “It’s on the house.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to– Really.”

Sirius shrugged nonchalantly, giving you a noncommittal smile. “It’s the least I could do in exchange for my newly acquired knowledge on the dangers of smoking.”

“So you do read my notes!” you chirped, satisfied. “Thank goodness, I was worried my efforts were all going to waste.”

“Of course not.” He brushed the loose strands of his hair from his face with a slight smirk. “My favorite part is always the address. The barista with the pretty eyes or the soft-looking hair or the beautiful voice or the tauntingly ravishing, kissable lips–”

You let out an indignant laugh, keeping him from teasing you further. When he never responded to your little notes, you thought Sirius might have been broody and shy. But taking one look at his playful grin and relaxed posture, you realized he was anything but.

“Strange. I don’t recall ever writing the part about your lips, but,” you trailed your gaze from his eyes to his mouth in one exaggerated motion, “maybe you’re not wrong.”

He matched your stare with his, running the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. Clearing his throat, he placed the palms of his hands on his jeans.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your study time,” said Sirius as your wrapped your hands around the cup. “But hopefully I’ll see you again soon.”

“Actually–” You cut yourself off, looking down at your textbook. You could finish studying tomorrow, but it wasn’t everyday a cute barista returned your advances. “I’ve finished studying for tonight. You can take a seat–you know–if you’d like.”

He grinned, glad you didn’t kick him out. Sirius slid into the booth, facing you.

Finally lifting the latte to your face, your eyebrows furrowed at the art on it. You glanced up at him only to see he was looking intently for your reaction. When Sirius caught your eye, however, he shot you a grin.

“Do you like it?”

The crema formed the shape of a delicate rose, the white foam a stark contrast from the dark latte.

“It looks beautiful,” you replied honestly, careful not to ruin the design as you moved. “You did this?”

He nodded.

“I can’t even draw this on paper,” you admitted, letting out a laugh. “I have absolutely zero artistic ability.”

“Oh, please.” Sirius raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re just being modest.”

You matched his expression with a challenging one of your own. “No, believe me; I’m really not.”

Pulling out a scratch piece of paper from the back of your notebook, you placed it in front of you. Using Sirius’ latte art as a reference, you attempted to sketch out a rose.

After almost ten minutes of frustrated grunts and feverish erasing, you turned the drawing toward Sirius to reveal a meek, two inch drawing of something that resembled a flower.

Taking the paper in his hands, Sirius held it up to the light. “I mean, if you squint really hard and shake the paper really fast, it looks quite interesting.”

“Funny,” you deadpanned, grabbing hold of Sirius’ forearm to stop him from shaking the paper. You made a face. “Not everyone can be blessed with artistic abilities.”

“It just takes practice.” Sirius leaned back into his seat as you took a sip of your latte. “And, perhaps, you should stick to your annoyingly endearing cigarette facts.”

You huffed, the corners of your mouth tilting upward in a wry smile as a comfortable silence fell over you. The only sound heard in the coffee shop was the muffled music being played from the speakers. Scanning Sirius up and down, you saw he carried an aura of effortless elegance you had never noticed before.

Shifting slightly, you mixed a packet of sugar into your coffee. “The notes didn’t annoy you, did they?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“Because they weren’t meant to be naggy,” you said in a rushed tone. “It’s just… I know how detrimental smoking can be and I didn’t want you to get–”

“I told you,” Sirius started, waving you off with one look, “I like them.” He brushed his hair behind his ear. “Now, if it were anyone else, I might’ve been annoyed. But it was you… An intelligent, beautiful girl that I was lucky enough to catch the attention of.”

His gaze stayed focused on your face, the sudden attention causing heat to rush to your cheeks. The amount of times you blushed in a conversation embarrassed you; you were a normally collected person, but the smallest of compliments could set you off.

You took a sip of coffee, keeping the mug in front of your face in an attempt to hide your blush. “I have plenty more facts about smoking. Maybe one you’ll actually listen to.”

Sirius laughed lightly, shaking his head at your accusatory look. “I read every word, sweetheart. And I will admit, I haven’t been smoking as much.”

“Really?”

“Only a couple cigarettes a day.”

“Sirius!”

He smirked at your cry of concern, offhandedly stating, “It’s better than a pack in one sitting.”

“You better be joking.”

“You act as if nicotine is the worst thing in the world, Y/N.” Sirius rubbed the back of his shoulder, keeping his eyes on you. “I’d say there are things worse than nicotine.”

“It’s not nicotine that’s the problem.” You paused, pursing your lips. “Well, it is. In a way. It’s a stimulant like caffeine, which isn’t too bad, but nicotine is a highly addictive drug and the fastest way to get your fix is by smoking. And as I’ve stated in my notes, in the long run, smoking–”

You broke off abruptly, hoping Sirius didn’t think you were looking down on him.

“I mean, not that I’m trying to pressure you into quitting.” You broke your gaze, staring down into your coffee as you mindlessly stirred it around. “If you do decide to quit, it should be a conscious decision that you make for yourself.”

“I know.” He nudged the edge of your shoe with his, causing you to look up to see a small smile on his face. “Now stop worrying that you’re going to hurt my feelings. I’m a big boy; I can handle it.”

Rolling your eyes, you let the conversation shift into something more lighthearted. You asked him about his art, he told you to ask him for lessons anytime, you told him you might have to take him up on his offer. He asked if you had a life outside of med school, you replied with a hearty shove.

Before you knew it, the two of you were leaning closer to the edges of your chairs, becoming more comfortable as time went on. You didn’t want this to end. But when you caught a glimpse of the time on your phone, you knew it had to soon. Trying to find a bus to bring you home to your drunk flatmates at eleven o’clock at night wasn’t exactly the safest thing.

“Well,” you said hesitantly, “it’s getting late. I better head home.”

Sirius nodded, standing up next to you. “I might as well go, too. Let me walk you out.”

When you made it out of the cafe doors, Sirius bidding his co-workers a farewell and goodnight, you searched the parking lot for the nearest street with a bus stop. You turned to Sirius, his face pale under the harsh street lights.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

“I actually didn’t drive here today.” Kicking up the gravel with the tip of your shoe, you felt his gaze on you. “I’ve never been a fan of driving at night.”

“Hmm.” Sirius nodded with a slight hum. “I’ll wait with you until your ride gets here, then?”

“I was going to take the bus.” At his curious glance you continued, “My flatmates and I usually have a girl’s night a few times a month, but I had to study.” The breezed up, prickling your skin as you rubbed your arms under your shirt. “So I asked one of them to drop me off and told them I had a ride home.”

He quirked a brow. “But you don’t.”

You shrugged, tucking your stray hairs behind your ear. “They needed a night to unwind; I didn’t want them to worry about me.”

“That’s ridiculously selfless of you,” Sirius stated, moving closer when he saw the goosebumps on your arms. There was a comforting warmth radiating through his uniform and you had to keep yourself from pulling him closer. “I can give you a ride to your flat, if you’d like.”

“No– It’s fine. The bus stop isn’t too far from here.”

Sirius folded his arms, shaking his head slightly. “Not that I doubt your capabilities, but I could never just let you navigate your way through the city at this hour.”

You bit your lower lip. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not,” he insisted. “But do you know what would be a bother?”

You didn’t respond.

“Leaving you here and spending the rest of my night wondering if you made it home safely.”

Rolling your eyes, you fought off a smile. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Beaming, Sirius took your hand in his, leading you to the staff parking lot. You may have just had your first real conversation with him today, but getting a ride from him still beat wandering the streets at midnight. Plus, the feeling of his hand around yours helped warm you up. That, of course, was the only reason you enjoyed it.

Telling him your address, he entered it into his phone GPS. His eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve actually dropped James off there before…”

He trailed off, a small smirk making its way onto his face. You have him a curious look, but decided not to question it.

Soon enough, Sirius pulled out his keys and a small clang sounded. He let go of your hand and patted the vehicle in front of him.

Your jaw almost dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He met your dubious expression with a smirk of his own. Unlocking the chain, Sirius looked up at you to say three simple words. “You like it?”

Folding your arms, amusement flooded your features. You shook your head slightly, the corners of your lips tilting upward as you saw Harley-Davidson branded on the ride. “Why does this not surprise me?”

“I’m going to pretend that was meant as a compliment,” said Sirius, passing you a spare helmet.

You raised your eyebrow in question, wondering why he kept more than one with him.

“When James–my co-worker with the messy hair and glasses,” he paused at your giggle, smiling. “When James and I have the same shift, I usually give him a ride to our flat. So I make sure to bring an extra helmet with me.”

“That’s the only reason?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “So charming random girls at the cafe and wooing them with your hot ride isn’t a frequent ploy of yours?”

“Nah,” Sirius drawled, unbuckling the strap of the helmet with his fingers. “Not frequent. I do it once a week, at most.”

You rolled your head to the side, jutting your lower lip out slightly. “I’m not sure I want a ride from you anymore.”

He laughed, the soft sound echoing in the empty parking lot. “I’m only kidding, sweetheart. Don’t fret– Unless you consider James competition. But I must say, with his tight grip and delightfully caffeinated scent, he might be tough to beat.”

“Well, damn.”

Shooting him a coy smile, you grabbed the helmet from his hands, plopping it onto your head. Sirius gave you a once-over, eyes stopping at the loose strap under your chin. Leaning forward, his fingers brushed against your jawline, tightening the helmet so it fit snugly atop your head.

“Safety first,” he murmured, face still mere inches away from yours.

With a lazy smirk, Sirius pulled away, tugging the back of your helmet to make sure it wouldn’t come off before patting the top of your helmet. You huffed, slapping his hands off.

“Sorry.” With a hint of laughter in his voice, he didn’t sound very apologetic. “You just look too damn cute for your own good in that.”

“Cute?” Your lips turned down into a pout as you folded your arms, trying to look aggressive through your face shield. You unbuckled the helmet and placed it under your arm.

“Cute,” Sirius affirmed, breaking out into a grin as he pinched your cheeks. “And your little pout just makes you look even cuter.”

You attempted to pushed his hands away, but they somehow managed to stay rested on your face. “Just cute?”

“Amongst other things,” he breathed, brushing a small spot behind your ear with the pad of his thumb. As he pulled away with a cheeky grin, you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Sirius laughed at your reaction.

“That wasn’t funny,” you scowled, nudging him in the arm to let him know you weren’t upset.

“‘Course not.” Pulling a shirt out from his Harley, he turned back to you. “I’m just going to change, teach you the basics of riding as a passenger, then we’ll be off.”

Without giving you the time to turn around, he pulled his polo off, swapping it for a loose-fitting black tee. Your gaze followed the exposed parts of his abdomen as he fumbled with getting his shirt on. You caught a glimpse of black ink on Sirius’ chest, furrowing your eyebrows as you tried to make out what it was before he clothed himself.

Sirius met your stare with one of his own. You quirked a brow at him.

“You smoke, you ride a motorcycle, and you have tattoos?” You gave him an amused smile. “You’re my father’s worst nightmare.”

“Let’s hope you’re not a daddy’s girl, then.” He didn’t give you time to process what he said, instead holding his own helmet under his arm. “Anyway, when you’re on the motorcycle, I need you hold on as tightly to my waist are you’re comfortable with.”

You nodded, noticing his sober expression. Riding a motorcycle wasn’t a joke and he wanted to make sure you knew that. Still, it was something that should feel fun and exhilarating.

“If I’m accelerating or riding too fast, wrap your legs around mine.” You raised an eyebrow and even Sirius couldn’t help but smirk at that. “By doing so, you will get a better grip and, at the same time, tell me that I should probably slow down.”

Sirius went on with a brief summary on what to do and how to communicate with him while riding and, by the end of it, your stomach fluttered with nerves and excitement. You all but clambered onto the bike, putting your helmet on and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Keep them here,” he stated with a small laugh, bringing your hands hands from the center of his abdomen to his sides.

Feeling rejected you let out a soft, “Oh.” Maybe you were reading this incorrectly and Sirius had no interest in you after all.

Sensing your discomfort, Sirius placed his hand on top of yours, briefly interlacing them to give you a firm squeeze.

“It’s not that I don’t want your arms wrapped around me–because, trust me,” he let out a throaty chuckle, his voice growing quieter, “if I had my way, your arms wouldn’t be the only thing wrapped around me.”

You bristled, your face flaming at his wanton statement. For a moment, you were glad you had a bulky helmet on to cover your tomato-like complexion.

Feeling you stiffen, Sirius threw his head back at your reaction, his chest vibrating with his deep laughter. You edged away from him on the seat and you knew if you could see his face, he’d be smirking.

“But it’s not about me right now.” He turned back to you once he sobered, eyes searching for yours through your face shield. “Right now, what matters is your safety, okay?”

“Okay,” you murmured, giving his side a gentle squeeze.

