#been going through some art block so i just thought i’d draw something silly and fun :] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kaaytea · 3 years ago

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heyhey !! can i request some hcs of jun, tetsuya, n chris having a very soft but artistic s/o who draws them a lot? and maybe one day they find her sketchbook open n it’s just sketches of them? no pressure if you’re not inspired by this or anything tho n ty !! <33

Sketchy Secrets

⤷Includes: Chris, Jun, Tetsuya

A/n: I'd be more than happy to write this! The 3rd years make me unfathomably soft so I'm going to have a bunch of fun with this! Thank you for requesting and I hope you like it ♥️

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Chris

Chris wouldn't consider himself a very nosy person

He's always respectful of your space and never pries when he can tell you want to keep something private

But nothing has ever tempted him to break that boundary more than the worn notebook you keep on you

It's in your hands constantly and you're so secretive about the item your behavior was bound to garner some curiosity on his end eventually

Nevertheless, Chris fought his inquiring mind out of respect for you and let the contents of the notebook remain a mystery

Chris could definitely appreciate art but he wasn't much of an artist himself, so it was quite the surprise when he opened the notebook he used the keep baseball notes in and be met with a bunch of sketches

Immediately he understood that this must be the oh-so mysterious notebook you've had on you for months. By some miraculous force the two of you seemed to have accidentally swapped notebooks

The damage was done and he already knew what resided in the book so how much worse could it be to give into the hungry curiosity he's been harboring the past few months?

Chris handled the pages with care as he flipped through the book. Most of the pages were filled with what he assumed to be anatomy studies and the occasional silly doodle here and there

When Chris reached the middle of the notebook he noticed a trend in your art begin: All of your sketches were of him

His cheeks were most definitely tinted a soft pink the further he flipped. He was dumbfounded that you found him to be a source of inspiration, he wasn't always a ball of sunshine and rainbows as you've seen him on his worst days

But he found it interesting to look at the conjured up version of how you saw him. It was like he was looking at himself through your eyes

It was then that you barged open his dorm door, hair messy from running and his baseball notebook clung to your chest. He saw the fear flare in your eyes when you spotted the open book in front of him

"D-did you..."

"I looked through it. I'm sorry, you wanted to keep this private and I spoiled that for you."

"So did you see the...uh sketches?"

"I did and I think they're remarkably beautiful, I had no idea you were so talented, love"

A wave of relief crashed into you at his words. You honestly thought he'd think it was creepy you had pages and pages filled with sketches of him

Chris chuckled at your reaction before he stood up and pulled you into a warm embrace where he placed a kiss to the top of your head

Jun

Jun is...a very brash person

He's loud and rambunctious by nature but the man instantly developes a softer side when around you

Seeing the normally boisterous outfielder morph into a far gentler version of himself was quite the sight, and the occurrence had definitely become a topic his friends would make jabs at

Jun never let their teasing remarks bother him much, he enjoyed spending quiet time with you and was more than happy to sit through his friends bad jokes if it meant he could continue hanging around you

Recently though Jun had noticed an odd habit of yours

You stare at him alot. Not in a 'checking your boyfriend out' kind of way but as in blatant staring even if you knew he caught you looking

It was a bit odd in his opinion seeing as you never addressed or hinted at why you actually do stare at him so much

Jun didn't question it, maybe he was just catching while you were spacing out and didn't realize what you were doing

What he didn't know was that he would unintentional find out what was driving this habit of yours only a few weeks after becoming aware of it

He spotted you alone at a table in the schools library one afternoon while searching for some research material he needed for a project

You were sitting with your back to him, leaning heavily on on of your arms. From where he was standing it looked like you had either fell asleep or were zoning out like you often did around him

Jun decided to go "wake" you up, as leaving you there in that state would be defeating your purpose of coming to the library in the first place

Before he could tap your shoulder after approaching your table, his eyes flicked to the book sitting wide open infront of you

More specifically he was watching your hand roughly sketching the outline of a person's hair style

The longer he looked the more he realized that the entirety of the two pages in front of you were drawings of him

Anything from small, quick doodles of him catching a ball or swinging a bat to more detailed sketches of him laughing or reading a book

You must have finally sensed someone looking over your shoulder as you jumped slightly in your seat and quickly turned to find Jun (whose face was beyond flushed might I add)

"This is why you stare at me all the time?!"

"Ah...maybe?"

Despite how embarrassed you both were he still pulled a seat up next to you, gruffly mumbling out how you shouldn't let his presence keep you from your art

He then quietly complimented your artistic skills, sealed with a soft kiss to the back or your hand

Tetsuya

If there is one thing that Yuki Tetsuya loves about your relationship it's the fact that you always pack little bentos for the two of you to share after games

Obviously he loves YOU for many other reasons! But if he were asked what quirk or abnormality he loves the most in your relationship it'd be the bentos

Which he was currently rummaging through your bag for

You usually have a specific spot in your bag for the small containers, a place that would keep the food cool so it wouldn't get spoiled in the Tokyo heat, but Tetsu couldn't seem to find them

Eventually he spotted the familiar teal and green box after shuffling the contents of your bag around a bit

With an accomplished glimmer in his eyes he pulled the bento out from your bag

As he was retrieving the container, said bento caught the corner of a small notebook causing it to tumble out and flop open on the concrete

Tetsuya quickly scooped the book up from the ground fearing that he had gotten it scuffed or dirty, but those worries left as his attention was captured to the contents of the notebook

At first he thought the image was a digital picture you had printed out but the longer he looked the more he picked up on the smudgy finger prints littering the page

And then it clicked for him: You drew this!

Right next to the portrait of him was a smaller doodle of a scene he recognized as your phones lockscreen (a second year version of the two of you happily smiling at eachother, his arm wrapped respectfully around your waist as you struggled to look up at him due to the brim of his Seidou hat blocking your view)

The sketched version looked exactly the same as the real photo! It was beautiful and somehow you had managed to enhance the tender emotions portrayed in the picture

"Tetsuya, did you find the ben- oh.."

"Do you think you could draw a larger version of this? I want to put it on my desk."

You just laughed at his bluntness before giving him a nod in response

A small smile graced his features as he looked from you back to your messy sketch. It wasn't a look you saw very often from him, but that smile made your knees weak as you fell in love with him all over again

#kayquests #takigawa chris yuu x reader #takigawa chris yuu #isashiki jun #isashiki jun x reader #yuki tetsuya #yuki tetsuya x reader #daiya no ace #daiya no ace x reader #ace of the diamond x reader #ace of the diamond #diamond no ace #diamond no ace x reader

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monstersandmaw · 4 years ago

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Male vampire x male character - Part Three (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is going to be a four-parter, folks! And here's 3866 words of Part Three for you. Angst ahoy, but you know me, ok, so trust me. Here we meet Alec's little brother, and you'll find out why Sebastien was so jumpy and weird about the Twayblade name.

Part One, Part Two

Alec’s ‘one night stand’ with Sebastien turned into a whole month of of ‘one-night-stands’, and culminated in Sebastien asking him to dinner the following weekend - a pattern which repeated itself every weekend after that.

Sure, the sex was probably the most incredible sex that Alec had ever experienced in his entire life, but what he came to enjoy even more was the time they spent over meals and cups of tea in the intervening time, talking about everything from history to politics to video games and books and everything else besides. Sebastien talked about literature a lot, and Alec sketched him and illustrated his conversations while he spoke.

“You could really make something of yourself with talent like that,” Sebastien had murmured once as Alec had doodled a quick rendition of the Victory of Samothrace on the back of a coffee shop receipt one afternoon in the park.

“Meh,” he shrugged without looking up. “I’d like to, but I’ve got a steady job now, you know? I’m not going to throw it all away just because some gallery might take my work and I might make something of a name for myself, you know?”

Sebastien sighed. “Talent is such an overused word, and great art is rarely based on raw talent alone, but with your dedication over the years, you’ve really honed what natural abilities you have into something exceptional, Alec. I think you should make a go of it at least.”

Alec had flushed, and Sebastien had been distracted by the rising colour his cheeks long enough to abandon that train of thought in favour of kissing him silly on a park bench, and Alec hadn’t much minded.

At an Iranian restaurant near Alec’s place one Friday, four weeks after Halloween, Sebastien leaned on his elbow and popped a fragrant and decadent zoolbia into his mouth, and Alec watched, oddly fixated by the way his fingers held the little fried treat. His eyes, dark and warm and inviting, blinked slowly and he offered Alec a slow-dawning smile that stole his breath.

“We should go to the museum again,” Alec he blurted, thinking back three days when they’d spent their lunchtime meandering around the Italian Renaissance gallery together.

“Mmm?” he asked, licking his fingers in a way that made Alec’s jeans tighten and his throat close.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I mean, I know you’re not sick of me waxing endlessly about quattrocento art just yet…” he said, sipping his delicious cup of tea and trying not to choke on it as Sebastien’s ankle skimmed up his leg beneath the table.

“No,” Sebastien admitted. “You’re right. I’m not.”

With the bill paid by Sebastien this time, after Alec had bought them lunch the previous day, the two of them left the cosy warmth of the restaurant and stepped out into a bitter November night. “Oh fuck it’s cold,” Alec swore immediately, drawing up the collar of his coat.

“You want to head home?” Sebastien asked, a hand on the small of his back.

Unconsciously, Alec leaned into it and smiled up at him. They’d not yet been to Alec’s apartment, and he found himself more and more reluctant to let Sebastien in now that he’d seen the stunning penthouse that he called home. “If you’re sure? I think your wardrobe has more square footage than my entire place though…”

“Alec,” he purred, taking Alec’s hand in his and squeezing his fingers. “I —”

“—You’re freezing,” he commented, interrupting whatever Sebastien had been about to say.

“I don't tend to run hot,” he conceded, “But neither do I feel the cold much. I’d like to see your home, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He leaned in close and kissed the junction of Alec’s jaw and neck for a moment, his lips lingering, tongue just lapping at his skin and sending shivers down Alec’s whole body, shorting out his brain for a heartbeat or six. Sebastien raked his teeth over Alec’s pounding pulse point and he went still, frozen in a paroxysm of pleasure and, oddly, a strange thrill of fear he couldn’t quite place. Instead of pulling away when he recovered himself, however, he tilted his head further to one side, offering himself to Sebastien’s mouth, and the other man moaned decadently, deepening his attentions.

Sebastien’s hands found Alec’s belt and he tugged him sharply closer so that their hips met. Alec tried not to grind himself against Sebastien — they were still on a public street for goodness’ sake — but desire was washing through him in pulsing waves and it was becoming harder and harder to think rationally. That wasn’t the only thing that was becoming hard either, and he let out a harsh grunt before forcing himself to step back with a sheepish grin.

When he looked up at Sebastien, he found that the slightly taller man had frozen and was breathing hard, eyes closed, lips pursed together as though restraining himself from something.

“You ok?”

“Fine,” Sebastien hissed, still not opening his eyes.

Alec frowned. Sebastien looked like he was in pain of all things. “You sure? You look —”

“I’m fine!” he snapped through a clenched jaw. “Let’s go. You’re right. It is cold.”

The short walk to Alec’s apartment passed in tense silence, with Sebastien keeping his eyes locked downwards on the pavement, though he did deign to hold Alec’s hand. He couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he’d pushed things too far in public, given how proper Sebastien tended to be, but then again, Sebastien was the one who had deepened the gesture by practically mauling at his neck for three minutes straight back then.

Alec’s apartment building wasn’t fancy at all, and it certainly didn’t have a doorman, and once they’d stumbled in through the hallway with the busted light fitting in the ceiling, Alec smashed the elevator call button only to find it dull and non-responsive. “Damn,” he cursed. “Out of order again. Stairs?”

“If needs be,” Sebastien said with a gracious smile.

“This would never happen over at Buckingham Palace,” he quipped back, and Sebastien cracked a smile at Alec’s silly nickname for his apartment block.

“Exercise will shake all that dinner down,” he conceded.

Alec twitched his eyebrows in agreement and held the door open to the stairwell for him. As he passed by in the confined space, Sebastien stopped and leaned in, taking Alec’s jaw in his cool hands and kissing him gently, reverently, on the lips.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I was rude back then.”

Alec shrugged, feeling awkward at the sheer, heartfelt tenderness in the gesture.

“I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

“I like it when you’re rougher with me,” he smirked. “You should know that after a month of fucking me senseless.”