Securing his own helmet on the top of his head, Sirius revved the engine, checking one last time to see if you were comfortable.

You laughed at his concern. If anything, you thought Sirius would’ve been the type of guy to ride without a helmet, going at dangerous speeds to prove his expertise. But, so far, he had been nothing but cautious. A little too cautious, in your opinion.

“I’m fine, Sirius. Now–what is it you told me?–stop worrying. I’m a big girl; I can handle it.” You heard his airy breath of amusement through the low speeds of the parking lot. “Now, take a little risk.”

You saw him shake his head, voice swimming with mirth from your challenging words. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And with that, he took off.

The city lights passed by in a blur, the breeze biting into your exposed arms and you were grateful for your helmet a second time today. In the middle of the night, the streets were yours; the cars were sparse and space was plenty.

An estranged mixture of fear and excitement coursed through your veins as you tighten your grip around Sirius’ abdomen. It wasn’t until he slowed down and pulled closer to the sidewalk did you notice you were screaming the whole time.

“Are you alright?” he called, amusement lacing his tone.

“Better than alright!” You attempted to lower your voice, not wanting to yell in Sirius’ ear. “I just scream when I’m excited, sorry.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he accelerated once more. Though he wasn’t going very fast, the force of inertia caused you to wrap your legs around his. You were vaguely aware of the feeling of your thighs pressed against his as you edged your body closer to the center of the seat, leaning your head to the side to avoid knocking Sirius’ helmet.

As soon as you fell into the groove of riding, you placed your feet back on your own pegs, taking one arm off of Sirius and stretching it out above your head. With the breeze billowing through your fingers and tossing your hair back, you’ve never felt more in touch with your surroundings.

“Yeah!” you cried, urging Sirius to drive faster.

You felt the rumble of his laugh through his thin shirt, thinking how unfair it was that warmth exuded from his back despite the cold air around him while you had goosebumps covering every square inch of your arms.

Before you knew it, Sirius had pulled up in front of your flat, the motorcycle silencing itself to nothing more than a soft purr. Killing the engine, he helped you off, keeping his hands on your waist for longer than he needed to.

“So,” you breathed, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth.

Sirius let his hands linger around you before slowly retracting them. “So.”

“Thank you for the ride.”

“It was my pleasure.”

You nodded, avoiding eye contact. Any charm you might have previously possessed went down the drain when Sirius stared at you. All you knew was you missed the warmth of his body on yours.

“Going to have a smoke after this?” you remarked, arms folded in a challenge.

He let out a huff of amusement, running the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek. A sideways grin made its way onto his face. “Depends. If I say yes will you stay out here and make sure I don’t?”

You gave Sirius’ arm a playful push, leaving your gentle grip on his tricep. “If that’s what it takes.”

Running your fingers along the light cloth of his sleeve, you smirked at the slight tightening of his muscles. Sirius quirked an eyebrow at you, deliberately skimming his lower lip with his tongue.

Two can play that game, you thought with a small shake of your head.

Stepping closer, you peered at his face through the harsh lights littering the streets, the gleam casting a shadow on his eyelashes. Tilting your head to the side, you brushed the tip of your index finger over the cool skin of his cheekbone.

You moved back, pretending not to feel the intense stare Sirius was burning into you. You shot him and innocent smile, bringing your forefinger and thumb together.

“Eyelash.”

Though you shifted away from him, the proximity between the two of you still left you in a compromising position. Focusing your attention back on Sirius, you noticed the bottomless greys of his eyes had turned a stormy color from your interaction, his jaw clenching.

Blowing the stray eyelash from your thumb, you shut your eyes, making a wish. When you finished, you slowly looked up at him, smiling. But his gaze was already on your lips.

You tried not to smirk.

Testing the limits, you cupped your hand under his chiseled jaw, running your thumb along the light stubble peppering his face.

“Sweetheart,” Sirius rasped, a tone of warning laced through his voice.

You traced a circular pattern on him, your touch so light he barely felt it. Still, he was aware–painfully aware–that it was there. Your hot breath was feathering the base of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing at your light touches.

“Did you want me to stop–”

A low growl escaped from the back of his throat as Sirius grasped your wrist firmly in his large hand. He rubbed the sensitive part of your forearm with the callous of his thumb.

So, he doesn’t like being teased.

“Sweetheart,” he said again, voice still hoarse, “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I think I do.” You fingered the hem of his shirt, daring to inch closer. “But how about you show me, anyway?”

And he did.

Dropping your wrist, Sirius placed one hand on the small of your back, pressing your body against his, and the other cupped against your cheek.

As he toyed with the strands of hair framing your face, twirling it around his forefinger, Sirius kept his gaze intently on yours. He trailed his fingers down the length of your hair, the edges of his knuckles skimming past the crevice of your chest.

A satisfied smirk formed on his face as you shuddered, arching away from him, his other hand still applying a pressure just above the curve of your ass.

“Sirius.” You almost groaned, your voice strangled in need. You wanted more. You wanted his lips on your lips, his hands in your hair– More.

His amused hum rang through your body, heat spreading to the core of your abdomen. Still, he made no move to change his pace.

Lacing his fingers through the back of your hair, Sirius gave it a slight tug, causing you to expose the vulnerable parts of your neck to him. He continued the stroke his thumb in downward motions through the material of your leggings, peppering your jawline with chaste kisses. He started near your chin, making his way up to where the base of your ear met your neck. His stubble tickled your jaw, leaving you to wonder how it would feel elsewhere.

Moving away ever so slightly, Sirius brushed the spot behind your ear with his soft lips, blowing a hot puff of air against your cool skin.

You shivered.

He was getting you back for teasing him. But he was going harder.

You were getting frustrated. Your stomach twisted in anticipation, heat coursing through your veins. In that very moment, there was nothing you wanted more than for Sirius to place his mouth on yours.

“Please,” you moaned.

With his lips still brushing the base of your ear, he whispered, “Please what?”

Grabbing at the collar of his shirt, you pulled his face closer to yours. “Please– Just kiss me, already.”

“Since you asked so nicely…”

A strangled whimper escaped from your mouth. You were are the end of your line, unable to take his continuous teasing any longer. Taking matters into your own hand, you stood on the tips of your toes, craning your neck up to meet his lips.

“Finally,” you murmured against his mouth, causing Sirius to laugh into the kiss.

The deep vibrations from his chuckle rang through your body, a feeling of pleasure erupting in your chest. You eased into his caress as you brought your hand to cup his jaw, stroking his peppered stubble.

His large hand pressed against your lower back, pushing your hips against the rough material of his jeans. For a second, Sirius broke the kiss, nipping the soft flesh of your bottom lip, then soothing the spot with the tip of his tongue.

The next moment, his mouth was back on yours, moving against you in a tantalizing dance. The night filled with the cacophonous sounds of gasps and groans. You were sure Sirius could feel your heart beating erratically through your ribcage, your chest flattened against the defined muscles of his.

The kiss was better than you could have ever imagined.

You pulled away, breathing heavily for some much needed air. Sirius let his forehead rest on top of yours, his lips parted in a pant, his warm breath teasing your hypersensitive skin.

He grinned, breathless and dazed by the kiss still lingering on his mouth. “Now, wasn’t that worth the wait, sweetheart?”

You let out an amused huff, your arms still around his neck. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

Sirius trailed his hands down from your waist, to your hips, and went lower still, stopping to cup the curve of your ass.

“Still going to have a smoke after this?” you breathed, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

He wore a hooded expression, smoothing the furrow between your brows with a light kiss. You looked back up at him to find a look on his face that made your stomach churn.

“Nah.” Sirius removed your hands from around him, toying with the tips of your fingers. “I’m good.”

Interlacing his hand through yours, he gave you a small, but firm, kiss on the lips.

“I think I found something much better than nicotine.”

Aw, I can’t stop grinning. I hope you guys enjoyed! xx Fia.

[kenjkats]

Notes Between Strangers (Kenji x F!MC Headcanon)

Another request for a Kenji HC by @aliaisreal ❤ You’re gonna have to tell me where you find these fun FUN prompts!!

Based on this prompt:  “We write notes to each other on the desk we share at different times and I never knew who I was talking to until I saw you stay behind after class to write on it and holy shit you’re HOT.”

Note: Hope you don’t mind, it’s easier to HC when the AU is still somewhat linked to their reality, so instead of classmates this is an AU where they’re coworkers, but Alex (Hero name: Asteria) wasn’t put in charge of Kenji and The Grand, so they haven’t met yet.

Note 2: GOD HELP ME this is practically fanfic all the bullets were so long I just clumped them into paragraphs so yeah. Fun fact I used to write. Majored in it even, but haven’t done so in two years, so any measures to convert it from bullet hc notes to fanfic is probably A MESS™ Hope you like at least some of it tho lol

Word count: about 2800 which is RIDICULOUS. If you’ve never heard of a slowburn hc, well here you go.

HC request prompts / HC masterlist

Alex is sitting in the Prescott Industries conference room. She always sits in the same seat near the corner of the room, next to the largest chair in the room where her boss, Grayson is sitting. She’s listening to him talk to a room full of clients and noting down everything that’s happening. Sometimes these things go on for hours and they talk in circles. Alex tends to space out. She absent-mindedly scribbles in the edges of her notebook when this happens: little doodles of stick figures flying and fighting villains shooting fire from their hands, or she writes little notes about how she feels.

I’m tired. This meeting is boring and going nowhere. Wish I was in my tub with a good book right now. Or wine.

“Alex!” Grayson calls out, snapping her out of her daze. 

“Yes, Mr. Prescott?”

“Did you get that last part?”

“Yes,” she replies trying not to look flustered, tearing out the sheet of paper with doodles and thoughts on it and placing it in the tiny shelf area the conference room table has underneath, out of Grayson’s sight. By the end of the meeting Alex is so flustered by all the instructions Grayson’s spouting off on their way out of the room that she forgets the piece of paper.

That afternoon Kenji was called up to the conference room to have a meeting with Grayson and a few important figures involved in The Grand’s opening night later that month. He shakes hands all around the table, flashing his signature charismatic grin, and takes a seat next to Grayson in the corner of the room.

He’s absent-mindedly drumming his fingers on the table as he’s listening to the men in suits drone on, when something falls from the table’s shelf and lands in his lap. Curious, he picks it up and reads it under the table, now ignoring Grayson and the others. He smirks to himself, amused by the doodles of whom he recognized to be Asteria, the other hero he’s been seeing running around the city. Kenji looks up and nods along. He answers a question or two to make sure he still looks like he’s paying attention.

He then picks up his pen and scribbles next to the note underneath the hero doodles: 

Books get wet you know. Wine’s good.  A good Darjeeling tea is even better. ;) 

- K

Kenji folds the sheet of paper and returns it to the small shelf, letting it stick out just a little bit in the hopes that it catches its owner’s attention. He’s not sure why he replied. Or signed his name. But he found the writer amusing and honestly, he was bored of this meeting, too.

A couple of days later Grayson calls Alex into yet another meeting in the conference room. Things are getting hectic with preparations for The Grand’s opening. She sits in her usual seat and spots the folded paper peeking out from below the table. Did she leave something there? Unsure and curious, she takes a peek at the note as others take their places around the table.

Alex recognizes what it is the moment she sees her little Asteria sketch and is a little flustered to see that she had left one of her doodle pages in the conference room. She’s about to crumple it up when she notices something new. Alex stares at the words for a few seconds, a little baffled that someone was writing back to her. The corner of her mouth turns upward in amusement. She barely manages to hold in a giggle when she sees a tiny sketch of whom she recognizes to be Talos, wrestling with her doodle of Caleb. Then another of Talos posing with his muscles flexed and grinning.

Amused, she plays along and responds, 

I’ll try that. Thanks, stranger. So… Talos fan, huh? Is it the bronze abs? 

- A

As the days go by and the opening night of The Grand draws near, the conference meetings become frequent. Alex is usually called in with one group in the mornings, and Kenji with another just before the day ends. To pass the time and to relieve stress, they keep up with the notes. Something about the writer’s humor strikes Kenji, makes him want to play along even more. 

Funny! I like Talos more for his shining (get it?) initiative to protect Northbridge. I mean, if we’re talking about sexy heroes I’d say a guy like me would look better with Asteria. 

(A doodle of Asteria inside a heart is drawn next to the note) 

But more importantly, you noticed Talos’ abs huh? You like those? /:) 

- K

Alex blushes at the thought of this stranger being attracted to her. Well he means Asteria, but she is Asteria. 

Hah! Let’s just say a classy girl like me can appreciate a sculpted figure. And Asteria’s wayyy out of your league. 

She pauses and considers this stranger being so candid with her, and she’s interested in him. 

Who are you again anyway?

 - A

Kenji smirks to himself at the new message. He’s starting to like this snarky mystery girl. 