As if Alec’s words had hit him like a sledgehammer to the nuts, Sebastien rolled his eyes and grimaced, but he did laugh. “You do seem to like a firm hand, granted,” he said. “Let’s get upstairs shall we? Before I take you right here, and I’m not sure how sanitary this situation is…”

Alec needed no more encouragement, and he didn’t even get to give Sebastien the fleeting, one-minute tour of his tiny flat before the man was on him, kissing him blind and backing him into a wall hard enough to knock the wind from him. Sebastien came alive in moments like that, when he could kiss him and lavish attention on Alec, and the latter was not about to stop him.

It wasn’t long before Sebastien’s wandering lips found Alec’s neck again, and as Alec gasped, fists balled into Sebastien’s shirt collar, he felt the sharp prick of teeth quickly followed by the generous suck of a love bite in the making. His knees went weak and he nearly staggered as a huge rush of endorphins swam through his mind, leaving him limp and wobbly all over. Well, almost everywhere.

“I want you,” he gasped, and Sebastien lost no time in locating the tiny bedroom and tossing him onto the bed, stripping them both with startlingly attractive efficiency. Alec barely managed to yank a bottle of lube and a box of condoms from his top drawer before Sebastien was spreading his legs and laving his tongue up over the curve of his balls.

“Oh fuck me,” Alec exclaimed as Sebastien’s slick finger slid into him and he hissed at the intrusion. A moment later, he was lying with his head flung back into the pillows while Sebastien slid a second inside him and began to do just that with his fingers until Alec was finally ready — and more than desperate — for Sebastien’s cock.

Sebastien had a beautiful body, all lean, corded muscle and slender lines, and as he got more and more aroused, his deep olive skin seemed to glow almost supernaturally. He was perfection incarnate. Bernini couldn’t have carved him, even if he’d been given a lifetime to try. Alec was no Bernini but he’d still love to sculpt him.

Sebastien chuckled sweetly and crooked his finger, sending a jolt of searing pleasure through Alec so hard his vision whited out for a moment and his back arched. “I’m flattered,” Sebastien murmured, placing open-mouthed, messy kisses down Alec’s leg as he spontaneously bent that knee up.

“Shit, I said that out loud…” he laughed, still vague and giddy with the sensations sparking under his skin.

“Mmm,” he smiled, lowering his face to Alec’s inner thigh and kissing fervently all up his leg to the crease of his thigh and hips before smoothing his leg back down onto the bed. His breath fanned out across Alec’s sensitive skin and he quivered and bucked, causing Sebastien’s curled finger to brush his prostate again and he yelled.

“Please…”

Moments later, Sebastien entered him at last and stilled, allowing him to adjust to the new intrusion.

When he fucked him like this, Sebastien seemed to take on a new energy, becoming something almost more primal, and Alec lived for it. The expression on his face as he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the heat of Alec’s body closing around him, taking him, drawing him in, was something he would never get used to, no matter how many times it happened. He was certain of it.

“You’re so tight,” Sebastien grunted, easily shifting Alec’s hips up a degree or two and adjusting his own angle so that he could thrust into his prostrate with every stroke.

Alec’s words failed him as immense pleasure ripped through him, building and building. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up,” he barely managed to grunt as Sebastien somehow picked up the pace and began to pound into him with renewed vigour. The man seemed utterly devoted to Alec’s pleasure, as if it was the only thing driving him.

With an utterly inhuman snarl, Sebastien opened his mouth and whispered, “Come for me.”

The sheer weight of command in his voice tore through Alec and he came instantly, untouched, painting his torso with ropes of his release and wrenching Sebastien’s own orgasm from him by sheer force a second after.

Sebastien curled forwards with a hiss, hips spasming as he released, and his lips found Alec’s neck again, and then his collarbone. In the daze of his own peak, Alec thought he saw a flash of red in Sebastien’s eyes again, but he was out of sight too quickly for him to believe what he’d seen. Instead, he found Sebastien kissing his hammering pulse while he finished. Finally going still, Sebastien slumped atop him, breathing hard, his white-blond hair spilling everywhere and tickling Alec’s stubble. He was too tired to care though.

When he woke, hours later, he realised groggily that it must be the middle of the night. Sebastien was curled up beside him, obviously having found the tiny bathroom to clean up, and he was now spread out beside him on his small, lumpy mattress as if this were a palace and he a prince, not some tiny, shitty apartment in the rough bit of town.

Something about the way Sebastien slept still freaked Alec the fuck out. He didn’t seem to be breathing, and when he had laid his palm on Sebastien’s chest on their first night together, the man had gasped and jolted awake like the living dead, sucking in air like he’d been underwater for hours. This time, he refrained from touching him, and instead stared at his inhuman beauty. There wasn’t a mark or scar or freckle on him, and his darkly tanned body spread out over the white sheets like a bronze sculpture arranged in a gallery for the adoration of thousands. And yet he chose Alec to be his only supplicant. Something lurched in his chest and he smiled bashfully, blushing, although there was no one to witness it.

Awake, Sebastien looked maybe thirty, thirty five years old, but asleep, he looked far younger; closer to eighteen or nineteen perhaps, with an innocence around his white-lashed eyes and the natural downward curl of his beautiful lips.

Unable to resist touching him completely, Alec kissed him and rolled over, drawing the duvet up around his ears and sinking back into a deep, dreamless sleep. His whole body felt heavy and satiated in a way he’d never experienced before with anyone. Something clenched in his heart; this felt right somehow.

But nothing is fated to last forever, is it?

Alec stirred groggily, unwillingly, the next morning, becoming aware of a rapid-fire knocking on the apartment door. Grunting, he kicked back the covers and fished for a pair of boxers and a shirt from the floor beside the bed. Sebastien slept on, apparently not having moved at all since the previous evening. Did he have sleep apnoea or something? It was something he’d have to bring up after he’d sorted whatever this was. It wasn’t natural for a man to sleep like that.

Like the dead.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he grumbled, stumbling across the apartment and peering though the peephole in the door. Twitching back in surprise, he opened it. “Theo?”

His little brother’s bright, sunny grin beamed back at him. “Hey bro,” he chuckled jovially, stepping in as if he owned the place and shooting him a cheeky look back over his shoulder. “Brunch?”

“Brunch?” Alec frowned. “Since when do you do ‘brunch’? And since when is it brunchtime anyway?” He glanced at the clock in the kitchen and his eyebrows rose. It was well past eleven o’clock.

“Late night, I see,” Theo snickered, eyeing Sebastien’s shirt which was still on the floor outside the bedroom door, currently ajar from Alec’s hasty exit.

“Shut up.”

Theo’s grin doubled and his blue eyes glittered. Like Alec, he had the unusual combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and like Alec he could be described as ‘roguish’ at times. Now though, it bordered on downright Puckish. Looking not his actual twenty-one years but somewhere closer to sixteen, Theo shook his head.

“Brother mine, when will you —” he snorted but then stopped and his expression fell, shattering from playful to horrified in a heartbeat before he rapidly attempted to cover it by turning towards the bedroom. “Is he still here?” he whispered.

“Yeah, so keep the jokes to a minimum, would you?” Alec snarled. “What did you want anyway?”

But Theo had changed completely. Gone was the ebullient Labrador puppy and instead a tense, alert, wary young man stood before him.

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Alec hissed, heartbeat ticking faster like an over-wound clock.

And Theo spun and then froze as the door to the bedroom opened and Sebastien appeared on the threshold.

Theo’s lip curled into an ugly snarl and Sebastien regraded him steadily, apparently unfazed by the unexpected hostility.

“The younger Twayblade, I assume,” he said with such ice in his usually warm tone that it shook Alec into stunned silence. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“You’re shitting me,” Theo whispered, horror thickening his tone.

Alec blinked and looked from Sebastien to his little brother and back again. Never in all his years of dating men had he felt so uneasy around a family member. “What’s going on…?” he finally croaked.

“That’s what — who — you’re sleeping with?” Theo practically spat out.

Cold, defensive vitriol bubbled up inside him and he might actually have lunged for his brother had Sebastien not crossed the room in three rapid strides and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. “I take my leave,” he said quickly.

“Not so fast, fang-face,” Theo sneered and Sebastien froze. “Get away from my brother.”

“Or what?” Sebastien said in the quietest and steadiest of voices.

“What the fuck is going on!” Alec blurted into the tense silence that followed Sebastien’s taunt.

The other two blinked, and Sebastien sighed. He met Alec’s eye as he asked, “You really didn’t know at all, did you?”

“Know what?” Alec snapped, rage rolling through him. “Do you two know each other or something? What am I missing here?”

“I think this is a family matter that you need to work out between you,” Sebastien said, voice still tinged with frost. “Alec, you know where to reach me if you decide to continue what we’ve shared this past month.” And with that, he turned and walked from the apartment.

“Wait, stop!” Alec yelled after him, but he was gone down the stairwell and Theo was at his side, tugging him back into the apartment. “Fucking explain yourself!” he snapped, rounding on his brother.

“You’d… better sit down.”

“No. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Theo stared him down, meeting blazing sapphire stare with blazing sapphire stare. “Sit. Down.”

The tone of his voice shocked Alec into doing exactly that, and he sank numbly down onto the saggy old couch in the living room without a word.

What followed next was like something from a movie.

“The Twayblades are an ancient family of monster hunters,” Theo said gently. “Father’s not in the military. Well, he is, but it’s not a normal unit or anything. That’s just a cover.”

“And mother?” he asked mechanically, the information-dump that Theo had just heaped upon him not sinking in, but floating like scum on the surface of his churning mind.

“She’s one too. And Ellie.”

“Ellie hunts… monsters?” he asked. “Like… what… the Boogeyman? Bigfoot?” Incredulity made his tone flippant, but something in the calm sincerity of his brother’s eyes told him it was true, no matter how stupid it sounded.

“Dracula…?” Theo added darkly.

“Dracula.” And then the penny dropped. “Wait. ‘Fang-face’. You’re saying you think my boyfriend is a vampire?”

Theo levelled him with a look from where he was leaning against the windowsill, arms folded over his chest in a manner eerily reminiscent of his big brother.

Now as Alec regarded him, he saw the harsh young man that this little kid had become. The puppy fat had melted into a steel jaw and a hard gaze, and his body seemed coiled for action at any moment. He had the body of a soldier, Alec realised with plunging horror. He knew Theo worked out — he was apparently a personal trainer and nutritional coach for celebrities in London, but even that seemed to have been a lie after what he’d just learned. Apparently the Twayblades actually hunted monsters — he and their parents and their older sister Ellie. Alec and Angie had been left out because they were apparently not ‘hunter material’ whatever that meant. Maybe it meant he was a monster fucker instead. He almost laughed.

“Theo, come on… I can’t believe any of this,” Alec said, leaning back into the sofa and pressing the heels of his palms to his aching eyeballs. All he’d wanted to do this morning was to wake up and maybe have Sebastien fuck him into the mattress a few times before breakfast until he was wrung out and softly buzzing like they had every weekend for the last month.

Now he was having some bizarre fairytale forced at him and he was supposed to believe it like it was some kind of sick joke. But he did believe it, and that was what scared him most of all. It wasn’t a joke. Theo showed him videos his father and he had captured on some of their ‘hunts’, exterminating a poltergeist here and eradicating a revenant there, and in the end Theo phoned their father on speaker, opening without preamble, “Dad, Alec’s dating a vampire.”

“Do you have proof?” was their father’s instant, chilling response. No ‘I'm sorry, what did you say, son?’ or ‘What’s all this nonsense?’. No. He went straight to the heart of it. With a stake.

“Just walked past the sucker leaving the flat.”

“Ancient?”

“No, thank goodness. Maybe just a century at most?”

“Can you eliminate him without alerting Alec?” their father asked, at which point Alec’s heart cracked.

He leapt to his feet and blurted, “Fucking what?”

After a heartbeat of silence, their father sighed. “Unfortunate. I had hoped to keep you and Angela out of this.”

“You’re telling me it’s all real?” he asked, goggling at Theo who held the phone out on speaker between them like it was a live grenade. “You’re all insane!”

“Tell me something, son,” his father said flatly. “Have his eyes ever flared red during a moment of passion? Does he seem to fixate on your neck? Do you find yourself willing to do as he wishes without question?”

Theo interjected quickly, “He’s not compelled. His eyes are clear.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” their father scoffed. “Theo, you know what you have to do. Kill it.”

“‘It’?” Alec shot, eyes bulging, and Theo did have the grace to cringe. “Kill it? You’re going to kill him? He’s a lecturer at the university, Theo. You can’t just fucking kill him?!”