You wound me! I’m a catch! Better than Talos, even. 

(A doodle of a sad-faced Talos with a large X over his abs and a doodle of Kenji grinning, eyes closed and hands on his hips with fireworks behind him sit side by side underneath the note)

And me? Just a company man. Why? You interested, A? ;) 

- K

It’s been about 2 weeks of notes now, and Alex wonders how she still lets herself get surprised by this cocky stranger greeting her during morning meetings. She sits there in disbelief again, but can’t help smiling at the little flirtation he’s started. There’s something comforting about the way they banter that Alex had been enjoying during these busy days. She wonders if she should encourage this.

“Alex,” Grayson calls to her, a slight frown on his face, “you’ve been distracted a lot in these meetings lately. Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Shit, she thinks. 

“Sorry, Grayson, just a little overwhelmed by all the upcoming things to do on our… to do list,” Alex chuckles awkwardly.

“Yes, there is quite a bit, isn’t there?” Grayson replies, sighing. The conference room empties leaving the two of them. “Well, looks like I need to catch you up. I notice your pad’s blank, and you don’t have your laptop.”

Alex’s eyes dart to the notebook resting on the desk. “Right.”

Grayson pulls his chair in closer to Alex and begins to recap the end of the meeting. Alex is rushing to jot down all the important details, forced to stuff the note from “K” back into the shelf, forgotten.

Kenji is a little shocked, and worried, if he were to be perfectly honest, that he didn’t get a reply when he returned. As confident as he tries to be, his thoughts get the better of him; Maybe she just didn’t have a meeting this week. It’s happened before. Or…was I too forward? That usually works. In person, though. Huh. 

The next day Alex hurriedly sits in her spot and searches for a note. She couldn’t find the time to even write back when there weren’t any people in the conference room because lately, there were always people. Or Grayson always needed her. Her hand feels underneath the table and shelf where they’ve started hiding their notes, in case other coworkers used the shelf space, and she lights up when she feels paper. She quickly reads through it before Grayson and the others come in.

The paper was littered with doodles of Talos in various poses with little speech bubbles telling “A” how much he loves her: Talos making a heart with his hands and grinning, or Talos holding out flowers, or Talos baring his chest with the words “I love you” written all over it.

Sorry if I came on too strong. The shameless flirting kinda gets in the way sometimes. But then again maybe you just need to see my pretty face for it all to work? lol I’m kidding. Really, though. Your messages have been the highlight of my weeks.

- K ;)

Alex giggled. She felt a little embarrassed, too, when she realized how much she was smiling by herself. She quickly regained her composure and wrote a response:

Ha. Alright, you’re forgiven… but honestly it wasn’t you. I just got caught up in a lot of work for The Grand. You might have heard of the project? Idk. Things are getting stressful though.

- A

The next days were busy, but it allowed them more frequent chances to pass notes. They both can’t deny that they looked forward to it.

Well! That’s a load off my mind. Couldn’t have the mysterious A mad at me. What would I do during these god-awful meetings?

Huh, you working on The Grand’s opening, too? We must’ve seen each other already. I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep actually. Busy busy.

- K

Riiiight. You, too? We would’ve known though, I mean clearly you sit in my seat soo… you work for Grayson, too, then?

- A

Right. Silly me. The lack of sleep and worrying that you were mad at me must have made it slip my mind. Yeah, Grayson’s my boss. Ok, who are you?? 

- K

And just like that the notes went from teasing and funny doodles to little comforts from a stranger. Funny doodles that cheered the other up. Little notes of encouragement. A piece of candy stuck to the back now and then. Alex was liking this side of the elusive K. She realized one day when she didn’t receive a note back that these messages were now the highlight of her workdays, too.

Kenji hadn’t been called up for a meeting in a while. He’d been forced to run around town meeting contractors and designers and musicians to get ready for the big night. He wondered whether or not he should drop by and give Grayson an update anyway. At least, just an excuse to drop off a note for A, he thought. It’s weird. He actually misses this girl he’s never even met before. Maybe in the morning, he promises himself.

It’s the day before the opening night and Alex is in the last big meeting. She decides she’ll leave another note. Maybe he just got busy like she did last time there was a lapse in notes, she thinks to comfort herself.

Kenji calls Grayson to tell him he’s visitng. 

“Hey I was about to call you in for an early meeting. There are a few things I need to coordinate with you. My assisstant will help you out.” 

Kenji comes over in the morning, clutching his note inside his pocket. He lets his eyes casually wander around Grayson’s floor, trying to see if he could spot A. He laughs to himself. You don’t even know what she looks like. 

He decides to head over to the conference room where Grayson is already addressing a group of sponsors. Kenji stops in his tracks when he looks up and sees a woman sitting in his usual seat, typing away at her laptop, occasionally glancing upwards at Grayson. Something tells him that this is her.

Kenji loiters outside the conference room for a few moments, looking through the glass walls at “A.” He couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. He watched her, observed the way her dark hair draped her shoulders. Her smooth skin. Seductive eyes. She was perfect.

He knocks on the door and Grayson looks up to greet him, “Ah, Mr. Katsaros, come in! Everybody, this is Kenji Katsaros, the manager of The Grand I recently hired. Ah, Kenji, this is my assistant, Alex, Alex, Kenji.”

Kenji nods to the sponsors, shakes Grayson’s hand, then turns to Alex and shakes hers, lingering for a second. She gives him a confused look.

Just then Majorie peers her head in the door and calls Grayson out. He excuses himself, leaving Kenji next to Alex. The rest of the people in the room take this time to talk amongst themselves, and Kenji seizes his chance. He leans over to Alex who’s typing on her laptop and whispers, “So Alex,” he savors the name on his lips, glad he finally knows what “A” stood for, “you’re self-doodles certainly don’t do you justice.”

And Kenji watches her as her face changes from confusion to wide-eyed realization. He smirks back at her and winks. Grayson reappears before she could say anything else, and Kenji leaves his seat to sit across from Alex, with Grayson now in between them at the head of the table.

Kenji is relishing in getting to tease Alex in person. He’s definitely in his element now. He flashes her flirtatious glances with those gray eyes of his.

Alex is fidgeting in her seat, trying to stop herself from cracking a smile at his teasing or roll her eyes. She tells herself she’ll ignore him, just focus on her notes and Grayson and the meeting, but she can’t help but glance back at him, too. And she can’t help but notice how handsome he was. Those gray eyes were doing things her to her that she shouldn’t be feeling right now.

Kenji excuses himself to go to the bathroom during a lull in the conversation. He maintains eye contact with Alex as he stands up and turns to leave, slyly smirking as he went.

Kenji takes this chance to make a move. He’s always been one for surprises. He makes his way towards Grayson’s office, looking around for a sign of where Alex’s office or desk might be. He finds a nameplate on a desk in a smaller office outside of Grayson’s, and sneaks in. Kenji picks up a piece of paper and a pen, scribbles something then leaves it right in the center of her desk.

After the meeting is dismissed Kenji hangs back to walk with Alex and Grayson.

“So Kenji, you excited for the opening night tomorrow?” Grayson asks, taking on a more conversational tone.

“Oh, definitely,” he replies, but his eyes settle on Alex who tries to avoid eye contact while holding back a smirk, “Would it be cool if I brought a date?”

Alex’s eyes dart towards Kenji, an indiscernible look on her face. Kenji smirks in response, but speaks to Grayson, “she won’t get in the way of my duties, don’t worry. But showing off The Grand would be an impressive date, don’t you think?”

Grayson laughs and nods, “Of course. Go ahead.”

He glances at his watch and excuses himself, “Sorry, I’ve got another meeting to get to before the day ends. Alex, would you mind showing him out?”

“Not at all,” she replies.

When Grayson leaves she turns to Kenji and they hold eye contact for a moment before bursting into laughter. 

“You are ridiculous! I can’t believe you!” Alex exclaims, giving Kenji a playful shove.

“Sorry! Couldn’t help it. Was too good a chance to pass up,” he says laughing.

They laugh it off for a bit and make remarks about seeing each other for the first time. They don’t admit it but they’re both in awe of the other.

“Hey so, you’re not my boss, right?” Kenji asks her, as they ride down the elevator.

“Nope. So?”

“So I don’t have a date for tomorrow.”

“I thought you said you had a–”

“I asked if I could bring one, not that I had one,” he smirks. They reach the ground floor and Alex walks him to the door, excited at where the conversation is headed, but trying her best to keep cool.

“Well then,” Kenji says with a grin, “see you around, Alex.” 

He turns to leave and gets on his motorcycle. Alex stands there in disbelief, her expectations shattered. All she can do is laugh to herself. 

“Unbelievable,” she murmurs, making her way back upstairs.

Alex walks over to her desk, still scolding herself out of embarrassment for expecting something from Kenji, when she spots a piece of folded paper neatly placed on he center of her desk, and a large “-K” written on the outside. She huffs at the sight of it .

She opens the note to find a phone number and, written in large letters:

Be my date tomorrow, A? Call me.

(A quick and messy doodle of Talos winking is scribbled in the corner)

Grinning from ear to ear and shaking her head in disbelief, Alex dials in the number and calls.

“Yo,” Kenji picks up almost immediately.

“So I saw the note.”

“And?” he says playfully.

“And you’re gonna pay for that little stunt.”

“Promise?”

“You’re absolutely unbelievable.”

Kenji laughs, “I know. Pick you up tomorrow at 8?”

[transcendence-au]

The Manor of Alcor (2/?)

AN: Whoops! Didn’t realize this hadn’t been uploaded last month. Chapter 3 is coming soon.

Also on ff.net

Orrie walked down the east wing of the manor with his strip of paper in hand. He passed several doors with names written on them. “Sarkozy…Jans…oh, Keller.” His room was second from the end on the left side. Turning the knob, Orrie stepped inside.

The room was fit for royalty. The ceiling was high with a pretty crystalline chandelier hanging in the center. The king-size bed was lined with white, fluffy pillows and framed with silky light-brown curtains. On the other side of the fairly large room were a small walk-in closet and a tiny washroom. Around the room were other pieces of furniture, a dresser and full-length mirror to name a few. Orrie dropped his belongings by the side of his bed, taking a moment to let everything sink in.

He was actually at the Manor of Alcor, picked against all odds to solve its mystery. He managed to befriend (at least he hoped) three people already. Smiling widely to himself, Orrie pulled out a sketchbook and pencil from his backpack, flipping it to the first available page not filled with miscellaneous scribbles and doodles. Concentrating, he began to sketch an outline of the mansion, taking notes and adding details to the rooms already visited or seen. There was the parlor room, the foyer, and the east wing where the bedrooms were located. They passed several other rooms and halls, of course, but he hadn’t yet seen where they led. There was still so much to explore– judging by the building’s size and what he’d seen, he hadn’t even covered a tenth of the whole area.

There was a knock at the door. Looking up from the last of his drawing, Orrie answered it. “Yes?”

“May I come in?” someone asked. Orrie put away his belongings and went to open the door. On the other side was Cliff, no Zahia in sight. “Hey there. Just wanted to know if you want to have lunch with us. Many of the others are heading out now to enjoy some barbecue.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’d love to,” Orrie answered, stepping outside. He followed Cliff down the hall. “But, um, aren’t we supposed to be solving a mystery soon?”

Cliff waved off his words. “That can wait a bit, don’t ya think? I mean, none of us really know each other very well, and this is the perfect opportunity to talk to one another. I’m sure afterwards we’ll all go our own ways to solve the mystery, but until then we should all relax and enjoy ourselves.” Orrie couldn’t argue with that. They traversed through a few halls and a magnificent kitchen with a dining nook, spotting the old couple—the Tosettis, if what Orrie read on their envelope was correct—making their steady way to the back door. Cliff held the door open for them, which they were quite thankful for, and the four of them went into the yard where the housekeepers and some of the guests were all hanging about.

It was bright and sunny, and Orrie regretted not bringing along some swim trunks so he could enjoy the pool. If he really wanted to, though, he could always just dip his feet into the cool water like Zahia was doing, several white lotuses floating daintily around her legs. Belle, Dipper, and Dug were sitting at the table, watching some game show on an outdoor TV connected to the wall. Orrie looked around, noticing a few people missing.

“Where’s Flynn? And Mr. Connolly?”

“Siegfried was busy looking for clues already,” Cliff answered, taking a seat next to Dug. “I have no idea where Flynn is. Probably wandering around himself.” While a bit disheartened he wouldn’t be joining them, Orrie still enjoyed his time with the others through talk and games, even watching and cheering Dipper on as he, Dug, and Zahia took part in a grilled-burger eating contest. They heard the story of how the Tosettis met and saw the pictures of the Lionharts’ wedding from two weeks ago. In return, Orrie showed them all photos of his family stored on his phone.