“He might be under the guild rules…” Theo said. “He might be a blood bank user, not a live-feeder… I’ll look into it first.”

Alec’s knees turned to water but he kept himself upright through sheer force of will.

“Fine. But don’t hesitate. And don’t make concessions just because Alec might be compromised.”

Theo nodded and hung up without farewell. “Look, Alec,” he grimaced. “I’m… I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t come here to —”

“— to kill my boyfriend?” he growled, taking a step towards his little brother. To his credit, Theo did actually take half a step back in the face of Alec’s confused, hurt, betrayed ire, holding his hand palm-up.

“No. I came here to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but —”

“—Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out!” he roared, jabbing his index finger at the door and pulling out his phone.

Theo surprised him by nodding and leaving, shutting the door behind him with a click and leaving Alec standing in the centre of the living room, chest heaving, phone in hand, ears ringing.

As his brother’s footsteps disappeared down the stairwell, he unlocked his phone and dialled Sebastien’s number.

Three rings in, Sebastien answered.

“It it true?” Alec asked without preamble.

After a long inhale, Sebastien answered. “…Yes.”

Sorry for the cliffie!! More soon, but it’ll hit Patreon first, then Tumblr. Don’t let me forget, either!

Part Four

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#vampire #vampire boyfriend #exophilia #male vampire #male vampire x male human #male vampire x human #mlm #mlm exophilia

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bellafarallones2 · 3 years ago

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a/n: t-rated indruck fluff from #21 on Veronica Bunch's college au prompt list: I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

Duck had signed up for Performance Studies because he needed arts credits and because the meeting time, seven to nine in the evening Tuesdays and Thursdays, worked well with the rest of his schedule. He was less happy when the professor emailed out the homework for the first day: a reading that examined the question “what is performance?” for thirteen dense pages without managing to come to a conclusion.

By the time he showed up to the first class, he barely remembered any of the points the reading had made. Most of the other students already seemed to know each other, and were talking in groups when he arrived. Only one man, a tall guy with silver hair whose black roots suggested he’d spent an evening bent over a sink for it, was sitting alone and silent.

“Anyone sitting here?” said Duck.

“You?” said the guy hopefully. He was wearing jeans and a soft beige cardigan over his white shirt, and there was a small rainbow-flag patch on his black backpack.

“I’m Duck,” Duck said. “And my pronouns are he/him.” He still occasionally got read as a butch lesbian, and it was better to establish the pronoun thing right out of the gate.

“Indrid. I also use he/him.”

That was all they said before the professor showed up and class began. The professor genuinely cared about the material, which made the whole thing more interesting, though Duck was still distracted. Indrid had very nice hands, nails painted chipped black, and he doodled the entire class, filling a whole page with spiky fractals.

Finally nine o’clock arrived. The sky outside was pitch-black. “I’m not really looking forward to walking home this late,” Duck said as he stood waiting for Indrid to finish packing up. “Wish I had your punk privilege.”

“Excuse me?” Indrid looked amused.

“You know. You’re tall and you have piercings.” As Duck said that, Indrid stood up, revealing that he was even taller than Duck had previously thought. Jesus, this guy had Slenderman legs. “You look like you could throw a punch.”

“I could use my punk privilege to walk you home, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate it, if it’s not too out of your way - I live on High Street next to the REI.”

“Yeah, I’m going that way.”

Duck held the door as they left the building and walked together down the half-lit street. The planes of Indrid’s face looked almost unearthly in the streetlights.

“You an art major?” Duck asked.

“Visual arts and math. I needed to take something in theater or music as a distribution requirement and this was the least theater or music class I could find that was also after noon.”

Duck laughed. “Yeah, I’m in the forestry program and I had to take something artsy.”

Indrid nodded. They walked in silence for a while, but Indrid didn’t seem to mind, his hands shoved into his pockets and his face turned up.

“This is me,” Duck said when they reached the REI. The door to the apartments above was almost unnoticeable next to the brightly-lit storefront.

“Alright,” Indrid said as Duck fiddled with his key. “See you on Thursday!”

“Goodnight!” said Duck when the door swung open, looking around. As soon as Indrid saw that Duck was inside, he turned and walked back the way they’d come. Duck wondered vaguely where he lived; this block didn’t have many students. Ah, well. A question for another day.

On Thursday before class Duck stopped at the snack bar for dinner and spotted a familiar head of silver hair. Indrid was drawing, his head tilted at an odd angle so he could both look at the page and drink from the straw on a sixteen-ounce cherry slushy.

“Mind if I join you?” said Duck.

Indrid looked up and his face lit up. “Of course! I don’t mind, I mean. Please sit.”

Duck realized then that what he’d assumed was art was in fact math, that Indrid was taking notes out of a slim, intimidating textbook. Duck recognized a couple of integral signs and that was about it. “Math, huh?”

Indrid nodded.

“I had to take Calc 2 for my major, I wish I’d known you then so you could have helped me with it.”

Indrid laughed, tapping his pencil. “I’d have been happy to. Certainly numbers make more sense than people do, sometimes.”

“Probably more sense than that performance reading.” Duck leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you’d be down to walk me home again?”

Indrid shrugged. “You’re good company.”

Duck met Indrid again at the local park that weekend. Their homework for the week was to record themselves performing in a way they did in their daily lives, and Duck didn’t feel like getting into gender, so he’d decided to show how he performed when giving a nature talk, and he’d asked Indrid to help film. (He’d offered to help film Indrid’s performance in return, but Indrid had politely declined, joking about performance anxiety.)

It was less awkward than Duck had been expecting. He walked around the park, pointing out the fungus on a tree trunk and a frog sitting with just its eyes over the surface of the water. Indrid, filming on Duck’s phone, smiled encouragingly whenever he met Duck’s eyes, and it was all Duck could do not to break his train of thought to grin back.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said when he was done.

“Thank you for the free nature walk!” said Indrid as he handed Duck’s phone back to him. Their hands brushed against Duck’s smooth phone case. “I come here to draw sometimes, but I’ve never noticed all that before.”

They watched everyone’s videos in class that week. Most of them were pretty boring. Duck cringed through the playing of his own video, though Indrid had done a good job with the camerawork, and a few of the music majors in the class had recorded themselves playing their instruments, which was at least nice to listen to. And then it was Indrid’s turn.

The video opened on a close-up shot of Indrid’s face. I am an artist, the voiceover said, Indrid’s own voice booming across the classroom. Sometimes I even look like it.

The Indrid on the screen bent his head - he was looking not at the camera but at a mirror behind it, putting on heavy eyeliner and spotty mascara. He switched out the subtle studs along the shell of his ear for something heavier, flashier, chain running between the holes. Then he stepped back from the camera and shrugged on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders. A punk jacket. He posed, self-conscious, and as he started laughing the camera cut sharply to his face, again large.

I had an internship last summer with an insurance company calculating risk. He rubbed the makeup off his face with a makeup wipe, his eyes reddening slightly at the contact. He removed the jacket and folded it carefully before placing it out of frame. And then he picked up a pale blue button-down and buttoned it carefully down over his undershirt, and tied a tie in a perfect Windsor around his neck. He removed the bar from his eyebrow and the chains from his ears, which looked rather naked without them.

I perform to look like the things I know I can do. He dabbed concealer over the rosy maple moth tattooed at his neck, one wingtip peeking over the collar of the shirt. Then he held his hand out for a handshake, a business handshake, and sure, he looked like the kind of person Duck would trust to sell insurance. But there was something about his smile, something Duck wondered if anyone else could see. Something that lingered no matter what he wore.

Duck probably should spend less time thinking about his mouth.

“So my lease ends in January,” said Duck casually as they turned the corner onto his street. “And I’ve been having trouble finding other places that rent to students in this neighborhood, so I was wondering how you found your place.”

“Oh,” said Indrid, sounding guilty. “Well, I don’t know how much help I can be. I live up by the corner of 16th street and Broad.”

Duck did some quick mental geography as he climbed the step up to the front door. “That’s completely the other direction!”

“I know.” He was dressed like neither an insurance salesman nor a metal punk, today, with gold studs glittering in his ears like grains of sand and a soft, oversized sweater falling off one shoulder. The black roots of his hair had grown since the beginning of the term.

“You told me the first day of class that walking home wouldn’t be going out of your way! You know I don’t need walking home, right?”

“Of course. I just. Uh. I wanted to spend more time with you. I’m sorry for misleading you, we can stop if it makes you feel weird.”

Duck looked down at him. Indrid stood silently, awaiting judgment. “How about you come in?”

Indrid looked up. “I don’t mean to impose, it’s no trouble to walk home -”

Duck held out his hand. Indrid took it and followed him up the stairs without letting go. “You aren’t allergic to cats, are you?” Duck said when he finally had to take his hand back to unlock the door.

“Even if I was, I’d happily resign myself to sneezing.”

Duck opened the door and, as soon as Indrid was inside, crowded him up against it. Indrid slowly lifted his hands, trembling, and rested them on Duck’s shoulders. His gaze beneath his glasses flicked from Duck’s eyes to his lips and back again.

“Can I kiss you?” Duck said.

“Yes please.”

Indrid’s mouth was warm and soft and yielded so easily to Duck’s tongue, fuck, they should have done this sooner. Class would have been so much more bearable if he could have been looking over at Indrid’s lips the whole time knowing that as soon as class was over he could drag him out into the hallway, into one of the gender-neutral bathrooms in the arts building and kiss him silly.

“You don’t have any morning classes tomorrow, do you?” Duck asked when he finally pulled away enough to speak.

Indrid shook his head.

“Want to watch a movie and make out?”

“That sounds perfect.”

#indruck

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frodos-bizarre-adventure · 3 years ago

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@gingerreggg i honestly didn't think it would get this far (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

Heads Up- Part 4 (Joseph x Bust! Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Jojo! Wake up!" Caesar yelled from a neighboring tabletop in Joseph's room.

"Alright, alright," he groaned, groggily. "You make such a great alarm clock," he laughed, as he rubbed his eyes and stretched out with a yawn.

It had been four days now since Caesar first came alive, and Joseph was surprised how quickly the living artwork had just sort of become part of everyday life. Somehow, even a talking lump of painted clay very quickly assimilated into his "normal"-- if anything could even be considered normal anymore in this situation.

Joseph stood up and began to plod lazily to the kitchen for breakfast, but was stopped by an angry shout.

"HEY! Are you forgetting something?" yelled Caesar from his bedside table.

"Ok, I'm sorry, clay boy!" Joseph grumbled crankily in response, stomping over to the table. Hell hath no fury than a sleepless artist without his morning coffee.

Caesar was quite heavy, being made of dense clay, and Joseph struggled to lower him down to the floor. As Caesar could only jump a few inches at a time, it had become a regular routine for Joseph to lift and lower him onto tables and platforms, as he was completely helpless when placed high off the floor.

"There, happy now?" Joseph groaned, as he lumbered off to the kitchen. Caesar bounced his way after him, cursing under his breath about Joseph's long striding legs that made it hard for the bust to keep up.

As Joseph poured and stirred his morning coffee, Caesar impatiently hopped about the kitchen floor. "Don't tell me you're gonna place me onto the table again."

Joseph smiled between sips. "Alright, you've been through a lot already. Perhaps it's my turn to go down to your level." Bending down, he set his cup gently on the floor, and sat down cross-legged on the wooden kitchen floor, leaning his back against the wall.

Creator and creation sat side-by-side having breakfast-- a surreal scene that was now a part of Joseph's every morning. As he took another sip, Joseph absent-mindedly offered Caesar some of his coffee.

"Want a taste? It's brewed." he asked.

"I am a clay bust," Caesar reminded him. "I don't drink."

"Oh yeah, sorry. Suit yourself then," Joseph said, taking another sip of the hot, fragrant liquid.

A thought crossed Joseph's curious mind. "Say, Caesar, what's it like being a bust? Do you feel any needs? Hungry, thirsty, bathroom, tiredness?"

Caesar pondered for a moment. "Hungry and thirsty? Certainly not. Though I do feel sleepy at times. And bathroom, forget about it." Joseph giggled.

"You're such a mysterious creature, Caesar," he said. "And that's coming from someone who made you."

Caesar sighed --somehow, as he didn't seem to breathe, yet could speak.

"I don't know how I work, or why," he said, somewhat exasperated, "and I'm not sure how I'm even alive in the first place. Yet I'm glad I am, somehow. I guess life as a bouncing head is better than no life at all."

Joseph gently stroked Caesar's nub of a shoulder.

There was a knock on the door. "Jojo! Caesar! It's me again!"

"Gimme a sec, Suzi!" Joseph called back, gulping the last of his coffee and placing it on the sink. He went over to the door, and was once again greeted with the usual cheerful smile.

"Oh great," Caesar groaned, bouncing his way over to the living room. "It's her again."

Suzi entered the house, but Joseph blocked her. "Wait. You swear nobody else knows about Caesar? Just us?"

"He's our little secret," she replied with a wink. With a sigh of relief Joseph allowed her to enter, locking the door behind her.

"Hello Caesar!" she greeted the bust, stooping down and playfully tapping his nose as a welcoming gesture, to his visible annoyance.

"Why are you here again?" demanded the bust. "Here to handle me again? Cause I don't like it."

"About that..." Joseph said uneasily.

"You see, Caesar, I've got classes to attend every week. I'm gonna have to head to university today to pass my assignments, and since I can't leave you alone...I've arranged for her to stay over today!"

"Great, you hired a babysitter," Caesar whined sarcastically. "I'd clap if I had hands."

"Don't worry, it'll be fun!" Suzi said, taking off her backpack and placing it on the floor. "Joseph told me he sees you're very bored, stuck in the house all day with nothing to do, so I figured I'd try doing some activities with you to pass the time."

------

With Joseph away for the afternoon, it was only Suzi and Caesar in the house. She'd brought some books, a few toy blocks, and colored pencils and paper, which she spread all over the living room floor.

"What can you do with those lips of yours?" Suzi asked Caesar.

"Pretty much everything," Caesar said. "I don't have any arms or hands, so I'm pretty much forced to do all the picking up and holding things with my mouth. Thank Joseph for sculpting these lovely, flexible lips," he huffed, somewhat amused.

Suzi smiled, picking up a sheet of paper. "You could perhaps work on your dexterity! I figured you should try practicing some fun activities to improve your skills!"

"Anything," Caesar moaned. "It's been very dull here."

Caesar's first activity was learning how to write and draw. Bending over as low as he could without falling on his face, he awkwardly picked up one of the pencils in his mouth. He hopped closer to the paper, which Suzi had propped up vertically against a clipboard, and slowly, cautiously brought the point closer to the paper.

"There you go", Suzi encouraged, sitting beside him. "And now...gently press the tip to the paper."

"Mrrph hrr shr ymm ehh?" Caesar mumbled incoherently with the pencil in his mouth.

Suzi laughed. "You can't talk when you're holding something, huh. Don't worry, you're doing great, just carefully hold the pencil."

With a great deal of effort Caesar tried to write his own name. It was a bit of a challenge trying to gauge how much pressure he had to apply to the pencil, as he couldn't figure out how hard to press the point.

*SNAP!* The pencil point snapped off as Caesar pressed too hard. Frustrated, Caesar spat out the broken pencil onto the floor.

"Damn it!" Caesar yelled, pressing his forehead against the paper in complete vexation.

"Ok, ok, don't be mad," Suzi reassured. "Here, have another pencil," she said, gently placing another, sharpened pencil in Caesar's mouth. "It won't hurt to try again."

------

"I'm hoooome!" Joseph called out from the door, as he entered the front door. It was already night time by the time he returned, with the evening sky graced by a bright quarter moon.

"Jojo! You're back!" Suzi said excitedly. "I've been waiting so long for you!"

"Why?" said Joseph, with a hint of concern. "How's Caesar?"

"Oh, he has a little surprise to show you," she replied, tugging urgently on his arm.

She led Joseph into the living room, where Caesar sat on the floor next to a piece of paper on a clipboard. On it were a few scribbles, almost like a toddler's drawings, and on the top, scrawled in illegible, wiggly handwriting --or rather, mouthwriting-- were the letters, C-A-E-S-A-R, with each letter a different color.

Joseph couldn't hold back a smile. It felt oddly flattering that his artwork...was creating his own artwork. An art-ception, perhaps.

"I love the colors," Joseph complimented.

"Only because my pencil broke with every letter," Caesar complained.

"He's been learning very quickly, I've been teaching him how to use his mouth to do things! He may just be a head, but he's come pretty far in figuring out how to get tasks done on his own," Suzi explained, almost like a kindergarten teacher meeting with a student's parent.

Caesar smiled at her. She may have been quite intimidating, even frightening, when she first met him, but he'd gradually warmed up to her as the day went on.

"Say, Caesar," grinned Joseph, reaching into a paper bag he had brought home. "I've got a surprise of my own for you!" He pulled out a small, fancy hat and a bowtie, which he proudly showed off to his clay creation. Caesar recoiled at the sight.

"What...the hell are those?" he groaned.

"Suzi said you were, uhm, naked, so I figured I ought to get you dressed up," Joseph smirked.

"I don't even have a body to expose!" Caesar tried to rationalize.

He grumbled irately as Joseph lifted him up onto the living room table, placing the hat gently onto his head, careful not to ruin the clay spikes of his hair. He then tied the bowtie around Caesar's neck, with a customized collar that covered up the bare portions of his flesh-colored bare torso.

"I look ridiculous, Jojo," Caesar groaned, as he looked at his own reflection in the mirror. But without hands, there was no way he could take off his new, fancy accessories, and was resigned to abide with his fashion choice.

"I think it looks handsome on you," Suzi assured with an awkward smile.

Caesar looked back at his reflection, decked out in whatever little clothing he could wear. And as silly as he felt, he couldn't help but also feel a bit grateful.

"Say, Suzi, what are you up to today?" Joseph quipped.

"I hadn't been doing much, really. I graduated a year ahead of you, so I'm pretty much vacant these days," she sighed.

"You don't suppose you could visit more?" Joseph requested. "I'm sure Caesar would appreciate the company."

"I live just a few blocks down the road!" Suzi replied, grinning brightly. "I wouldn't mind staying overnight every now and then!"

"Alright!" Joseph cheered, pumping his fists in joy. "Won't you like that, Cae? Getting to hang out with friends?"

"Friends," mumbled Caesar with a tip of his head, as a smile crept across his smooth, clay face.

"I would love that very much indeed."

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

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

#jjba #gingerreggg #hands of life au #bust!caesar #sculptor!joseph #battle tendency #jojo's bizarre adventure #caesar x joseph #caejose #heads up

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fandom-collective-writers · 5 years ago

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Reader x Jihyun Kim {MysMes} - Letters to Heal a Broken Heart

Title: Letters to Heal a Broken Heart Fandom: Mystic Messenger Character: Jihyun Kim Genre: bittersweet? romance Warnings: spoilers for his good ending! Intended Gender Audience: Neutral Audience Word Count: 2040 words POV: second person Other comments: no smut but im proud of this! please note that everything with the push back is a letter! i think its pretty clear, but i wanted to make sure it’s understood <3 Written by: @mythiica Req:

Dear –

I’ll admit, it feels a bit strange writing a letter for you, but my therapist recommended it. He told me to explain my emotions with words, saying it would help me become more confident.

See, the reasoning behind it, at least from what I remember, is that there is no pressure to think quickly. Writing allows a flow, a sense of movement between the words before you pick which one you wish to use. Talking is different because it follows a completely contrasting rhythm. To keep a conversation going, you have to speak rather quickly so the person stays engaged in the topic.

It’s all really interesting, and my therapist has given me a book over the fundamentals of other practices like this. I read half of it on the plane to Japan.

To clarify, I’m writing this from my hotel room in Tokyo. I landed a few hours ago and the jet lag has yet to hit me, so I decided to take advantage of this time to write.

I think you’d like it here – the sakura are in full bloom and I have three days dedicated to photographing the sea of pinks as they ripple in the wind. Until now, I’ve only seen pictures of the famous parks, and I never thought that I would be able to witness them in person.

I didn’t think I’d

I never conside

Ah, I should mention, I’m not allowed to erase or cross out sentences I start. Another confidence booster? It’s a bit sillier, but it’s meant to force me to say what is on my mind, rather than letting it fester. I’ll try again:

During my years under Mint Eye, my vision was narrowed, and I had only one duty. However, I am learning to broaden my horizons and expand my mind to encompass everything. The urge to explore bubbles in my chest, waiting for the moment to come out. There are so many chances to do anything, and I’ve got all the time to do all of it.

I’ve also realized that I went over my word limit. I have to stick to 300 words or under. Confidence booster #3! Express yourself with less words. Take a guess of how many times I’ve opened the thesaurus, looking for better synonyms for words? At least seven times in the past five minutes. It’s crazy!

For now, I’ll sign this off and try better next time.

よりご多幸を祈って

Jihyun Kim

PS, I’m practicing my Japanese! That says best wishes… I think.

नमस्कार

Hello and greetings from India! I took a long nap on the plane, and forgot to write. Although I’m only passing through, I ate some delicious food (that I should really try to replicate for you). India is absolutely beautiful – from the sunrises to the bustling markets to the colorful fabrics hung at every corner. I’ll inhale the air and smell six things at once, albeit, not all of them are the best, but I embrace it nonetheless.

More about what I’ve been doing: funnily enough, my phone died on the bus ride, but I made a new friend named Sunmi, and she was kind enough to lend me her charging cable. Instead of ending the interaction there, we spoke for a few hours at least. I learned she was traveling with her friends on a photography excursion. She gave me all the information, and I’d like to look into it when I have wifi again.

You wouldn’t believe what they’ve seen! Last year they went to Antarctica through South America. She got to pet a penguin! Apparently the company also takes people to Greenland and New Zealand – some places I’ve been dreaming of visiting since I was a young boy.

I’ll use my last 100 words to mention that… I’ve gotten a bit homesick. I miss the RFA – well, the people from the RFA minus…

Don’t tell Jumin about the company though, he’ll insist on flying me around with his private jet. I want to experience for myself. Saeyoung is somehow messaging me when I don’t have service? I don’t… understand. Anyways, I also saw Zen landed a huge international role (someone had a magazine on the plane). Otherwise, I hope Jaehee and Yoosung are well. And Elizabeth the 3rd of course. Send them my wishes.

I didn’t forget about you though! The keychain you gave me reminds me of home every day. It might have lost an eye, but I found a button and stitched it on. And I also wanted to ask you–

Ah, I’m over again.

Next time.

Jihyun Kim

Iyi günler! I am in Turkey now and actually writing this on a boat. The sun is setting over the horizon, making the sky change colors with every passing minute. It’s breathtaking, but I wish you were here with me. The other passengers and I take turns standing at the front of the boat, and I sometimes linger, trying to take pictures.

Good news! My vision is getting better. I’ve been taking some Greek herbal remedies, and the seem to be helping. Either that, or they have a wonderful placebo effect. Has that ever happened to you? To think something is working, but you’re just imagining things?

I apologize, maybe that stirred bad memories for you.

Back to Turkey: I stepped out of my comfort zone and spent a night camping. Honestly? I was terrified of doing so, but now I want to do it every night. It is the perfect temperature for hiking, even though I am a bit sunburned.

So many people have been commenting on my hair. Good things mostly, and I started styling it with a bit of gel to keep it out of my eyes. It feels good to look people directly rather than through a curtain.

What are you up to? Hosting anymore parties? I imagine that you are keeping busy, as always of course. My therapist said it would be best to wait messaging you until I return home. I nearly called you a week ago, but I didn’t want to break my vow. It’s like lying to myself, and I know better than that now.

Still, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming.

Sending love,

I’m genuinely angry, but writing to you always calms me. Someone stole my bag – I luckily didn’t have much in it, but your keychain… can you make me a new one please? Now that I don’t have it, it’s almost like I’ve lost a part of you. It hurts a lot, but then I wonder if I am being silly. It’s just a keychain.

Otherwise, France is nice. I didn’t want to go to Paris, so instead I traveled through the countryside to visit a few wineries.

Yes, I did… drink a bit, but I wasn’t impaired when my bag was stolen!

You would laugh at me if I told you what happened, so I will save the story for another time. Before coming to France, I went through Germany and visited some of the most beautiful castles I’ve ever seen. They all looked like they could be straight from a fantasy movie set, and I was convinced one – Neuschwanstein Castle – actually was.

I’ve barely written anything despite so much happening.

I got a haircut (finally), because it was becoming a hassle to tie it back at night.

One evening, I fed some stray cats and they followed me home.

And a drunk (?) tried to play cards with me. But he didn’t have cards. He was dealing an imaginary deck.

Other stories will have to wait until I see you again, and I feel better now. It’s okay to be upset, but it won’t hinder my trip any more.