“Oh, you get your lovely hair from your father, I see,” Mrs. Tosetti exclaimed, “When did you both decide to dye it?”

“What? Oh no, it’s natural for us,” Orrie said, subconsciously fingering his blond hair streaked with strands of royal blue. “We’ve got Kinnara or something like that on dad’s side of the family. See? My cousin’s is green.”

“I wish my hair was blue,” mused Belle, “Or– no, purple! No, I’d want it to have, like, a rainbow of streaks!” Dipper just smiled, rolling his eyes at his twin.

Hours later, when the mosquitoes proved to be too much, they went back inside. Not even one minute after the last person entered the kitchen a housekeeper walked up to them. “I’m sorry to bother you at this time,” she apologized, “But Ms. Wheatly would very much like to speak with you all right now. She’s in the parlor room. If you’d be so kind.” And she bowed and left the kitchen. The group of eight made their way toward the parlor. Entering once more, Orrie spotted Flynn and Siegfried already inside. He split off from the others.

“Sorry you missed the gathering in the back yard. We were all outside hanging out. Cliff said he couldn’t find you.”

Flynn didn’t seem perturbed. “I was in the library while you were all outside. Figured I might see if there was a clue hidden in one of the books there.”

“Wouldn’t that be a bit cliché if it were?”

“Perhaps.” That was all he could say before Ms. Wheatly scuttled into the room, closing the doors behind her.

“Apologies for interrupting your activities, but may I be so bold in asking how committed you are in solving the mystery of this manor? The Master is growing a bit impatient that none of you has found the first clue yet.”

“We’re serious,” assured Siegfried, crossing his arms, “Just some more than others. Besides, we only just arrived some hours ago. And some of us here don’t know how to hunt for clues.” Every time Siegfried spoke it was like he was in on the act. Which Orrie didn’t mind at all because that meant he could hurry the process along for them learning what they needed to do. And indeed Ms. Wheatly nodded in agreement to his words.

“I see. So you don’t know how to search for clues. In that case I’ll tell you. Listen closely. In this mansion there are a total of seven clues you need to find to solve the mystery. For all but one of the clues you will first need to find a key. The locations of these clues and keys can be deduced through the numerous hints scattered around the house.”

“What kind of hints?” Zahia asked, “They’re not super hard puzzles, are they?”

“Nursery rhymes,” Ms. Wheatly answered, “In the form of a riddle. Solve the riddle and you’ll find the key or clue. But I must inform you that not all keys are in the same room as their corresponding clue. The same goes for hints.”

The guests gave varying remarks of understanding. “So hints lead to clues or to keys that unlock clues,” Dipper clarified.

“Correct. But finding the hint is no easy task. Here, I’ll help you search for your first hint.” And then she made quite a show looking around. Exaggerated motions of opening cabinet doors and gazing all around its interior, of ruffling pillows and examining every inch of them, or checking underneath every single piece of furniture. Silly as it looked it did tell Orrie one thing: the hints would not be in obvious places.

“Oh! What do you know?” As if to prove his theory, Ms. Wheatly, while moving aside some books on a shelf a little too enthusiastically, knocked a bust of an old man over. Beneath the marble statue was a hole– the bust was hollow. Ms. Wheatly reached inside and pulled out a tiny brown scroll, beckoning the guests over to her. Orrie was able to read it as she unfurled the paper:

“Buried atop Old Smoky.”

He blinked. Old Smoky? Like ‘On Top of Old Smoky’? So were all the hints based on classical Pre-Transcendence nursery rhymes? Depending on which rhymes were used this mystery might be a little harder to solve than he thought.

“What’s Old Smoky?” Cliff asked, “Sounds like a volcano’s name.”

“Very close,” Ms. Wheatly smiled as she put the scroll in her pocket. “A mountain. Based on the old nursery rhyme ‘On Top of Old Smoky’. Does anyone know how the first part of the rhyme goes?” Orrie refrained from raising his hand, wanting to know if anyone else was familiar with the song. Nobody spoke up. “I’ll tell you then. ‘On top of Old Smoky, all covered in snow’. That’s the line. Now where or what resembles a mountain with snow on top of it?”

She let the guests explore the room themselves. Orrie saw from the corner of his eye Siegfried step away from the party. To anyone who knew his little secret they’d perhaps assume he didn’t want to give the answer right away, and to those who didn’t he looked like someone who’d rather have others do the work. But the look in his eyes implied otherwise. He was watching them. Judging them in their ability to deduce. Orrie hadn’t solved the hint yet, but there was no way he was going to let the man assume he was on to him, so he opted to look around a lamp with a white lampshade over it.

It was Dug who finally figured it out. And by complete accident too. “Whoops! Didn’t mean to!” he hurriedly said, grabbing the fishtank in the corner he nudged off its stand. He straightened the box up before all its contents, inhabitants, and the items on top of it could spill over onto the floor. He sighed with relief before blinking his eye at the tank. “Wait…is that Old Smoky?” He pointed to one of the little plastic decorations inside. Orrie had already seen the aquarium that was designed like multiple biomes had merged into one, but even he overlooked the small toy that looked exactly like a snow-capped mountain.

“Buried atop Old Smoky you say?” Dug shuffled through the items resting on top of the tank, most of them folded newspapers. It was between two newspapers that a piece of a third slipped out. Dug caught it before it landed on the floor. The piece of paper was significantly older than the rest, browner and far more wrinkled. Dug had to squint to read its faded text.

Ms. Wheatly stepped over to him. “Would you like me to read it for you?”

“Yeah please.” He handed her the paper. She cleared her throat, and everyone paid close attention as she read the article:

“Six Found Dead, Suspect At Large

Police responded to a silent alarm early Friday morning. The bodies of six victims were found scattered inside an unaddressed mansion miles outside the city limits. Investigators believe the victims were all members of an illegal cult as only two of the victims had visible injuries. It is presumed a seventh cult member was the perpetrator and fled the scene. The identities of the victims have not yet been revealed at this time.”

Dipper crossed his arms. “That wasn’t very helpful as a clue. But I can’t say this exercise wasn’t informative. Thanks for showing us the ropes on how to look for hints.”

“And who to keep an eye out for,” Belle teased, pushing Dug gently, “We may have ourselves a Sherlock in our midst.” Dug blushed faintly.

“I’m so happy to have helped,” Ms. Wheatly said, beaming. “Now you only have six more clues to find. I’ll leave this one right here in case any of you wish to read it again. If you need any more help just come find me. But first I must help prepare dinner.” She guided everyone to the doors, closing them shut behind them once they left.

A sudden grumble made them all look around. “Hrm, I’m still hungry,” Dug moaned, patting his belly.

“But you ate twelve hamburgers,” said Zahia, eying him incredulously, “I couldn’t even eat half that and I still feel a bit nauseous.”

Dug shrugged. “Can’t be helped. I guess I’ll check to see if there’re any leftovers I can have.”

“I wouldn’t mind a quick bite to eat myself,” said Flynn, “May I join you?”

“Sure. Don’t see why not?”

“I’d like to get started looking for the clues,” Dipper stated, turning toward his sister. She nodded in agreement.

“I think I’m going to take a quick rest before dinner, dear,” Mr. Tosetti said to his wife.

“I want to relax a bit too,” Zahia wrapped an arm around Cliff’s waist. Her husband hugged her back with one arm.

“Yeah. We’ve got all the rest of the day to find hints. Let’s enjoy our honeymoon a little longer.” He playfully bopped her on the nose before leading them toward the stairs. After quick deliberation, Orrie decided to follow them and the Tosettis. He was not, however, expecting Siegfried to come along.

“Are you taking a break too, Mr. Connolly?”

“I may as well. The remaining hints, keys, and clues won’t be hidden until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? So the rest of the day is just for us to, I don’t know, relax?” Let us familiarize ourselves with our environment is what he wanted to say, but the less he made Siegfried suspicious of how serious he was in solving the mystery the less he’d have to worry about him. There was just something off about the man. Siegfried nodded.

“Precisely. Also, I wouldn’t get very comfortable with the idea of Ms. Wheatly helping us on the case.” Orrie looked ahead to make sure the Lionharts and Tosettis weren’t listening in before slowing his pace to walk beside Siegfried.

“Why not?” he whispered. Siegfried gave him a curious glance before opting to reveal his knowledge to the boy.

“Alcor is going to get a little impatient with us tonight and eliminate her as a means to encourage us to search faster.” Orrie looked up at him, horrified, but Siegfried chuckled. “Don’t worry; it’s all an act. The scene will be very convincing, though.”

Orrie nodded. “Okay then…” He wasn’t sure if he should feel impressed on how realistic the staff was going to make this an authentic murder mystery or unnerved. Maybe unnervingly impressed. He smiled at that silly musing before splitting from the group and heading into his room.

That evening—after dinner and while Orrie was lying content on his bed, drawing in his sketchbook—there was a loud shriek from downstairs. There were soon the sounds of footsteps racing down the hall and, while aware of what was probably going on, Orrie couldn’t help peeking his head out in curiosity. Cliff followed closely by Zahia rushed down the stairs. Orrie hurried after them. He caught up with the couple quickly enough and wordlessly the trio burst through the doors to the parlor. Everyone save the Tosettis were already present. And everyone included ‘Alcor’.

He was standing over a very realistic corpse of Ms. Wheatly, which was face-down in a growing pool of red liquid. Strips of clothing lay tattered beside it. Ripped pillows and bloody papers were strewn around, hinting of the struggle that transpired. Zahia gasped, hand over her mouth. Dipper and Belle stood frozen, barely able to believe what they were seeing. Dug looked ill, moving as far away from the body as possible. Siegfried seemed uncomfortable but stayed where he was at by the doors. Flynn was glaring at the perpetrator.

‘Alcor’ stared back, amused smile on his lips. “Y͟ou a̸ll̴ ̢see̕m a̷ b̨it u̸p̸s͠et͠.” He spotted the latecomers. “I d̕id̸n̷’t̨ ́th͟ink ̴s͢he’d caus͏e t͢hąt̨ m̢ucḩ of a̷ c̸ommo̕t̶ion͝.” Flynn flashed a glance back at Orrie before clenching and unclenching his jaw. When he spoke, though, it was with collected calmness.

“Why did you feel the need to do this? You are aware there are children present.” Orrie hoped Flynn wasn’t insinuating he couldn’t handle a little violence. Granted, murder wasn’t ‘a little’ violent, but considering who the star of the attraction was and the fact they were supposed to be solving a murder mystery in the first place…

‘Alcor’ chuckled. “W̷hy? Be̡ca͠us͟e yơu̵’re͏ t̨aki͟n͡g̸ to̧o lon̸g.” He rose into the air, settling into a cross-legged sit. “D̛on’t̡ t̴h̀ìnk I̶ h̨a̛d́n’͢t not̶iced M͠s. W̡hea͡t͠ly ̡hel͡p̢įn̵g y͝ou ơut̡ ea̧rlie͠r. He͝r͠ as͡s̀i̧st͢ance w͡as ͝no̶t par̵t̨ o͠f t̀he dea̢ļ. B̢ut I dec͠ide͞d to ̀let it̡ s̢l͢idè…until͝ I notįc̨ed how littl̨e h͞e͢ad̢w̵a͠y̕ th̷e teǹ of̛ yo̡ų were ̡ma̷king. So̴ I͡ go̵t r̵id̵ o͏f h͠er.”

“Wait, we were taking too long to solve the mystery with her help, so you decided to kill her?” Belle frowned. “What kind of sense does that make?”

“Why ̶do͠e͡s ̷ít̵ ͟ha̢v͟e to̡ ḿake ̡s͢ęn̴s̛e?” asked ‘Alcor’, “I̷ ex̸pected̛ ͠y͡ou to̢ ̷t̢a͟k̵e t̀h̨e mys̷t̕er̡y͞ se͟riou͞sly, s̸olv̶e it͏ q͠u̵ickĺy, and͠ yo̷u d͏i̛s͢app̕ointed̸ m̶e. I̴s͞ i͏t͠ tha̡t muc̀h ̛a su̷rp̸rise ́I too̷k̢ out̶ ḿy̡ f͏r̨ustra͢t͢íon on͡ o͟n̶é ̕of m̀y s͠erv̡an͞t̶s wh̛o, in͡c͡idenţall̵y, h͠app͟en͠s t̕o̶ b̛e̴ th̵e ón̸ly ̵o̷n̵e͏ he̶lping y̨o̡u al̕onģ?” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Th̴is is ͏a͞ll y̧o͞ur f̡au̸lt̨, y̧o̷u ͡k̡now. S̷he̢ c̷ou̢ld hav̴e liv̶ed. B̢ut, ąl̴as͡, yo͏u lo̧st́ y̴ou͠r̨ t̷r̛ue͏ ĺover͡ fo̡r̀ c̢ourtin͡g too̷ slow͠. My ͡s͞u̸g̨gestion? Hùr̀ry i͠t ̕ùp.”