Je t'aime,

Jihyun

Alaska doesn’t have a night.

That’s not exactly true, but it’s basically true. The hotel has special curtains that block the light, and it is only dark for a few hours.

It has been many miles since I last wrote, but I was caught up in visiting show after event after party after exhibit through America. Their art has given me a new perspective on point of view and emotions, so I hope that the ten camera chips I’ve filled with photographs will be able to convey the same sense of awe.

I’ve also been mistaken for an idol? Like – multiple times. Interesting to say the least, maybe I’ll say yes to the next person that asks. What should my stage name be? I’ll spare you the embarrassment and not share my ideas. They are all very silly and no one would believe me if I told them my name was Cam Ra. Do you get it? It’s bad, I know.

I’ll be returning home soon, unless I get distracted or impulsive and go down to California and Hawaii before coming back. I want to – it doesn’t feel right to return just yet. But that doesn’t mean anything about you!

Really, I think about you and everyone else each day.

Have you met new people? We’ll exchange so many stories…

See you soon,

J K

You pace around, waiting for the last guest on the list to appear. The party started an hour ago, but he still has not arrived. Then again, it has been three months since anyone heard a whisper from V, and you start to lose hope. Swallowing hard, you remind yourself that V is having a wonderful time exploring the world and finding himself.

Taking a handful of your dress, you turn and head through the doors to the main room. Jumin tries to pull Saeyoung away from Longcat, Yoosung explains his most recent surgeries to a group of nurses from his work place, and Jaehee receives many compliments for her majestic cake.

Everyone is happy and has moved on.

You hope V has too.

Maybe all the wishing and praying finally paid off, because you hear his familiar voice calling out behind you. It’s a long shot, but you turn around nonetheless, thinking it is a different guest.

Instead, you see Jihyun, wearing the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen, running towards you. He’s carrying a folder filled with papers, but that doesn’t stop him from embracing you. He smells rugged, like his voyage has transformed him, but you rather like it.

“Jihyun!” You melt against his hug. “You’re.. Here… you’re here!”

Your squealing draws everyone’s attention, but he focuses on you and only you. “Of course I’m here. I missed you more than I can verbalize.”

His stance is open, welcoming, and confident, much different from two years ago. He is a different person now, brave and proud. Jihyun offers you the folder. It is strange to gift something in the middle of a party, but you accept it anyways, happy he has returned.

Jihyun’s heart races as he explains. “I wrote you letters every time I went somewhere new. These are just a few of them, really I have so many. But each shows something I’ve learned.” He takes a breath and laces his fingers with yours. “This is sudden, and I’m sure you will need time to think about it, but I’m trying something new: asking without being afraid. Over the past two years, I’ve… longed for you. Art has shown me the power of friendship, joy, perseverance, and most importantly, dedication. I want to dedicate my art to you, if you’ll stand by my side.”

You can’t find the words to express yourself because you are so awestruck. He truly has changed, but he has embraced himself and his life. Tears start to roll down your cheeks from the overwhelming surge of emotions. Jihyun brushes them away and presses his forehead to yours.

“I still have much to learn, but I want to do it all with you.”

“I’d like that a lot, Jihyun,” you whisper, captivated by his intense gaze.

“And I can finally say this without fear–”

You tip your head up, and Jihyun kisses you the next moment. His lips are chapped and the warmth radiating from his skin envelops you. He doesn’t need words to communicate it, because you understand perfectly what he is trying to say.

#mysmes #mystic messenger #mysmes v #mysmes jihyun #jihyun kim

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 4 years ago

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Who said black cats were just bad luck? (Prompt: Stars)

Nathan Arch and Joey Drew had been ‘friends’ since the pair were young boys. Nathan was a studious child who even at a young age, took his family’s image and reputation seriously and saw supernatural forces as nothing more than silly superstition and myths. Joey on the other hand, was an energetic and mischievous little imp of a child who believed in the supernatural forces. So naturally, they hated each other on sight at first.

In childhood, the boys’ relationship was strained even further by their parents forcing them to be the best of friends when the pair barely had anything in common aside from their mutual dislike for having their afternoons, weekends, and summers being ‘wasted’ in each other’s presence.

This had led to Nathan bullying the smaller kid, nothing like punching or kicking the impish boy, Nathan Arch was no brute. But he did make fun of Joey, a lot. Most often by mocking his supernatural interests, calling them silly and childish as well as occasionally ruining the boy’s belongings whenever he was too irritated to deal with him. Joey of course didn’t take this lying down and had retaliated by playing nasty pranks on Nathan; shaking up soda bottles, putting creepy bugs in his things, drawing rude pictures into his school books, things like that.

Nathan compared the ritual circles in Joey’s father’s books to something like “wishing on a shooting star, but this one is just drawn on the ground with chalk.”, and Joey would fill his school bag with earthworms. Joey would tie Nathan’s shoes together and laugh as he fell on his face, and Nathan would throw one of Joey’s sketchbooks in a muddy puddle.

Then, ‘the incident’ happened and Joey returned from visiting Henry’s hometown with an injured leg and now had a haunted look in his eyes.

The boys’ petty rivalry was snuffed out soon afterwards; Nathan knew that guilt would eat him alive if he tried anything and Joey seemed to wrapped up in his own struggles to even bother trying to mess with Nathan. Either out of pity, guilt, or a mix of the two, Nathan did try to reach out to Joey, whether it was with a ‘get well soon’ card that came in a gift basket or seeing him in person at the hospital, but it was obvious that it was a bad idea for him to push anything further.

Whether their parents decided it was in poor taste to continue to shove them together in the hopes of them being friends or some Doctor gave an order for Joey to rest, the two drifted apart shortly after the incident.

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

A few years later, Nathan Arch had gotten into a good college and was just setting up his side of the Dorm when he heard someone else come in.

“Archie? Is that you? How long has it been?!”

Turning around to face his new roommate, Nathan Arch’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the man he hadn’t since childhood. Joey carried around a cane now for obvious reasons, he had gone from a pipsqueak of a child to a beanstalk of a young adult, and he was a lot neater (at least, appearance-wise) than he was as an unruly little imp. But the mischievous spark had been re-lit in his eyes.

“Drew? Why, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

He hesitated for a second, what was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he could just pretend that their history was nothing but dust under the rug, but at the same time, he’d much rather carry on a conversation that matched Joey’s upbeat tone... No, this was just like medicine, swallow it down first and fast, and then it does its job.

“Joey... About how I treated you when we were kids... I’m Sorry. It was petty and cruel of me to take out my frustrations on you when neither of us had any say in the matter of how our lives went. And I deeply regret it, I can understand if-ACK!”

He was cut off by Joey crushing him in a bear hug.

“I forgive you, you verbose, pompous airbag.”

Rolling his eyes at the insult, Nathan hugged Joey back.

Having Joey as a roommate was an... interesting experience. It was a mostly positive one as in spite of his cheerful demeanor and strong preference towards the arts as opposed to business or something of that sort, he was not a man child and did follow the rules and assigned chores of the dorms.

Compared to other students at the college, Nathan probably lucked out when he got Joey, but there was just one little thing about Joey that bothered him, nothing too serious, just a little itch of a problem.

For the most part, Joey talked about his father’s arcane tomes and spell books a lot less than he used to as a kid, but now on the once in a blue moon occasion where he did speak of the occult, he took it a lot more seriously. Perhaps even more seriously than christian priests teaching the word of God. The man treated magic how Nathan wished Joey would treat money; warning against using it frivolously, not using it when he didn’t need it, and looking into the pros and cons of each and every spell before using it.

It didn’t come up often enough for Nathan to be too nervous, but there were a few instances in college where Joey’s occultism was strongly noticeable, and not just on Halloween...

While Nathan was mature enough to keep his thoughts to himself, some things could never change. Like his views on the supernatural. He still saw magic as something fictional, but he also saw how important it was to Joey, and part of him feared that bringing up his opinions about magic would send the two back into being rivals, so he kept his mouth shut.

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

While the four years of college flew by a little too quickly for Nathan’s liking, he was pleasantly surprised by how well those four years had not only repaired his and Joey’s relationship. Going from near strangers with an unpleasant history to genuine friends who kept in touch with each other even after college was just a memory in the rear-view mirror of the past. Heck, Joey even was the best man at Nathan’s wedding! And he had the pictures on his mantle piece to prove it!

Nathan was looking through a scrapbook Joey had made and sent to the happy couple as a wedding gift. It contained various pictures of the dates the two went on and the last few pages were pictures of the proposal itself. Nathan smiled as he flipped through the book, wondering what kind of gift he should make Joey in return for his own wedding (if he ever decided to marry).

But that smile fell into a concerned frown as he saw the last page; symbols he recognized from Joey’s spell books: a long forgotten language within a circle that entrapped an upside-down star. The ‘explanation’ was that this was a good luck spell wishing him and Tessa a happy future as husband and wife.

He sighed, closed the book with a little more force than he meant to, and flopped down on the couch. As if she could sense that he was upset, Tessa had come into the living room right as he tossed the book to the other end of the couch.

“Nate? What’s wrong?”

“I’m scared, Tess.”

“About Joey?”

“Yes, I had assumed that he’d grow out of this silly superstitious nonsense sometime when he genuinely matured into adulthood, but if anything, he’s gotten even worse! It’s one thing to go to church every Sunday or to read a Torah, but at best what he’s getting himself into is setting himself up to be scammed by every phony fortune teller on the block and at worse it’s genuine devil’s worship!”

Tessa nodded in sympathy.

“So do you just need to get this off your chest or do you want advice, Dear?”

Unbeknownst to the couple, a shooting star past by outside.

“Well, as much as I’d like to get advice, I don’t know what on earth could work, Joey and I were practically at each other’s throats all the time before ...his incident. While “magic” was there for him for his entire life... I want to help him out of this but I don’t want to lose him as a friend. I just wish I could understand him and why he’s so invested in all that sorcery-crap!”

“You know Nate, sometimes I feel the same way.”

“The floor’s all yours, Doll.”

“I think I can understand the appeal of just wanting to snap your fingers and make every problem you have get carried off by living furnature or whatnot but magic always seems like it’s out to get you! I wish I knew why anyone for that matter would see magic as anything other than trouble.”

The pair sighed in unison and it was Tessa’s turn to flop down on the couch.

“So Tess, where did you get the new hat?”

“New hat?” she raised an eyebrow and reached up to her head “I don’t remember getting a new ...hat...”

She took the pointed witch’s hat off of her head and looked at it in pure disbelief before looking back to her husband and practically jumping back in fear.

“Tessa?! What’s wrong?!”

“Nathan... D-don’t panic, but...” she fumbled around in her purse for her compact case before pulling it out and clicking it open, handing it over to her husband.

Nathan’s jaw dropped open by a cartoonish degree as he saw his reflection; white fur was quickly sprouting up all over his face, getting framed with black fur that spouted on the rest of his body. In a matter of mere seconds, he didn’t even look like a human being anymore! He looked more like that fat cat character in the comics he saw Joey draw.

He looked down at himself and screamed when he saw that the rest of his body had also changed, and when he looked back up to his wife, he screamed again as he realized that she too had gone under some kind of transformation.

Her normally brightly colored attire was replaced by a floor-length black dress. She was still human, or at least, much more human than he was, but she looked simplified in a sense, more like a living drawing of herself. Her pie-cut eyes were filled with concern as she saw the fear in his eyes.

“Oh don’t tell me...”

Nathan bit his lip and nodded.

#hauntober #stars #bendy and the ink machine #batim monster au #nathan arch #joey drew #tessa arch #fanfic

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junhaoshua · 4 years ago

Text

Three Times Wylan Pined (And Once He Didn’t Need To) - Two

A/N: Hello! It’s been a long time since my last fic, but I’m BACK ~ This is a (long-overdue) graduation present for the lovely @a-symphony-in-vellichor! She asked for a fluffy Wesper short, and it finally jolted me out of my creative block. This fic is fully-written, and new chapters will be posted every day until it’s completed!

As always, I own none of the characters; @lbardugo created them and I’m just playing in her sandbox.

***

Two

Jesper continues coming back to the coffeeshop after that first day, both with and without Kaz.

On good days, he’ll saunter in with a grin, flirt maddeningly, order a pastry and something full of caffeine, and then type away like a madman for hours.

On bad days, he’ll walk in with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, crack a few jokes, order something ridiculously rich and sweet, and nurse it while staring at his screen with furrowed brows, his legs jumping restlessly under the table.