“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you do it?” Dipper narrowed his eyes at the person above him, the challenge in his tone heavy. Orrie felt a chill in the air; the teen’s anger was nearly tangible. “You’re so all-knowing, huh? Why don’t you use your omniscience to solve this stupid mystery yourself? I’m sure you could do it in an instant instead of toying with human lives.” He looked down at Ms. Wheatly; his face was unreadable. Belle, clearly troubled by her brother’s outburst, touched his arm.

“Dipper?”

His head whipped around toward her, his eyes widening slightly like he just remembered she was there. He again stared at the body on the ground before shaking his head. “Sorry. Forgot this was all an act. Just looked really…convincing.” He directed his leer towards ‘Alcor’ who, for once, didn’t look smug. “You know, I remember Alcor being someone who hated human sacrifices. Killing innocents because he was mildly upset was not his M.O. Only the worst of imposters would have gotten that tidbit wrong.”

‘Alcor’s’ eye twitched, indignation flashing in his sharp gaze. “P̷er̢h͡apş I ̢àm not̸ ás al̡l-pow̶ęrful̶ as͠ yo̧u̕ l̨ik͝é to̷ be͠lieve,” he growled. “Ńo͝r̸ as̶ m̵agn̶a̡ni̵m̸ous. Bưt…” He hovered closer to Dipper, nearly face-to-face with the boy. “I̴f you̢ k̵eep te͝s̵tíng m͡y pátįenc͝e, D̶ipper S͏t͟erl̨in̵g̛, o̡ne wo̴n’t ne͝e̡d o͠mn̛isc͡i͏e͡n͠ce t̷o fi͢g͡ure ou̷t͏ ͏wh͡o k̸i̴lle͞d ou̢r̸ ņex̛t̢ ͠p̧oten͠t͢ial͝ vìct́i͠m.” He snapped his fingers and Dipper was lifted right off his feet. The teen, completely taken aback, was too bewildered to fight the invisible force holding him. Another snap and he was thrown across the room, crashing into the opposite wall with a heavy thump! Everyone stood shocked by the action; Belle was the only one with enough sense to run over and check on her twin.

“Dipper!”

Her shout stirred Orrie to face ‘Alcor’, to call him out on his trick that went way too far. But when he turned ‘Alcor’ was gone. Beside him he heard Flynn curse in a weird language. “Where did he go?” he heard the elf mutter lowly.

The doors flew open, and two housekeepers rushed inside, one of them carrying a tarp. Cliff grabbed one of them by the arm. “Hey! This is getting a little—”

“Please sir,” the housekeeper interrupted, “We’ve got this under control.”

“You’ve angered him enough,” the other worker added, laying the tarp over the corpse. Orrie watched as the sheet’s pure white was slowly consumed by the absorbing red. “Just do what the Master has asked. Please go and solve the mystery quickly. We’ll take care of this.”

“Come on, Orrie.” Orrie felt strong hands pushing him out. Cliff stubbornly kept his sight away from the bloody mess as he guided the boy away. Zahia starred at her husband, worried.

Behind him, Orrie could hear Flynn speaking tersely with one of the housekeepers. “Quite graphic” were the only words he managed to overhear before being escorted outside. Siegfried and Cliff then herded everybody else upstairs.

“That looked scary real,” Zahia mumbled to Cliff, who nodded.

“Thought this would be a bit more family-friendly,” her husband agreed.

“Perhaps that’s just how their script was written.” The others looked at Siegfried. “That was almost the same scene they played out last time, and there weren’t any children present then. I’ll admit, though, they didn’t use magic on the guests.”

“Which was completely uncalled for,” Belle angrily spoke. To her brother and with a lot more concern, “You alright?”

“Well, I’ve been a whole lot worse,” he chuckled humorlessly. But Orrie could still sense the resentment around him.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Dipper. I think it’s illegal for them to actually hurt their guests. Perhaps they overdid it with the effects.”

“Perhaps.” Though Dipper didn’t look convinced. “And maybe you’re right. That was some low level magic he used. I really wasn’t that hurt.” Orrie sighed internally with relief. The party made it to the east wing. As they dispersed to their rooms, mostly gotten over what had happened, Orrie finally mustered the courage to ask the twins a question.

“Um…I know it’s kind of in bad taste to ask this now after, well, you know…but can I team up with you? For the mystery?” Belle and Dipper stared at him, a bit confused.

“You mean after what that jerk did to my bro you still want to go through with this?” Belle wondered, though she at least didn’t sound very offended. Orrie felt his face redden.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way but yeah. I’m not interested in the prize and, to be honest, the acting is a bit over the top. I came here to have fun and enjoy myself. It’s another piece of Alcor I can learn about, and that’s exciting to me.”

Dipper nodded, his expression finally brightening somewhat. “I know what you mean. That challenge you just can’t ignore. Like a puzzle that needs to be solved and answers that need to be discovered.” He smiled. “Yeah! Let’s team up. We’re here to have fun after all– to learn about Alcor and solve an unsolvable mystery.” He held out his hand. Orrie took it, gripping firmly, his own smile broadening. Belle wrapped her arms around both of their necks.

“Alright! Nerds unite!”

Orrie laughed. “Well, we can start looking for clues in the morning. Siegfried secretly told me the hints won’t be hidden until tomorrow.” “Oh! So that’s how he knew what was going on,” realized Belle, “He’s been here before. Wait! Doesn’t that mean he has the advantage? He knows where all the hints are!”

“I’m going to assume the hints change locations each time guests come,” Dipper reasoned, and Orrie agreed. He bade them goodnight before entering his own room.

The sketchbook was still on his bed where he’d left it. He debated finishing the final details of what he could remember of the garden but ultimately decided against it, figuring he’d have plenty of time tomorrow. He changed out of his day clothes and grabbed something from his suitcase that was more comfortable to wear in the evening time. Sliding into bed, he looked around his room once more.

It was still just as beautiful as when he’d first entered. But…the space, the extravagance, the lingering amazement of being here…it was too foreign. Too lonesome. Orrie was familiar with it. A bit used to it. But that didn’t mean he liked it. Didn’t mean he’d admit to his new friends that he was scared to explore the entire manor all by himself. Because he liked their companionship; it was something he admittedly didn’t have a lot of back home.

Orrie settled into the sheets, wondering briefly what tomorrow would bring. For now he was comfortable and safe and had companions nearby. And in two days time, when this was all over, he’d be ending one adventure as a pre-teen and starting another by officially becoming a teenager.

Pleased by the thought, Orrie drifted contently to sleep.

Deep in the lower levels of the mansion, the man in front of the monitors smiled. His staff had pulled off yet another spectacular performance today. Mr. Goodman leaned back and stretched. With his guests full of food, sound asleep, and certainly excited for tomorrow’s mystery he could sit back and watch with ease, the greatest of the attraction’s hurdles finally crossed. It’s never easy to set a calming, relaxing air in a home blanketed with betrayal and death, but his dear employees were always up to the task of doing it, exceeding his expectations every year without fail.

He grabbed the cane by the side of his chair and used it to stand. Leaving the office, Mr. Goodman sighed to himself. Such a shame he only caught the tail end of Terry and Ms. Wheatly’s act due to helping some crew members—the realism of her death scene always unnerved even the toughest of men—but he’d be sure to congratulate them nonetheless.

And speak of the devil…

“There you are. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Terry.” The star of the attraction was standing by the costume closet. Already he was unvested from his suit, most of his make-up gone, his voice modifying mic removed. Terry looked back, a light smile on his lips.

“Oh, hey there, Mr. Goodman. You need something?” he asked as Mr. Goodman hobbled up to him, his cane clacking loudly against the stone tiles.

“Mostly to congratulate you on another great performance. It’s not natural to keep saying this but you are perhaps the best Alcor impersonator I’ve ever had the fortune to have.” He laughed. “I bet even the real one would agree, don’t you?”

“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.” Terry gestured for the elder man to follow; the latter did so slowly. “You probably didn’t hear but the kitchen’s a mess after Duglas Segal requested we make him a late-night snack. We’re cancelling the staff dinner.”

But Mr. Goodman shook his head at the news. “And miss out on your friends’ cooking? For shame, Terry. You know better than to let that happen.” He and his employee chuckled at the good-humored chiding. “But,” he continued, his smile fading, “on a more serious note, Terry, I did not appreciate what you did to our guest.” He stopped walking. “Did to whom?” Terry’s attempt to look innocently perplexed did not bode well with Mr. Goodman.

“Dipper Sterling. The one you used magic on to toss against the wall.” He darkened his expression enough to tell Terry he messed up. The young man at least had the decency to look guilty. “Magic of any kind is expressively forbidden on these grounds, except in—”

“—In a case of emergency,” Terry finished, interrupting the old man. “I know, I know. But that kid was so irritating. Made me look like a fool despite all the research I’ve done on the demon. And—” He paused, noticing the leer from his boss hadn’t lessened. “And I shouldn’t have retaliated like that.”

“You shouldn’t have retaliated at all,” Mr. Goodman corrected.

A faint scowl. “…Right.” Terry, after a silent moment, took a step forward. Mr. Goodman didn’t follow. “Coming?”

“I’ll meet you in the inner chamber in a short while. I first want to congratulate Ms. Wheatly. I wonder where she went off to.”

“I heard in passing that she’s already inside the chamber. If you want to catch up with her before she heads to sleep we should probably hurry.” The other frowned. Why would she be there? She always came to see him first after her act.

“But why?” he voiced his concerns, to which Terry shrugged. So Mr. Goodman followed. He would have made it to the end of the hall, too, were it not for the muffled thump! of something heavy collapsing. Mr. Goodman stopped in his walk, turning his head slightly to the side. “You hear something?”

Terry didn’t stop. “Like what?” “Sounded like something fell.” The sound of a door slowly creaking open sent his nerves tingling, sharp and echoing in the mostly empty hall. He spun around, noticing the closet door opening up to reveal a bunch of fallen costumes piling out.

Mr. Goodman hurried to the pile. “I’ll get that!” Terry, just then noticing the old man’s action, hastened over to him. But Mr. Goodman beat him, already bent and picking up the clothes. He froze when a hand caked in dried blood appeared from underneath a large shirt he’d lifted. Props had their own room, and besides he couldn’t recall ever owning a prop like this. He started to pick it up when he saw it was connected to an arm. Confusion and unease growing, he shifted the costumes away to—

“What…Terry– Terry, what is going on here!?” That was Ms. Wheatly. Bloody and dead and buried beneath the clothing. A nasty wound was torn into her front side, chunks of clotted blood still seeping out. “H-how did Ms. Wheatly end up—” He happened to look to his side. Notice the black shoes of the person beside him. Spot the smudge of equally dried blood on their tips and edges. His increasingly frightened gaze slowly lifted.

The cold fury on Terry’s normally calm face was intimidating enough for the old man. “I was hoping this’d go smoothly.” He snapped his fingers, and Mr. Goodman was lifted off the floor against his will. Terry’s scowl deepened, and with a swift flick of his fingers, the costumes and body of Ms. Wheatly were flung back into the closet. “Can’t believe dumb luck of all things cost me my cover. Doesn’t matter; I’ll have the others move her when I’m ready.”

“Others!?” Mr. Goodman’s eyes widened. Was the rest of his staff in on this? Terry smirked.

“Oh, they aren’t the ones you should be worried about. Now, why don’t you come with me to the inner chamber, hm? I’ve got big plans for you.” Mr. Goodman had no choice as he was levitated through the dark hallway, knowing full well they were too far underground for anyone to hear his cries for help.

[paintedface]

Misfits Part 2

Summary: You have a regular college life, regular friends (a very big understatement) but your crush is a little bit…different from what people would think a person like you to be with. Are you able to catch his eye, or are you not the one?  

Pairing: Punk!Bucky Barnes x Reader (ALTERNATE UNIVERSE)

Word Count: 2,899

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

Notes: I haven’t had any inspiration for anything else *cough* ships *cough*, so I decided to complete this part! Hopefully I’ll get onto an actual publishing schedule for this series, hope you like it!

Prologue / 1

Two days later

"Come on Y/N! It'll be fun!" Nat begs you, leaning against the door.

"I have a commission to do!" You say, gesturing vaguely towards your computer. "Several commissions!" 

"Seriously? That's your excuse? This is the biggest party of the year!" Nat exclaims, tugging on one of her perfect curls. 

"And you entirely know that I hate parties! Stop trying to make me go!" You swing your chair back to your computer screen. 

"Well at least try on this, you'll have all eyes on you!" You turn back around to get something thrown onto your face. You pull it off and hold it up to show that it's a dress. Not one that you would wear for normal wear, and you completely forgot you had it. It's black, with straps at the top and bra area that lead to a bow in the centre of your back. It has a high waist with a softly pleated black skirt. The front of the bodice has strings to tie it up, corset style. 

You raise an eyebrow at Nat, before huffing a sigh and shooing her out of your room. 

Swiftly, you pull of your t shirt and take off your sweatpants, throwing them to one side. You slip on the dress, and adjust the pre-done bow at the back to fit your body better. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and you allow yourself to smile a little. 

Because...you do actually look good. The dress accentuates your curves, which makes you look more sophisticated and well...sexy? You've never in your life been 'sexy' and you never had the intention to. But wearing this dress, it's not necessarily something you're comfortable with, but it's a new look. You pull your hair out of its band to let it fall loosely around your neck. You contemplate what you would like with some makeup, a dusting of powder, red lipstick, eyeliner...

"BITCH YOU LOOK GREAT!" Natasha shrieks as she bursts into the room and you stumble backwards, holding onto your desk for support. 

"Nat, I could've been naked for all you know!" You squeak, knuckles white from clutching the edge of the table. You're shaking slightly, from Nat's sudden appearance. 

"Yeah right, you don't take that long to change." She snorts, rearranging her emerald green skirt. Most colours complement Nat, but green looks stunning on her. You wish you could pull it off as well as her.

"But seriously, you look incredible! I could just..." she whips out a makeup brush with a devilish grin and you back away hurriedly. 

"I do not trust you Nat, as amazing as you are with makeup, I don't like that look on your face." You tell her, and she laughs, shaking her head. 

“So are you coming, or not? Because you look like a goddess, and you'll be the star there." 

"I don't want to attract attention, Nat! Getting attention is the worst thing that can possibly happen to me! I'm a damn klutz! I'm awkward!" You exclaim, tying your hair back up into a messy ponytail. 

"But you do want attention from Bucky though, right?" Nat winks, her smirk seductive and you slap her on her forearm. 

"No! Yes! I don't know...maybe! He won't be there anyway! Look, just leave it, Nat. I don't want to go." You say finally, sighing, and sitting back into your chair. 

Nat huffs, and raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. "You're not changing your mind, are you?" She frowns, her matte wine lipstick perfectly complementing her outfit. 

"Nope." You reply, popping the p. "Sorry." You add swiftly, as you pick up your stylus. 

"You aren't sorry at all. At. All." Nat walks over, the heels clicking against the wooden floor. She presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Alright. Wanda's going to be coming back in an hour or so. See you soon."

You smile in spite of yourself, calling, "Don't get too drunk!" as she walks out of the room. 

"I will!" She shouts back, and you laugh softly, shaking your head. You can hear the front door click close and you turn back to your computer. You're too lazy to get out of your dress, and it's made of a nice, comfortable material, so you don't bother changing back into your lounging clothes. 

You check what your commission is meant to be, pull up Spotify and turn on your favourite playlist, and quickly begin sketching, your stylus drawing swift lines over the digital canvas. Unbeknownst to some people, the simple sketch can take ages, it isn't just a matter of scribbling lines in an outline of your desired outcome. This particular commission includes lots of details, and your whole playlist runs through when you finally finish the sketch. 

Satisfied, you pull out your earbuds, giving a light yawn. You grab your phone, checking for any recent notifications, and you're sure your snapchat feed will be flooded with images of a drunk Natasha. There's a few Facebook alerts, a lot more instagram ones and one snapchat one. From Natasha, with her nickname of ‘The Huntress’ beside her name. 

Rolling your eyes, you expect to be confronted by Nat and Clint sloppily making out while holding beer bottles. You click on it and it opens up to chat, to your surprise, not to a photo. 

You still when you see what she's written, eyes wide. 

Nat the Huntress:

Bucky's here 

Bucky's at the party? You should've known that out of all the parties he would attend, despite not going to many, it would be this one. This party's hosted by the biggest names in your university, and almost everyone goes. Why did you expect that Bucky wouldn't go? 

You begin having an internal debate with yourself, choosing whether to go or not. You've finished your commission, so you're able to go if you wanted to. But a crowded place with tons of people you don't know, plus your social awkwardness? Not the greatest idea. However...you really have nothing to lose, as you probably have a pretty low reputation already. 

Standing up, you smooth out your dress, and check yourself in the mirror, content that the dress complements you. Pulling your hair out of the ponytail, you quickly comb it through and fluff it up, letting it settle on your shoulders. You quickly apply some eyeshadow, eyeliner and lipstick, before dusting on some powder. Checking yourself in the mirror, you grab your purse and phone, checking the time. 9:12pm. 

Prime time for the drinking to start. As you put on your heels that are probably one inch shorter than Bucky's, you realise it's been almost half a year since you've last gone to a party. Wow, you really are antisocial. Before you can change your mind, you exit the dorm, sighing as you remember that it's being held at Nick Fury's house, out of campus. Luckily it's only about 200 metres away, so you're able to walk.

The sun has already set, and it's dark, so you rely on the streetlights to show you the way. Some of the more sensible people are walking back home in groups, probably wanting to avoid the drunk and hectic events that'll occur in the next few hours. That would normally be you, but not tonight. 

The moment you step into the house, you instantly regret your decision to go. Trashy, explicit and thumping music is blasting at max volume throughout the entire house, and it just about deafens you, making your heart seem to shake as well. Loud moans are heard faintly through the music, and you grimace, glancing up at the top rooms, shaking your head at what would probably be going on up there, 

You can smell sweat, as well as the thick, heavy alcohol in the air, it almost suffocates you. It's disgusting, and your eyes aren't particularly pleased either. People dancing on tables, grinding against each other, making out against walls, hands roaming. 

You're thinking that you should turn around and leave, that it really isn't worth it, but you see Natasha weaving her way through the crowd, her red hair and green dress visible through the ocean of drunks. 

"Y/N!" She calls, her voice barely discernible through all the noise, and you allow yourself to smile. Her soberness is a sharp contrast to everyone else, and she embraces you tightly. She steps back and grins at you, looking you up and down. 

"You look so good! Bucky will be onto you as soon as he sees you!" Nat tells you enthusiastically, and she sounds so genuine that you actually sort of believe her. 

"Really?" You arch an eyebrow and she nods. "Of course he will! Now go find him!" 

You scan the party, trying to find Bucky. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack. Your eyes flick over to the bar, the surprisingly less occupied area of the party. There's only a few people there, and they look the least interested in the partying. 

Your heart jumps when you see Bucky sitting on one of the barstool, and a blush instantly touches your cheeks, ignoring everyone but him. He's wearing a black shirt with the top buttons undone, and black skinny jeans as well as his signature boots and eyeliner. His hair is loose, falling in soft waves around his face, and you just want to run your hands through them. His piercings are glimmering in the dim light of the bar, and god, he's so hot. 

You're about to muster up the courage to walk over to him when your breath catches. A girl. Brown wavy hair, skinny, better curves than you, pink lips, and a dress that flatters her extremely but isn't immodest. She's standing right next to Bucky, looking as though they've had a conversation going on for a while, both of their laughs loud as Bucky says something smoothly. 

His blue grey eyes are brighter than you've ever seen them and his mouth curving up into a grin. You can feel your stomach turn as he rests a hand on the small of her back, drawing her closer. It's too intimate to be interpreted as just a platonic touch. His fingers are splayed in an almost possessive way. You're biting the inside of your cheek so hard that you think it's about to bleed. 

The moment when the girl leans in, is when you let a tear slip down your cheek, not being able to help it. You can't tear your eyes away, they're glued to the scene in front of you. Their lips connect, gently at first, but then the girl puts her hand on the nape of Bucky's neck and the other hand on his cheek. Bucky's other hand comes around to lay on her back. The kiss deepens, the two of them seemingly oblivious to the rest of the party and their lips locked firmly. Your heart is thumping hard inside your chest, but you don't know why, because it's already shattered. 

It feels like a part of you is torn out, as you watch them kiss. It's deep, passionate, real, something you now know you won't have. It's not just a drunk act, it's genuine-he wants it, you can see that clearly, and that's what kills you the most. You begin to feel overwhelmed by the atmosphere, head pounding, and shivering a little. You don't know if this is what heartbreak feels like, but you know that whatever it is, this party was the wrong place for it to occur. You're surrounded by people on all sides, and you can't let yourself break down. 

You turn to Nat, your face pale. You know she's seen it once her hands cover her mouth. Her eyes widen and she reaches out to you, as you take a step back as the scene continues to unfold. 

"Oh my god, Y/N, I swear I didn't know he was..." she begins, but you don't hear the rest. You spin and shove open the doors, rushing out onto the footpath, letting the cool breeze hit you. 

You don't stop running, your high heels noisy in the now quiet street and blinking back the warm flow of tears, just in case someone will see you on the way back. You push past the group of college students at the edge of the campus, mumbling apologies and feeling lucky that nobody stops you or asks if you're okay. 

Your legs are burning by the time you finish going up the stairs (the elevator was crowded) and you unlock the dorm room, slamming it shut. You stumble towards the couch, collapsing on it thankfully, grabbing a pillow and holding it to your chest tightly. 

You cry into the pillow, letting all the tears finally flow, and now that you've let them out, you can't stop. You're shaking, your chest heaving for some air as your sobs wrack your body, making it hard to breathe. You've never felt heartbreak before, but you're guessing this is what it's like, and it's damn painful. You've always dismissed such an emotion as imaginary, exaggerated, something that only seems so dramatic in movies. Seems like they're half right, because it's fucking cruel, drowning you and rolling over you in strong tides. It's crushing, seeing the one that you love with someone else, because you were too damn shy. 

You didn't have the courage to tell him, and you missed your chance. Your heart's throbbing like a hot coal, eating away at you and relentlessly paining you. Nothing is granting you relief, not even the water from your eyes, it won't satisfy the burning in your heart. You sniff, trying to wipe away the tears hurriedly as you hear a door open from behind you. 

"Y/N?" Wanda's soft voice asks, and you hear quiet footsteps approaching. You look up at her a little as she sits down on the couch beside you. She immediately pulls you into a hug, seeing your red rimmed eyes and trembling lips. 

"Hey, it's okay, I'm here." She murmurs into your ear, and you nod a little, relaxing in her hold. She rubs soothing circles over your back, holding you close. 

"What happened?" She pulls back a little, her chocolate eyes wide with concern. "Are you hurt?" 

You let out a bitter, tearful laugh, shaking your head. "Maybe not physically." You sigh, letting another sob out, fingers digging into her back. She winces a little but she doesn't push you away. 

"Did someone try to...? I know that party was wild, and there were a lot of drunk people there so did someone uh...hit on you...?" she trails off, and you shake your head again, blinking away the fresh tears. 

"I...I saw Bucky there..." you manage to get out, head tucked in the crook of her neck. She stiffens, but doesn't say anything. 

"I was...I was going to go up to him..." you stifle a sob, sniffling. 

"and...?" Wanda prompts you gently. 

"He...made out with someone..." once you get it out, you return to your sobbing, not even bothering to blink them away, your tears soaking her t-shirt. 

Wanda inhales sharply, tightening her grip on you as you quiver slightly in her hold. 

"I...I should've told him earlier but I'm such a fucking coward Wanda, I couldn't...do it!" You say, voice muffled with tears and the fact that your mouth is pressed against her shoulder. 

"Hey, Y/N, look at me." Wanda taps your chin and you do, your vision blurred with tears.

"It isn't your fault darlin', it's his fault if he misses out on..." she gestures vaguely towards you, "this beauty. You're a catch, Y/N, and don't worry, he'll break up with her." 

You can't help but laugh, trying to hide a grin. 

"Wanda! Don't say that, that's mean!" 

She grins, her eyes kind when she sees you're happier. "What? It's true! But honestly, I'll be here for you if you need me Y/N. And I'll kick that boy's ass if he hurts you anymore." 

You nod, feeling extremely grateful for your best friend. You pull her close, murmuring, "Thanks Wanda," into her hair. She presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

"No worries darling. Now let's get you out of this fancy outfit and freshen you up. We'll rewatch Riverdale, and gorge on food to forget about what happened." She tells you, taking your hand. 

However, a week later, he hasn't broken up with her. Bucky comes in to movie night with the girl who he introduces as Connie, his girlfriend, and you clench your fists so hard your knuckles turn white. Wanda, tightens her grip around your waist protectively. She's the only thing stopping you from running out crying. Connie's a good person. She’s genuinely nice, she can make anyone laugh, but she’s always kind too. She’s a good person, easy to get along with, so you can't bring yourself to be mad at her. The hurt never dims, it can't, because to secretly keep in your crush for one year and finally, when you're about to tell him, somebody else gets in before you. And that person probably hasn't loved him for as long as you have. 

Tears prick your eyes, and when Bucky looks your way, you turn your head, not wanting to see the love in his eyes that he doesn't have for you. 