And then there’s the last two days. Yesterday, where he randomly ordered a chai latte to go and dashed out right after. And today, where he ordered something over-caffeinated but didn’t get a pastry with it. He’s barely typing and keeps looking up from his screen distractedly. But he’s smiling, not at all like it’s a bad day.

It’s so different from the Jesper that Wylan’s seen for the last few weeks that he can’t help but keep staring. And given it’s another quiet day, there aren’t any customers to distract him from his silly, romantic, ridiculous thoughts.

Without thinking about it too much, Wylan picks up his pencil and starts sketching. The lines of Jesper’s elegant nose and jaw. The broad, strong shoulders rippling under the bright pink shirt. The way the sunlight dapples his cloudlike hair. The curve of those lips -

“Inej!” Jesper suddenly calls, rising up from his chair. Wylan turns to the door just in time to see the boy barrelling at a tiny Suli girl who seems to have appeared from nowhere. How did she get in without the bell sounding?

“This is the place I told you about - literally no one comes here - it’s the perfect place to work on our paper -” Jesper babbles as he pulls the girl over to the counter, one arm around her shoulders. He’s at least two heads taller than her, which should have made their position awkward but it just looks so comfortable -

Wylan cuts off his train of thought about how nice it would be to be hugged by Jesper, and stuffs his sketch under the counter out of sight just in time.

Jesper’s still monologuing. “So - sunshine, this is Inej. Inej, he does the best drawings for cups, you wouldn’t believe -”

The girl laughs, low and pleasant, and steps forward. “Sunshine?” she asks with a smile.

“It’s Wylan, actually.”

She grins. “Jes does like to nickname people. Anyway, he tells me you’re responsible for that lovely chai latte I had yesterday?”

Oh. That explained. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Can I get it, tall? With a plate of strawberry waffles?”

“Coming right up.” He draws inspiration from the delicate silver pin holding Inej’s hijab in place to sketch a feathery wing on her cup, and hands it to her to see her delighted smile. Today’s sun is more intricate, more bright, with a sketched halo of light around it.

Jesper waves her to go take a seat first, and continues hanging around while the waffles cook, leaning against the counter with long-limbed ease. “That was a pretty job. Almost as pretty as your face.”

“I like drawing, I guess.”

“Got any pieces other than the cups? I’d love to see more.”

His mind flits to the drawing he did earlier, and he feels his face heating. “This one, the sketch of the harbour,” he says, tapping the drawing below the glass top of the counter.

Jesper’s eyes widen, and he whistles. “That’s talent. Real talent. You’re in the arts school?”

He nods shyly. “Studying art and music. I don’t know yet which I want to pursue.”

“One day, I’ll see a picture of that pretty face in the papers, and you’re going to be famous, and I’ll say, hey, that’s Wylan!” He reaches across, pats Wylan’s hand for emphasis.

Wylan doesn’t think it’s possible to flush any more. The spots where Jesper touched him are so warm, warmer than his cheeks. “What are you studying?” he asks, before he can spontaneously combust.

“Law and business, double major. It’s how I met the other two.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him. Why would a law student want a barista trying to put himself through art school? A barista who’s so useless he can’t even read?

Mercifully, the waffle iron beeps, relieving him of the need to say anything. “I - I’ve got to do the waffles,” he stammers, turning away and busying himself. The drawing from earlier looks up at him mockingly, like a dream that can never come true.

***

Because of course there’s pining ~ also, Wylan has some serious self-esteem issues and internalized ableism. To all my readers who have disabilities, you are important, you are valid, and you are amazing!

Crossposted on AO3

#my work #soc #fic #fanfic #six of crows fanfic #wesper #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #inej ghafa #coffeeshop au #college au #fluff #pining #a-symphony-in-vellichor

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years ago

Text

By City-Wide Decree

It's a crush.

And in any other situation, that would be it. He'd be able to keep going about his day in normal pining fashion. But nothing about this is normal. Because in the last few minutes Bellamy's complained about shredded cheese and Clarke's making jokes about Bleecker Street and apparently there's some city-wide rule about car services now.

Or: the last thing Bellamy Blake expected during a national health pandemic was being forced to kiss his neighbor.

----

Rating: Teen Word Count: Just over 5.6K AN: Hey there, internet. It was really only a matter of time until I wrote some kind of nonsense here. But I do want to say that this story does include COVID-19 stuff, so if that is not for you, I totally get it. That being said, this admittedly very silly nonsense, is very much just that and hopefully it offers a bit of a distraction for a few minutes.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

----

He almost drops the box of macaroni in his hand.

The edge stabs his palm, a weird pain that's really more like the general sense of Bellamy’s frustration because just a few seconds ago he witnessed two grown adults glaring at each other over the final few rolls of toilet paper in aisle five. And there aren’t really that many other people in this grocery store, which he supposes is a good thing. Everyone taking social distancing seriously and staying home and he’s got every intention of doing the same, but first he’s got to deal with this.

“Pre-shredded cheese,” he mumbles under his breath, glancing at the box. He’s bent the edge. He hopes he doesn’t break the box. There weren’t many left in that aisle, either. Just the one thing of shells Bellamy had been able to grab and four boxes of whole wheat linguine, which, really, almost offends him more than the idea of pre-shredded cheese.

In a variety of flavors.

And adjectives.

“Cheese should not have adjectives attached to it,” Bellamy continues, and apparently he’s reached the crazy portion of his day.

That also seems to be the standard for most of the world, though. He’d been very close to breaking up the toilet paper fight. So maybe he’s just catching up to everyone else. He needs to go home. He needs to—

“Pick a goddamn cheese,” he says. Whatever sound he makes at his own private conversation isn’t so much a sigh, but rather another round of frustration and possible resignation and taco-flavored cheese can’t be that bad.

Right? Maybe.

He can’t imagine what kind of preservatives are used in taco-flavored cheese. Like..are there even spices involved? There should be spices. When all of this is over he’s going to write a strongly worded letter to the Kraft family.

Bellamy sighs again, drawing more than a few looks and a glare or too, and he’s going to give himself a headache if he keeps rolling his eyes at their current rate. He lunges forward, careful to account for the box of macaroni and the small thing of buttermilk that’s honestly starting to make his fingers go numb and—

An arm moves next to his.

She’s also a little off-balance — a backpack that’s close to bursting and something that might actually be paint streaked across her left cheek, but Bellamy can barely register that when she’s already starting to stumble back, a package of margarine clutched in her hand.

“Oh,” Clarke breathes, eyes going wide and what looks like the first hints of a smile tugging at the ends of her mouth. “Hey, Bell.”

His stomach flies into his throat.

As per usual.

That might be the most normal part of his day so far.

To say that he’s been harboring a pretty monumental crush on Clarke Griffin since she moved into the apartment across the hall from Bellamy would be—

Accurate.

It would be accurate, honestly.

In almost painful fashion.

Six months ago, she showed up with a handful of boxes and paint on her jeans, and a smile that seemed to reverberate through him. In a way where that doesn’t sound insane. Maybe he wasn’t catching up to everyone else. Maybe he was just sprinting past them. Towards crazy.

The kind of crazy that also means he’s stupid into his neighbor.

She’d said hi first that day too. So he offered to help her carry some boxes and she’d promised she’d be ok, but he was stubborn and a little overwhelmed by the very specific color of her eyes and she really did have a lot of stuff and they’d ordered from the Thai place up the street after.

And if that's not the basis for a pretty solid friendship, then Bellamy isn’t sure what is.

Only that’s really all it is. Because, well—Bellamy isn’t sure. Octavia would say he’s being an idiot and to some extent that’s true, but he and Clarke are pretty good friends now and sometimes she curls up on the corner of his couch when she’s stressed about the arts budget of the high school she works at in the Bowery or he kicks on her door when he’s got some new pages he thinks she might like to read and it’s—

Good.

Normal.

In a world that is very quickly spiraling out of control.

He hopes those people didn’t actually start yelling over toilet paper. He’s not sure his brain would be able to cope with that.

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks, taking another step back and he hadn’t noticed she’s got another bag of art supplies in her left hand.

“Glaring at cheese.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Glaring at cheese,” Bellamy repeats. He nods towards the minimal selection, Clarke’s eyes widening at his admittedly petty reaction to the cheese issue. It should not be an issue. “I—well, I’m running low on some food and I—” He grits his teeth, suddenly hopeful that he’ll be able to melt into the supermarket floor.

That’s probably not hygienic.

“Is it super top secret, then?” Bellamy clicks his tongue. “No, it’s—ok, do you promise not to laugh?” “Absolutely not.” “You look like you staged a battle getting here.” “Nah,” she objects, but there’s a slight blush creeping across her cheeks and it’s probably wrong to feel some kind of victory at that. Just, like—with everything else going on. Flirting should probably be a low priority at this point.

“Then…” “Why are you angry at the cheese?” “Mostly the selection of cheese,” Bellamy admits. “Because I’m supposed to use a very specific kind, so—” “—For what?” “My mom’s mac and cheese recipe.” She gapes at him. Which is not the reaction he was hoping for, really. He’s not sure what would be better, but he had been pretty partial to the blush and he’s positive this is somehow the paint streak’s fault.

Clarke has a habit of getting paint everywhere.

There’s still a stain on his floor from three weeks ago.

“Did you think I was going to laugh at you making your mom’s mac and cheese recipe during an international health pandemic?” Clarke cries. It draws another round of curious stares and one set of incredibly narrow eyes from a woman with a cropped haircut and a cart practically overflowing with paper products.

Clarke sneers. “I might actually fight someone for bulk-buying things. God, people are—” “—The worst?” “Is that why you’d thought I’d laugh at you being adorable?”

Bellamy forgets all about his stomach and its current location in his throat. He’s far more preoccupied with the matter of his exploding heart. Which is not nearly as painful an experience as he would have assumed.

His smile threatens to take up most of his face, muscles unaccustomed to the movement when everything else seems to be going to shit. He hopes standing this long in the dairy aisle doesn’t adversely affect the buttermilk.

That’s a key part of the recipe too.

“Adorable, huh?” “Oh shut up,” Clarke grumbles, kicking her foot out of habit. She’s still a few feet away from him. That probably shouldn’t be disappointing either. In any situation, honestly. “Seriously, are you out here being weird about cheese because—” “—A quick detour out of adorable.” “Only because you keep interrupting me.”

He smiles wider. “When I was a kid, my mom used to make this mac and cheese for every major event. Birthdays, holidays, great grade on a test.” “Because you were a nerd?” “Look who’s interrupting the flow of the story.” “You should consider speeding up your approach” Clarke laughs. “The lady with forty-thousand paper napkins might come back and start pelting you with them for taking so long.” “You think she bought those paper napkins for reasons not related to eating food?” “God.” His shoulders shake a little when he chuckles — another threat to the pasta and his grip on any of the groceries he’s trying very hard to buy. “Moral of the story? I’m stressed out, people continue to be the worst, I saw a bunch of people, including actual grown adults, sitting out in Washington Square like nothing is wrong, so in an attempt to combat the general horribleness of the world I am going to make my mom’s mac and cheese recipe. Only apparently a lot of other people have had the same thought—” “—About your mom’s mac and cheese recipe?”

“Bring the paper napkin lady back here so I can throw stuff at you.” Clarke grins, and the overall brightness of her eyes is probably just a byproduct of the lighting in the dairy aisle of Gristedes. Or so Bellamy will tell himself for the next forty-eight hours.

“Taco cheese does not scream mac and cheese,” he continues. “But I’m also not willing to stage some sort of quest for the appropriate kind of cheddar. Or blocks of cheese.”

“It can’t be shredded cheese?” “Eh. I’m willing to make some sacrifices at this point.” “Wow,” Clarke drawls. “How gallant of you. And you wanted to make it yourself, then? No thoughts of take-out from Murray’s.”

“Don’t insult me like that.” “You have issues with a place that actually has cheese in its name?” “Murray’s Cheese Bar is an overpriced tourist trap that does not need my business to stay in business. I’m sure they’re perfectly fine.” “Murray himself?” “Or whatever corporate chain that place is owned and operated by. Plus, have you ever had their cheese plate? Like—just, it was gross. We got, maybe, half a dozen crackers.”

Clarke presses her lips together, but her laugh still manages to find its way into the six-feet of mandated space between her and Bellamy. “Did Octavia order the cheese plate at Murray’s once?” “And a bottle of chianti.” “Fancy.” “Gross,” Bellamy amends. “I can’t stand red wine.” “Why didn’t I know that you hated Murray’s so much? Do you feel that way about—” “—Most of the places on Bleecker?” Bellamy finishes, ignoring Clarke’s wide-eyed stare at yet another interruption. They have got to get out of this store. The processed air is obviously going to his head. Or, whatever.