Part 3 coming soon (ish)

Permanent tags (OPEN): @thecrownedrose @vibranium-arm @gallifreyansass @omalleysgirl22 @girlwith100names @buckysinthesinbin @aenna-4 @cameronahugenerd @imsecretlyromanburki

Misfits tags (OPEN): @universal-glitch @cami23593 @magellan-88 @fandomgirl997 @learisa @frnkensteingrl @the-craziestone

[njcklenjart]

something wild 3/6

Summary: The locals speak of a monster and Newt’s all too ready to investigate.

A/N: I based the villagers off of the Dinka people of South Sudan if anyone’s interested. This story is on FF and AO3 if anyone prefers those sites.

First • Previous • Next

The locals don’t allow the girl to leave her hut. They strike down Newt’s pleas when he asks, thinking she’ll destroy the entire village and bring a plague upon them if she does. It’s doubtful, but there’s no convincing them otherwise, not when he’s fallen from their graces for defending the girl so adamantly.

So he casts a disillusionment charm and, after she’s done examining where her body once was, eases the girl into the outside world.

It’s risky, but Newt’s found that there are some things worth disobedience. The villagers don’t attempt to keep an eye on her, assuming she remains in the hut day after day- contact is limited, her food merely slipped past her hut’s entrance- so, as long as they’re cautious, no one knows about their little adventure.

The girl takes to everything from the wet grass to the rough bark of a fallen tree. She digs her toes into the dirt and weeds, grips and pulls at the low branches, crushing the ripped leaves in her dirty fingers. Newt watches her explore, nodding and smiling when she shows him a jagged rock with a slurred word, offering the English equivalent.

He talks a great deal more around her than he has to anyone besides his creatures. He tells her about everything and nothing, of the simple things like the shade of the sky, describing the texture of his clothes, the smell of the trees around them; he tells her about his creatures, his family, about the world beyond the mud walls of her hut and the village’s borders.

He talks too much- at least he thinks he does. After so long of traveling with only his creatures to keep him company, he’s out of practice.

“There’s a lot of us- wizards I mean. Not as many as Muggles, but we exist. We hide right under their noses all over the world- it’s all a great big secret. I’ve been to many wizarding communities, but none of them compare to London.”

They travel further away from the village, away from the calls of working men and women and the groans of the cattle roaming at the border, the overgrown jungle folding over them and hiding the way they’d come and opening up to newer sights. Everything looks different and yet the same, the multiple hues of green having no contrast to one another in Newt’s eyes. The sun shines through the space between the leaves, dappling the ground and highlighting the dull browns of the dirt and trees into something more lively- a stark change to Britain’s bleak palette.

“That’s where I come from. England.” He wipes the sweat off his brow, glad he had abandoned his coats before starting the hike. “One of the best communities there is. You can find almost anything at Diagon Alley. It’s got everything a wizard needs- there’s Ollivander’s, Madam Malkin’s, and Gringotts- not to mention Slug and Jiggers.”

The girl doesn’t seem bothered by the insects wizzing about, but Newt’s grown tired of them. He casts a spell to ward them off, fully aware of the eyes on his wand as he tucks in back into his pocket.

“We also have a school in Scotland- Hogwarts it’s called. It’s the best wizarding school there is- not even Beauxbatons can compare. It’s one of the safest places you can be. I spent a few good years there when I was younger until I was-”

He stops.

There’s only so much he can say about the school. A secondhand description can’t compare to the actual sight of it; Newt doesn’t think he can accurately describe the wonder that is the ancient school, can’t adequately explain the way it felt to see the distant lights against the dark shape of the castle, to take those first steps into the Great Hall, or entering the Hufflepuff common room for the first time.

Meeting Leta, their days spent within each other’s company and the experiments, is what made Hogwarts a second home. It was there he’d found a friend, a confidant, someone who was an outcast like him interested in the same things as he and who would listen to his theories. He’d like to tell her about these memories, only they’d be tainted with bitterness at his expulsion.

What he says instead: “You’d like Hogwarts.”

The girl is looking at him now, her big, dark eyes ignoring the amazing view of antelopes bounding beyond the openings between the trees. He imagines she’s inquiring for more.

“I was, well… asked to leave my sixth year. It’s an old story and I’ve moved on.” He tries for a smile, but can’t seem to make it work. “I’m boring you with this, aren’t I? Should we continue on with our walk?”

She doesn’t answer and, for once, he wishes she would.

He starts forward, the little girl following close behind, hoping for a distraction, and he’s in luck. They find tracks in the dirt when they reach a less clustered part of the jungle and his excitement bleeds into her, spurring them into a hunt. It’s a game of sorts, one that keeps the girl’s attention and let’s Newt forget out his past.

“Erumpets generally stick to open plains, but they’ve been known to wander into Muggle settlements,” he explains, ducking under a low hanging branch. “That’s what I think these tracks are from- an Erumpet. Then again, Rhinos and Erumpets share similar footprints, so I might be mistaken.”

Sadly, he is. Their little expedition is fruitless when the tracks become too faint for him to distinguish, not even a hint of exploded trees to indicate the presence of the magical beast. Newt’s put out, more than a few days since he’s caught sight of anything magical out in the wild. He would’ve enjoyed a quick respite from the close mindedness of the Muggle villagers and of his unpleasant memories.

“Ah, well, sorry I couldn’t show you an Erumpet.” He checks his pocketwatch. “Best we head back before someone notices us gone.”

The girl wrings her hands together, looking at the nearest tree before glancing back at him. She doesn’t want to go back. It’s obvious. Newt refrains from reaching out or else scaring her way.

“We’ll go out again tomorrow. Promise.”

He leads them back in silence, the girl only a step behind. About a fourth of the way back to the village something brushes against his hand. Ignoring it is as an accidental brush from the trees, he continues looking at the dirt to his left. It happens again, and then again when he still doesn’t respond. He glances at his companion and finds her aptly observing the jungle.

He wonders for a moment before catching her skittering closer when the terrain allows it, her hand barely missing his in her attempt to maintain balance. She’s still not looking at him and Newt can’t help but smile to himself.

When they cross the small stream he takes her smaller hand in his own.

It becomes a habit- a rudimentary schedule that they keep to. They sneak out after the girl eats her minuscule portion of rice and return when the sun just begins to set, before her evening meal is delivered.

In the time between they explore the surrounding jungle and even the more open savanna where the trees dwindle and the horizon can be seen at every angle. It’s there, trudging through the thick underbrush, he hears it.

The girl starts, but Newt brings his finger to his lips, shushing her quietly. Once she settles down he takes her hand and slowly leads them forward until they’re crouched, hidden in the tall grass at the base of an Acacia tree. From there, Newt quickly pinpoints the creature and, very quietly, directs the girl’s attention to the branches far above them; he hears her soft exhale and knows she sees the fiery red that hides in the virescent leaves.

The Phoenix doesn’t notice them, continuing on with its serenade.

The second one responds in absolute harmony.

The last time he saw a Phoenix was when he’d climbed Kibo, but it had only been one. A pair this far down was a rare occurrence, one he would use to his advantage.

He hurriedly brings out his journal, not wanting to waste a second of observation. Even as he watches, what he presumes to be the male scoots closer and preens its mate. They begin to croon, a perfect duet, their song so melodic that even the most renowned orchestra would be put to shame.

“Fascinating!” he mutters to himself. He jots down his observations on their behavior patterns before turning to drawing the pair.

They fly off before he’s finished his sketch, just as he’s beginning to shade in the shadows of their wings, so he fills in the rest by memory. Looking it over, he decides it’s not his best work, but still doable. It’s well enough to be put in his manuscript with his other sketches if he so wishes.

He shows the girl his drawing and she makes something akin to a giggle, shaking her head.

Newt overexaggerates his offense.

“Think you can do better?” He rummages around his case for spare paper and, setting up his case as makeshift table, sets it in front of her impromptu. She takes his utensil, fascinated at the black that lingers on his fingertips, when he offers it to her.

“Go on,” he says. “Give it a try.”

She stares at the charcoal in her hand, then at the paper, coming to the conclusion quickly, and begins to draw (scribble, really). She peppers the paper with dots, testing out the waters, before dragging the charcoal across the page. After that, she moves to curves and circles, drawing loops that turn into helixes. When she’s done, she sits back and reviews her creation.

Newt turns the paper more toward him for a better look. It’s looks like a blotted mess to him, but he thinks he can see two round shapes that could be the Phoenixes, a point that made their beaks while swooping lines that are most likely the tails. “Brilliant.”

She offers it to him.

He keeps it with the rest of his notes, marking the date.

[byeolts]

she's a baby | namjoon

genre fluff, slight angst, overall slice of an artist’s life

↪ summary Namjoon is trying to make it as a musician, but with no muse his inspiration keeps faltering. One day he sees her, and it seems his world becomes brighter and gains a new meaning. But what if it’s not meant to be?

word count 3,583

note inspired by Zico’s “she’s a baby”, because I can’t stop listening to that song. (send help)

Namjoon considers himself to be a lonely person. There’s nothing wrong with it and the way he sees it, being lonely does have many advantages. Or so he tells himself on a daily basis. 

It’s not that he is alone– Namjoon has got good friends and they meet at least once every week to chat about what goes on in their lives while drinking soju at the local bar. Plus, his pup Rapmon keeps him company at home every day. Safe to say, Namjoon’s got the best company he could ask for.

The solitude is deeply woven in his heart, however. Like something is absent, although you shouldn’t be able to miss something you never knew, right? It stings his chest when he’s having trouble sleeping at night. It hurts his head when he leaves his otherwise empty bed every morning. Whenever he makes himself breakfast, he wonders just why did he buy a pair of matching mugs. It’s not like he has anyone to share them with besides Rapmon, and the little pup much prefers its bowl.

But being a lonely person certainly has its advantages. Apparently, loneliness works great as a fuel for thoughts and creativity, which Namjoon deeply needs in his line of work.

He left his parent’s house as soon as high school was over, ambition in his head and passion in his heart. Of course it hadn’t been easy but his determination and dreams of becoming someone in the world of music fueled his resolve. So he rented a small apartment where he spends most of his time scribbling words and notes across his worn out notebook. The apartment is very modest with little decorations, somewhat reflecting what Namjoon is like. The best thing about it is undoubtedly the big, clear windows he has in his room. They make it possible to gaze at the beautiful park below, always beaming wih movement and life.

To live comfortably, Namjoon tries hard to make his work known in the underground scene. Thanks to his vast knowledge of the English language he is also able to tutor and earn some extra money. It isn’t something he dislikes doing, so it doesn’t feel burdensome. But it doesn’t feel right, either.

Sigh. Grabbing his notebook and slowly pacing toward the big window in front of him, Namjoon is ready to try and get inspired by the observable scenery. It is an exercise he does daily, that of acquiring inspiration to improve and hopefully finish his latest melody. Most of the time, it works. Lately, not at all. It’s still too early to assume he has lost his magic, or maybe he shouldn’t even be thinking like that at all. Having a creator’s block is one of the most common occurrences artists experience. But he’s not sure of his own worth as an artist, so can he really use it as an excuse? His head hurts with doubt.

Rapmon spots his owner sitting comfortably in front of the window, causing the little pup to dash into his lap and place itself in its most loved position ready to take a nap. Namjoon gently strokes the top of Rapmon’s head, his eyes darting across the various figures moving around below his sight.

Maybe today is the day I will find my inspiration, Namjoon muses to himself. Everything looks fairly the same as every other day. The same elderly couple sitting in a bench feeding pigeons, the same business woman leaving work to have lunch with her husband, the same group of high school students sitting on the grass and sharing their lunch. He used to see it constantly, memorizing the routine of those who stood out the most. What Namjoon doesn’t see everyday, and therefore catches his attention immediately, is the slender figure of a woman, who can’t be much older than he is, making her way toward an empty bench with a book and a pencil case under her arm.

She doesn’t look like any other woman he has ever seen before, he’s sure of it. Maybe it is her petite figure and big, round eyes. Even from a distance, it’s possible to see the blue of her irises. A foreign girl, and a beautiful one at that. 

She’s dressed in denim jeans and a pink shirt, protecting herself from the autumn weather with a coat and beanie. Her golden hair falling down her shoulders in defined locks remind Namjoon of children’s fairy tales. His interest is spiked.

The woman opens her notebook and takes out a pen from her case. She is sitting facing the building Namjoon lives in and is looking at it intensely. Furrowing her brows in concentration she starts moving her hand, sketching something that Namjoon wishes he could see. So she’s an artist as well, Namjoon concludes approvingly and ever so curious.

As he keeps staring at her singular appearance, something rings in his head. Something that sounds an awful lot like the melody he has incessantly been searching for. This is it, his eyes widen with the sudden realization of what musical notes he had been missing to complete the music sheet.