Maybe just the state of his heart. “Down with the establishment, huh?” Clarke quips. She absolutely, positively does not rock towards him. Bellamy is sure.

He hums, and maybe his issue really lies in the overall state of his heart. Explosions cannot be healthy. In a biological sense. “Why are you here, then? I’m assuming it’s not just to share the very high opinions you’ve got about the restaurants on Bleecker.” “Ok, that is not what I said at all. I’m not advocating we start doing some kind of Bleecker restaurant crawl when this is all over, even if that one Gelato place on the corner is good.” “Tourist trap.” “Is the oxygen thinner on that high horse you’re riding?” Bellamy scrunches his nose when he makes a vaguely ridiculous noise in the back of his throat, part agreement, part unspoken suggestion to keep talking. “Whatever,” Clarke grumbles. “I am here because I needed butter to make cookies. But there’s only this garbage.”

She brandishes the margarine, arm flung out in front of her and Bellamy refuses to be held accountable for whatever noise he makes at that. Just as ridiculous as the last one. With even more flirting involved.

“I walked down here,” Clarke adds. “There are no other stores open and—” “—Walked from where?” Bellamy asks sharply. He doesn’t mean for the words to come out quite like that, but he’s also not entirely sure what feeling is shooting down either one of his arms.

He’s very glad Octavia isn’t here.

She’d make fun of him.

More so than usual.

“Relax,” Clarke mutters, jerking the bag at her side. “I needed stuff for class, but most of my supplies are still at school and it’s not like I can get into school any time soon, so I went up to Marmorino. Nyko agreed to open for, like, twenty minutes so I could get some new brushes and—” She shrugs, all nonchalance. Like walking twenty blocks to the art supply store in the middle of that previously discussed pandemic so she can keep teaching kids how to paint isn't equal parts absurd and wonderful. “What are you going to paint?” Bellamy asks. “We’re doing life studies. Figured it’d be a good way to get parents involved too. You know, kids paint their mom or their dad or...whatever. Like I said, I just needed a brushes. And butter.”

“Those go hand in hand, huh? You know I have butter.”

Clarke blinks. And her grip on the bag noticeably loosens. “What?” “Butter,” he repeats. “That’s how this all started. I kept opening my fridge and the butter was sitting there, like it was taunting me and—”

“—Can the butter form coherent sentences?” “I’m offering you butter, princess. And mac and cheese. If you want it.”

Another blink.

That’s...Bellamy doesn’t want to consider what that is. Because this is not the first time he’s done this. Or vice versa. Far from it. They both live alone and they’re friends and it’s not that far across the hall, after all.

There’s just not usually an international health pandemic involved.

“Yeah?” Clarke asks softly, like she’s waiting to shout surprise. Or throw paper napkins at them for standing in the dairy aisle for so long.

Bellamy nods. “Yeah. That’s how humanity survives, right? We pool resources and seek out companionship in times of difficulty.” “Something like that, I’m sure.” “Ok, so you leave the gross margarine here and I’ll deal with the taco cheese.” “I have cheddar in my fridge.” Maybe this is a dream. Maybe the after-effects of his exploding heart have left Bellamy hallucinating in the middle of Gristedes. Maybe he got food poisoning from the cheese plate at Murray’s when Octavia visited three weeks ago and he’s only just now discovering it.

Clarke smiles.

“If you want it,” she adds. “I—well, I’d had big plans for grilled cheese quarantines, but there was only block cheese at that point and I haven’t even opened it. Yours for the taking.” He nods slowly, trying to come to terms with all of this. It’s not flirting. No one flirts like this. They shouldn’t flirt like this.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says. “That’d be great. A, uh—COVID team, huh?” Idiot.

Idiot.

He’s sure Octavia knows about this. Somehow. A sixth sense that alerts his younger sister to his overwhelming idiocy and she’d been annoyed that he hadn’t invited Clarke to Murray’s with them.

“Something like that,” Clarke says again. “Ok, then let me pay for a car back home. I don’t know if my shoulders can cope with this backpack and—do not offer to carry this backpack for me,” she adds as soon as Bellamy opens his mouth, “I’ll get the paper napkin lady back here, I swear to God.” “She’d probably call a manager on you.”

Clarke scoffs, but her smile hasn’t changed and Bellamy spends most of the next twenty-four minutes standing in the checkout line thinking only about that. Until Clarke tells the guy in front of them to “stop being a dick” to the cashier when he starts complaining about the lack of bread in aisle two.

The guy doesn’t say anything else after that.

And the cashier definitely mumbles “thanks” when Bellamy puts his slightly bent box of pasta on the conveyor belt.

They don’t spend long waiting for the car — and Bellamy can’t imagine business is exactly booming, which is part of the reason he agreed to this and the rest is entirely selfish and possibly a little stalker’ish and he just likes spending time with Clarke. No matter the world’s collective health situation.

“You two together?” the driver asks, hardly opening the window and it’s not easy to understand what he’s saying.

Bellamy furrows his brows. “Excuse me?” He swings open the door, sliding across the backset and moving his feet so Clarke’s backpack can fit comfortably between them. And he’s not one to pass judgement, particularly not now, but the whole thing looks a bit like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie. There are sheets of plastic wrap stretched between the front seats, the driver wearing gloves and casting impatient glances in his rearview mirror.

Bellamy glances at Clarke’s phone — the driver’s name is Bryan.

“C’mon man,” Bryan presses. “I need an answer.” “I don’t—” Bellamy starts, shaking his head and that dream theory is starting to make more and more sense. “What are you talking about?”

“The rules.” “Ok, that doesn’t clear it up. Can we just go?” “Nope. I need you to tell me. I don’t want my license revoked.” “What the hell are you talking about?” Clarke lets out a soft gasp, eyes going impossibly wide. “Shit. Are you kidding me?” “What part of nope are you guys having a difficult time wrapping your heads around?” Bryan asks. “Listen, I can’t break the law, ok? I—we’re living in crazy times and—” “—Seriously what are you talking about?” Bellamy snaps.

Bryan takes a deep breath, shoulders moving with the effort, and Clarke hasn’t looked Bellamy’s direction in what feels like an eternity. He can’t rationalize the chill that slinks down his spine, a growing dread that threatens to tug him through the backseat or take up residence in between his ribs and he’s got to stop making so many sweeping biological assessments.

There are no facts to back any of this up.

And yet he can’t quite understand the look on Clarke’s face either, teeth digging into her lower lip while she refuses to meet his gaze. “Guys,” Bryan groans. “In or out, yes or not, just—prove it.” Bellamy opens his mouth again, ready to demand answers if need be, but Clarke is already talking and the words don’t process immediately — mandate from the mayor and I totally forgot and only real couples.

She grits her teeth when she finally looks up, a pained expression that almost makes Bellamy shiver. It’s unnaturally warm in the city that afternoon. “Did you not see the press conference?” she mutters. He shakes his head. “I, uh—I totally forgot about it, but ride-share services are still cool and essential, they just...if you share, you have to be a couple.” “Real couple too,” Bryan adds. “That’s what the mayor said.” Clarke squeezes one eye shut. “He did, yeah.”

Bellamy has no idea what’s happening. That’s not hyperbole. He genuinely cannot keep up with the conversation or the events of the last few hours and he’s certain this is now somehow the fault of the paper napkin lady and those toilet paper people and— “So,” Bryan continues, “either prove it or lose it?” “Lose what, exactly?” Bellamy rasps. He doesn’t take his eyes off Clarke, can see just how tight her jaw has gone and the exact moment her tongue flashes between her lips and maybe it would just be better for everyone if he grabbed her backpack and sprinted the fifteen blocks back to their apartment.

Apartment building.

They don’t live in the same apartment.

Seriously, screw the toilet paper people.

“My services,” Bryan answers. “Seriously. I’m not getting fucked over by this. So prove you're a real couple or start walking.” “And how would you like us to do that, exactly?” “Kiss her.” It is several different miracles that Bellamy does not rip down Bryan’s plastic wrap wall right then and there. He considers it, fingers flexing and head at a sudden angle while he glares at the rearview mirror. But something keeps him from actually reacting and it might be Clarke’s soft ok a few inches away.

They are no longer the appropriate six feet apart.

“Wait, what?” Bellamy asks, only marginally disappointed when his voice manages to crack over both words.

Clarke’s smile doesn’t waver, but it shifts slightly — a little cautious and a little nervous and, maybe, a little hopeful. She leans forward, ignoring the goddamn backpack and how straight Bellamy’s spine has gone, breathing quickly like he did run those fifteen blocks. “Just a kiss, right?” she mutters. “Couples kiss. That’s—” “—Real couples,” Bryan amends. Bellamy might strangle Bryan before they get out of this car.

“Right, right, right. And that’s—it’s not a big deal.” Bellamy’s never going to blink again.

“I don’t know how else to double check,” Bryan admits.

Clarke hums, still moving and Bellamy doesn’t flinch when her hand lands on his bent knee. So, points or whatever. Her tongue flashes once more, a soft huff of air that barely reaches his cheek when she’s close enough and this can’t possibly be sanitary.

God, he does not want to be thinking about that now.

Bellamy doesn’t remember bending his neck, but it appears to have happened anyway, curls threatening to fall in his eyes. That’s not right. The top of Clarke’s backpack digs into his chest, what feels like an actual paint brush pushing against the side and he’s going to say something. He is. He’s going to promise that he can walk and he’ll carry the backpack and just meet her at home, but none of the words seem all that interested in coming out of his mouth and his lips pop softly when they part, another bit of movement and a direct violation of social distancing and—

His eyes flutter shut when Clarke kisses him.

With Bryan watching intently.

And it’s not...well, it’s not quite the way Bellamy had always imagined when he’d let himself imagine this. Far more often than he should. It’s stilted and awkward, weird angles and bumped noses. It’s chins jostling for position and that fucking backpack, both of them far too aware of the two bags of groceries at their feet.

Bellamy does his best not to actually sigh — even more frustration, that does not belong in a situation like this, but then his eyes open and the tip of Clarke’s tongue finds his lips and everything kind of spirals after that.

His hand flies up, curling into her hair and pulling her closer, a crunch that is absolutely the box of shells, but the shells can go fuck off for all Bellamy cares. He opens his mouth, lets his head tilt slightly until they find a rhythm that’s a bit like driving at seventy miles an hour on an open highway. That’d be impossible anywhere in New York.

Even under quarantine.

And yet. Bellamy feels like he’s rushing towards something, everything and anything and a variety of words that should be far more overwhelming than they are. He nips at Clarke’s lower lip, lets his nose drag along her cheek until he’s practically tracing that streak of paint and the sound that draws will be branded on every inch of him for the foreseeable future. They only break apart to catch their breath, the rhythm going almost desperate when Clarke’s nails scratch at the back of Bellamy’s neck and—

Bryan coughs.

He might not tip Bryan.

No, he’ll definitely tip Bryan. It’s a fucking pandemic.

Bellamy’s not a total dick.

Just…

“So, uh, cool,” Bryan says, already pulling out onto the street. “Thanks for the, uh—for the demonstration, then.” Clarke jerks back.

And Bellamy feels like he’s been thrown in the East River. Specifically. Because that river is notoriously grosser than the Hudson.

He’s gross.

He twists, trying to put as much space between them as possible when they’re still in Bryan’s silver Toyota Camry. And he doesn’t actually count the minutes that it takes to get back to their building, but it’s awfully close because it seems to take a lifetime and happen far too soon, Clarke mumbling her thanks and hoping Bryan doesn’t have to drive too much in the future and Bellamy doesn’t want to think about the state of that box of shells.

It feels far too literal.

And they don’t rush up the stairs, both Bellamy and Clarke taking even steps as they do their mutual and collective best to stare at their shoes. But then he’s tugging his keys out of his back pocket and the air feels like it’s crackling around him, enough tension to power the island of Manhattan — especially when Clarke follows him inside his apartment.

“So, uh—” she starts, a click of her jaw when she notices the look on Bellamy’s face.

His eyes have started to water, they’re so wide, standing in the middle of his exceptionally tiny living room. “Clarke, I—” “—Oh shit, I forgot the butter.” “Clarke.” “No, no, I should go get the butter, right? Yeah. That’s—shit, I didn’t even think. I...sorry, sorry, it’s—” She shakes her head brusquely, like she’s trying to shake away the awkwardness and Bellamy wishes there weren’t any awkwardness. He wishes he’d asked her out before the world started falling apart.