Some time passes as he is writes down everything he can as if he’s afraid of suddenly losing this essential piece of information. Finishing with a contented sigh, he looks up to the window only to find out that his recent source of inspiration is no longer there.

×××

Creativity has started to flow again, thanks to the mysterious woman Namjoon fondly and tentatively refers to as his muse.

“So have you seen her again?”, his friend Yoongi questions. 

“No, not really”, Namjoon sighs before taking a gulp of soju. It’s been a week since he’s seen her for the first time. And while his creativity is working as it should, he feels a deeper need within his heart to meet her again. “But hopefully our paths will cross again soon”. 

Jeongguk, seated on the opposite side of the small table, snorts. “Hyung, that was so lame”. He is promptly smacked in the head by Hoseok, who warns him “Ya, punk, this is a serious matter! An artist’s creativity is on the line here”.

Namjoon can’t help but smile softly at his friends, his mind elsewhere entirely. Would he get to meet the blonde foreigner again? Did she get to finish her sketch? What even was she sketching in the first place? All these questions flood Namjoon’s mind, along with many others that sound something along the lines of what is her name?, where is she from?, should I try to talk to her next time? 

In reality, all Namjoon hopes for is a next time to exist. He bids his friends goodbye and heads home hoping to meet her in his dreams.

×××

She’s here!

It’s a Tuesday afternoon when he sees her again. Sitting on the same bench from last time, focusing on his building of all things, holding a pencil in her hand. Namjoon sits down in front of his window, notebook closeby. A big, bright smile is plastered on his face. 

This time, however, it seems she has brought company in the form of a little maltese dog that lays lazily beside her, belly facing the cloudy Autumn sky. Cute, he thinks, she’s also a dog person. Namjoon starts to wonder what else they must have in common, as his hand starts scribbling words that will soon enough resemble poems. 

Suddenly, the woman looks up at the rustling leaves above her. As if fate calls for her, her eyes land upon Namjoon’s figure on the other side of the window’s glass. Shit, Namjoon freezes under her curious, icy blue eyes. Of course he wants to meet her, but he feels embarrassed of being put on the spot like this. Now she must think I’m a creep and I’ll never have a chance to speak a word to- why is she smiling? That was unexpected. She not only smiles, but she also waves her small hand a little at him. And he, dumbfounded and not sure it’s meant for him, waves back. Incredulousness is evident in his eyes as his heart skips a beat, only to emit a thousand thumps a second later.

The woman promptly goes back to drawing, however something feels different this time. She sees him, and although Namjoon can’t check for himself, he’s almost sure that he is being included in her sketch. Smiling sheepishly, he writes sentences of his own.

It is with a brief lock of gazes and a silent agreement that both of them serve of inspiration to each other. Namjoon is sure it is now or never. He slowly gets up, calling for Rapmon to join him as he makes up his mind about growing a pair and getting out of the house to address her. He doesn’t notice how the woman seems to get a phone call, imediately getting up from the bench and walking away hurriedly with her four legged companion.

When Namjoon pushes his building’s door and the cold wind envelops his figure, he realises it. She’s gone again. He half-heartedly smiles, albeit feeling sad for the missed opportunity. How is it possible that he feels so captivated and enticed by this mysterious woman when he’s only seen her twice? 

I’ve never even talked to her, he argues silently, and I must change that. Looking at Rapmon wagging its tail by his side, Namjoon concedes.

“Well buddy, next time for sure. Let’s take a walk now, shall we?”

×××

Positive feedback pours in through Namjoon’s Soundcloud account. He feels happy that despite the rookie vibes that his tracks have, people seem to enjoy them and encourage his progress. His friends praise him too, stating that his source of inspiration must really be a goddess if she can get him to spit fire through poetry.

Things are going well. He must thank her and finally, at least learn her name.

So when he sees her again, this time simply looking at her phone with her notebook closed beside her, he tries his best to get dressed and ready to leave his apartment in less than five minutes. No way he’s going to miss this oportunity.

Looking in the mirror, he makes sure everything looks top notch. This is his moment! Namjoon closes his apartment door in a hurry, totally oblivious that he’s left his keys inside. Honestly, there are more important things on his mind. He dashes down the stairs, reaching for the doorknob. 

Namjoon opens the door and dashes outside, careful not to crash into anyone. As he skims through the park trying to find her, his world seems brighter and his heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest.

When he finally lays his eyes on her, everything goes black. 

Silence.

She’s… not alone?

Namjoon can’t comprehend the sight before him. She gets up from the bench, turning slightly to her right so she can hug the man that is walking in her direction with a wide smile spread on his face. Actually, they do more than just hug. They’re kissing. Namjoon’s eyes focus on this man, good looking and exuding confidence. This is definitely not what he was expecting. 

“His muse” lifts her hand left hand to gently stroke this new man’s face and it is then that Namjoon spots it – a ring on her finger. So she’s married. 

The world gets sadder with each passing second that he spends standing in the middle of the walkway, no true purpose or resolve anymore. Namjoon feels confused, betrayed, but most of all he feels hurt and like the biggest idiot on earth. 

Did I ever even stand a chance? What was I thinking?

The woman finally seems to notice him, her soft smile pulling at his heartstrings. What is the meaning of this? But honestly, she doesn’t owe him an explanation. She doesn’t owe him anything. And, as if to prove just that, she waves faintly at him while her arm is locked with that other man who picks up her notebook and starts moving away.

She’s leaving, and Namjoon can feel it in his bones that he will never see her again. There is nothing he can do. What started as a chance encounter was ending that same way.

The autumn wind keeps whispering harshly, relentlessly. 

He rubs his eyes and lets loose the longest breath he had forgotten he was holding in. Sighing and feeling like defeat got the best of him, he turns back to enter his building. As he passes through his mailbox, Namjoon notices the corner of a sheet of paper sticking out. He rests his fingertips on that piece of paper for a brief second that seems to go on forever, before deciding to see what it is about.

This is hers. There is no mistaking it, it is the sketch she had been working on everytime he had laid his eyes on her. It has a simple vibe to it, but it is anything but a simple sketch. The fine lines look beautiful and harmoniously connected, letting Namjoon perceive the outline of the row of buildings that exist on his street. Every building has something particular about them, whether it is the choice of colour, or unusual shape that differs from reality.

His building is what really catches his attention. The walls are one big and wide window, making the place feel warmer and clearer as the sunshine gets through the glass. One particularly strong ray of sunshine falls on a figure of a man standing alone, notebook in one hand and a pen in another, looking ready to write something down. It must be something important too, because the whole aura around him makes him seem enlightened, almost etheral.

It’s me. 

On top of the man’s head, there is beautiful calligraphy spelling out the english words “One day, I will have my dream come true. Until then, I’ll keep trying”.

Unsure of who she is referring to, Namjoon can’t help but feel a lonely warmth creeping up inside of him. He climbs the stairs up to his floor, then begins searching for his key. He checks his pockets, then looks down at the floor for good measure before he exhales.

“Fuck”. Could this get any more shittier?

At least his neighbour has a spare key to his apartment. Although the nice and old lady is a great neighbour, not too noisy and respectful, she has a knack for babbling on and on whenever given the chance. That is the only reason Namjoon feels reluctant knocking on her door. As soon as she would see his defeated expression, she would surely bombard him with a thousand questions.

Shaking those thoughts out of his mind, he knocked twice. Come on man, it’s no big deal. Just put on a smile a for a bit. This inner pep talk worked as a small, polite smile would hopefully avoid him a ton of trouble as soon as the old lady opened the door.

There is no answer, so Namjoon knocks again. Then, a voice can be heard from the other side of the wood.

“I’m going, I’m going!” 

Weird. I could swear halmeoni’s voice sounded… older. Even so, Namjoon waits a bit longer. Then, he hears the door unlock and the next second it is open.

He is most definitely not ready for what - or rather, who - presents itself in front of his eyes. It’s a girl, a beautiful girl. Her round, pale face is adorned with soft looking hair, currently wet. Her eyes widen when she lays eyes on him, her face frowning instantly. 

“Oh my god”, she whispers as she freezes for no apparent reason. Except that when he looks down at what she’s wearing, he finds the exact reason why. She’s wrapped in a bath towel, probably lacking clothes underneath. Her hair is wet. She was taking a bath.

“Shit, I’m sorry” Namjoon hurriedly apologizes as he watches the door close abruptly in his face. Apparently, the girl unfroze for enough time to slam it shut. This is confusing. Halmeoni supposedly lives alone.

He is at a loss here. “Um, hi. I’m Namjoon, the neighbour from next door. I kinda locked myself out so… I was hoping halmeoni could open the door for me”, he says quietly hoping that she is still on the other side of the door. Then, as an afterthought he adds more to himself, “I couldn’t have knocked on the wrong door, right?”

After a few seconds of silence, her voice is heard again.

“You have the right place. Grandma is out on a doctor’s appointment, I’m her granddaughter. Give me a minute so I can get more… presentable.” Ah, so maybe her granddaughter came to visit. Interesting. 

Namjoon has no problem waiting, his mind and soul still feeling tired about the loss of who he thought was his muse. 

The door opens again and the same girl comes out, now dressed in a simple t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. She is drying her hair with a smaller towel than the one he saw before and she looks lovely. Who would’ve known that halmeoni has such good genes, he muses to himself.

“You’re Namjoon, right? Kim Namjoon?” she stretches one of her arms in his direction so they can shake hands. Namjoon must have looked puzzled, because it didn’t take a heartbeat for her to add “My grandma’s talked about you before”.

“Good things, I hope”, a small smile playing on his lips. He takes her hand with the one not holding the drawing and shakes it lightly, feeling an impossible jolt of electricity run through his fingers and arms, all the way to his chest. His eyes look up to hers quickly, just in time to catch her surprised and unexpecting expression, mimicking his.

The girl lets go of his hand quickly and instead chooses to hold the towel with both hands. “Good things, of course. She told me you’re a musician”, she confides. Then, her expression changes again to a soft, conscious one.

“Oh, I forgot! My name is (y/n), and it’s a pleasure to meet you. You want me to open your door, right?” she pauses and Namjoon nods, loving the sound of her name and repeating it to himself quietly. What a remarkable name. 

×××

He watches as you step away from the door, your intention of inviting him in not being understood. Cute, you acknowledged silently, your smile spreading wider.

“Don’t you want to come in just for a little bit? I’m not sure where the keys are, since I just moved in.”

His face lightened up at your words as he finally takes a step inside your home. “You have moved in? Here?”

“Ah, yes. My grandma was feeling rather lonely and honestly, there’s nothing for me anymore in that little city. I’m sure I’m bound for bigger and better things, or at least I hope I am…”. You felt unsure if you should be pouring such intimate reasoning to an almost complete stranger, but it felt soothing knowing that just a few meters from here you lived, there was a young man who, much like yourself, seemed a bit lost.

You both enter the kitchen where you motion for him to sit down while you search for the keys inside one of the seemingly countless drawers. 

“So… you know I live with my grandmother, but who do you live with?” You asked nonchalantly, curiosity getting the best of you. Somehow, this man makes you feel curious and excited. He seems like a good guy and you hope that’s precisely what he is. Because it would feel great to have someone who’s so much like you living just across the floor.

Namjoon scratches his scalp lightly, deep in thought. Suddenly, he realises you are speaking to him. “Ah, sorry. I live with my dog Rapmon, actually. He’s the best roommate I could ask for”.

You hum approvingly. So, he’s a dog person. I wonder what else we have in common. 

Your eyes wander over to him discretely, noticing he’s holding a piece of paper. Yet again, your curiosity gets the best of you. “What’s that?”, you ask before scolding yourself mentally. It is none of your business, after all.

Namjoon lifts his head to follow your gaze, realising you’re talking about the sketch from earlier. With each passing second, its meaning fades from his mind as if something else was starting to occupy it entirely. “This? It’s just a drawing I was gifted. Very inspiring, actually. But I’m beginning to realise just how futile that inspiration truly was”. 

Futile inspiration? What could he mean? You decide not to press the issue any further. Finally after what feels like hours you find a set of keys and show them to him. “Is one of these yours?”

Namjoon’s hand moves slowly toward the keychain, touching your hand for moments. The same impossible but delightful electricity is felt by both of you, except this time neither pulls back. He looks deep in your eyes, a mix of loneliness and hope floating in his irises. You know your eyes reciprocrate everything he’s feeling, because it takes one to know one.

Then, Namjoon exhales wholeheartedly with content, his words firing up your cheeks with such intensity you feel you might pass out.

“Actually, yes. I think I just found my muse”.

 ↪ A/N: Hi guys! This is my first time posting here so I hope you liked what you read. Feel free to send me feedback as I’m sure I’ll need it. Hopefully I’ll publish more fanfictions soon!

Thank you!