He’s back in her space in a few more steps, fingers finding her flailing hands. She’s biting her lip again. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.” “No?” “Absolutely not,” Bellamy promises. “I might, though. I just—I didn’t realize what was going on and then—” “I’m going to go get the butter,” Clarke announces, sounding almost disappointed at the idea. She pulls her hands back, a quick hiss of pain when she manages to elbow herself in the side in the process, all but running out of his apartment. Her backpack is still on his couch.

Bellamy doesn’t move. He’s not sure he can, honestly. His legs feel like they’ve locked themselves in place, waiting with those same wide eyes for something he’s not sure he can have because it can’t possibly happen like this and Octavia is probably hysterical on the other side of the country.

And he’s still not counting seconds or minutes, when he finally manages to get his feet to cooperate. So he can wash his hands. Like a responsible adult. Not one who hoards paper products.

The footsteps that return to his still-open door a little slower than usual.

“You didn’t close your door,” Clarke points out. She kicks back, a tremulous smile and Bellamy can’t believe this is going to happen while she’s holding butter. And at least two pounds of flour. He’s not sure what’s going to happen, exactly. “Did you even turn your oven on?” He shakes his head. “No.” “Real fond of that word all of a sudden, aren’t you?”

Bellamy doesn’t think he imagines the edge in her voice, narrowing his eyes slightly like that will help him pick up on certain conversational cues. It doesn’t — especially when Clarke breezes by him, marching into her kitchen like it’s hers or could be hers and that’s probably when he decides. What he wants to happen. “Do you want to make the cookies or the mac and cheese first?” she asks, and that question sounds more determined than any Bellamy’s heard before. Some of the tension in his shoulders disappears.

“Hey, will you talk to me?”

“About something other than our cooking order?” “Yeah,” Bellamy nods. “Definitely about something other than our cooking order.” “I’m really hungry, though.”

His laugh has a certain strangled quality to it, but that may be a product of his heart, recently reformed and re-exploded. As soon as Bellamy realized what kissing Clarke was like. “I’m not going to let you starve,” Bellamy says. “Just—c’mon, look at me at least.”

She doesn’t. She pushes up on her toes instead, stabbing at the buttons on his oven. Bellamy sighs, doing his best not to start proclaiming things, giving voice to the sentiment that’s been bouncing around his soul for the better part of the last six months, and the flour that’s sitting on his minimal counter space is half open.

The top’s rolling up, a haphazard curl to the paper, which only makes it easier to reach his hand inside without Clarke noticing.

And immediately flick his fingers in Clarke’s direction.

Her eyes flash, mouth dropping open, but Bellamy just grins, another flick that leaves flour clinging to Clarke’s cheek and the ends of her hair and she’d never washed that paint streak off.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands.

“Got you to look at me.” “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Am I laughing?”

Clarke groans, trying to shake the flour off. All it does is ensure her hair shifts and the smell of her shampoo takes over most of the air in his kitchen. “You’re an idiot,” she sneers, “that’s what you are. I’m trying to feed us and—” “—You’re really very concerned about that. We’ve got to reorganize this conversation.”

Bellamy needs to get more flour before he can go for the third flick, but that proves to be his undoing. Clarke moves before he can, reflexes that he’d like to have a very serious discussion about eventually and she doesn’t flick. She slams her hand into his chest, a perfectly formed print in the middle of his shirt, twisting the fabric under her like that will make sure the mark stays there.

Things are starting to feel a little literal again.

At least he hopes so.

So, it’s only reasonable and passably romantic to retaliate in kind — letting his flour-covered fingers flutter over Clarke’s hair and one of them gasps, but it’s difficult to figure out when they’re as close as they are, her hands dragging across his side and dangerously close to the top of his jeans and Bellamy’s definitely the one who groans when Clarke works her way under the hem of his shirt.

Clarke beams. Bright and honest and her eyes are blue enough that Bellamy briefly considers getting lost in them for those minutes he’s still refusing to count, but then—

“God, I can’t believe I had to use some stupid marshall law bullshit to kiss you,” he mutters.

“Is marshall law the right term there?” “No, not at all.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, hand staying exactly where it is. “I didn’t think so. And I—this was not some elaborate ruse, just for the record.” “Were you looking for elaborate ruses to make out with me?” “We’ve got to work on your vocabulary. Make out doesn’t seem right either.” “A work in progress.” “For the words, or…” She gasps again. Presumably because Bellamy’s ducking his head and his arm has curled around her middle and it’s easier to kiss her when there isn’t a backpack between them. Bellamy’s hand flattens against the small of Clarke’s back, a curve there that is quite suddenly the only thing he’d like to talk about for the remainder of the day.

And they’re just as good at this as they were in Bryan’s car, but there’s something inherently different about the second go-around. An ease to the angles and the now-familiar rhythm, like they’d simply been waiting for the chance or the opportunity and—

“Maybe make out was an acceptable description,” Clarke mumbles against Bellamy’s mouth. He grins, dropping down so he can kiss her jaw and the side of her neck, only a little pleased with the goosebumps he notices there. “Oh, don’t get smug,” Clarke adds, “that’s not a good look on you.” “That certainly sounds like you’ve got opinions on my looks, actually.”

She clicks her tongue, leaning back to get in his eye line. “Maybe a few.” “A few?” “Bell, c’mon, that’s—” “—I have a very big crush on you.” Clarke blinks. Opens her mouth only to close it. Smiles. Scoffs. Blinks again. And then she’s kissing him and it’s good and great and both of those things feel wrong during a pandemic, but Bellamy assumes there's something to be said for the human spirit. Or whatever.

“Makes for a good story, though,” Clarke says, eyes gone a color Bellamy’s never seen before. “You know, if you’re looking for something to write about.” “You want me to write about us? I write history books.” “Is this not historic?” “Oh, now who’s fishing for compliments,” Bellamy chuckles. Clarke blushes. Again, or still. “I would have liked to kiss you under less dramatic circumstances, but, uh—it also wasn’t the worst first kiss I’ve ever had.” “High praise.” “We’re very good at kissing each other.” “Yeah, I figured we would be.” “Did you just?” Clarke hums. “I’m pretty sure my friends had some kind of pool going. Especially now. When I’d finally give in and just like...attack you with my mouth or something. I talk about you all the time. At school. To Raven. Strangers on the street.” “Strangers on the street?” “I mean, Bryan assumed we were a couple.” “That’s because the mayor required him too,” Bellamy argues. “But, uh—I get the opinionated peanut gallery. O was convinced we were secretly dating when she was here.” “Before or after the chianti?” “Well before.” “Oh,” Clarke says, like that’s somehow surprising or good. Bellamy hopes it’s good. He’d like some good at this point. “You should probably change shirts.” “That sounds like a suggestion to take my shirt off.” “Wow, weird.” Her laugh turns into something far closer to a giggle when he kisses behind her ear, a fact he’s already stored for future reference, but then they’re moving and there are discarded clothes and kicked off shoes and neither one of them bothers to get up when the oven finishes pre-heating.

“I have a crush on you too,” Clarke says, head propped up on her hand. In Bellamy’s bed. They’re in Bellamy’s bed.

Her backpack is still on his couch. “Good,” he grins. “You want to eat, or…” “God, I’d thought you’d never ask.” And they do make both things, Clarke announcing that this is the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had while Bellamy does an absolutely terrible job of stealing cookie batter on the sly. She moves her backpack eventually too — into the corner of his living room. It’s easier that way, something about pandemics and limiting movement and if one of her students notices the change of scenery during their live-streamed class two days later, none of them say anything.

#bellarke ff #bellarke fan fiction #bellarke #bellamy x clarke #the 100 #covidー19 #this is very silly nonsense #like...i cannot possibly overstate that

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newnewyorker93 · 4 years ago

Text

Blueprints for a Rescue

read on ao3 here

Pepperony Week 2020 • Day 1: battle couple

Summary: Tony gives Pepper something special for their 1st wedding anniversary, and Pepper makes an important decision.

—

“Hey, Pep! Do you have a minute?”

Pepper looked up from where she was sitting, curled up on the living room floor with baby Morgan lying on her stomach next to her. Morgan was giggling and shrieking excitedly as she grabbed for the toy Pepper held out for her - a plush platypus, a gift from Uncle Rhodey and currently one of her favorite toys; its beak let out a very satisfying squeak! whenever she managed to squeeze it tight enough in her tiny fists. The two of them were so engrossed in their little game that Pepper hadn’t even noticed Tony entering the room but there he was now, standing next to the coffee table. He had something held behind his back, a thick roll of paper, and he was tapping it against the back of his leg while doing that shift-shuffling move with his feet that Pepper knew meant he was nervous about whatever it was he wanted to tell her.

Instead of answering his question directly, she instead addressed Morgan. “What do you think? Should we see what your silly father is up to this time?” The baby gurgled happily in response and tried to roll over, a move she hadn’t quite mastered yet, and Pepper gave her back a quick rub in acknowledgement of the attempt before looking back up at Tony with an inviting smile. “Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asked, hesitating slightly. “I'd hate to interrupt tummy time.”

Pepper laughed. "Morgan's got a very full schedule today, but I think we can squeeze you in."

“Oh good. I've got something for you. A present, actually. For our anniversary.”

Pepper stopped rubbing Morgan’s back, a puzzled expression crossing her face. “It’s not our anniversary.”

“I know.”

“Our anniversary is next week.”

“I know.”

"But you're giving me a present today?"

"A stunningly accurate summation of the situation, yes. Astute as always, pepper pot!" Tony was teasing her now, but Pepper could tell there was an undercurrent of real nervousness behind his words. His voice softened, then, as he explained, “It’s just, this is- well, is about to be- our first anniversary, and I want to get it right, and given my, shall we say, mixed track record on gifts…” He trailed off, giving Pepper a second to fill in the blank. She did a quick mental inventory of Tony’s various ‘surprises’ over the years - when he got it right, he got it really right, and when he didn’t...well when he didn’t a team of construction workers ended up getting hired to rip a hole in their wall so a 15-foot-tall stuffed bunny could be maneuvered through. So yeah, maybe his concern wasn’t entirely unwarranted, although whatever this was at least already had the advantage of fitting inside the house. Evidently enough of this thought process could be read on Pepper’s face because Tony nodded in agreement before continuing. “See, you get it. Hence, my brilliant solution! I give you your present a week early, and then I’ve got time to put together a plan B in case you don’t like this one!”

“And if I do like it?” Pepper asked, amused and touched by Tony’s mildly convoluted approach to problem solving.

“Oh, in that case I will…um, still have to find something special to give you on the day of…” Tony scratched the back of his head, a sheepish expression on his face. “I really didn’t think that part through, did I? Although In my defense, this is my first go at a wedding anniversary.”

“Hmm, fair. You’d better get used to it though,” Pepper teased. “You’re going to have a lot more of them to figure out.”

“Yeah…” A soft happy smile lit up Tony’s face, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up and he was lost for a moment, thinking about that.

“So,” Pepper eventually prompted, “do I get to actually see my pre-anniversary present?”

“Yes! Right. Of course.” Tony moved aside the few knick-knacks left out on the coffee table and unrolled the papers he’d been holding behind his back onto it, revealing a stack of technical drawings. He gestured for Pepper to scoot forward and take a look. "I made you a suit! Well, to be more precise, I designed you a suit."

Pepper examined the figure on the top page and frowned. Armor would be a generous description for whatever this was, as it looked more like a bikini that just happened to be made out of metal rather than anything meant to be in any way protective. It wasn’t until she looked up, ready to indignantly lay into Tony because what the fuck, that she caught the tell-tale mischievous twinkle in his eyes and realized what he was doing.

“Oh god, babe, you should see your face right now!” Tony crowed. “Just a little joke to break the tension,” he reassured Pepper, “I mean, come on, it’d be completely useless as armor like this, no defensive coverage at all. Although I'm sure we could find something else to use it for… Yes? No? You're smiling, Pep, I can see it!” She was smiling, biting back a laugh because it was just so Tony, getting his anxiety out by completely designing and drawing out by hand an entire prank suit of armor. “We'll file that one under maybe, then… But seriously, as much as I enjoy a bit of pin-up Pepper, this-” he pulled aside the top sheet with a dramatic flourish, unveiling a set of schematics for a suit that looked much more like his own Iron Man armor, if slightly more feminine, “-is your real present, should you choose to accept it."

Tony sat himself down on the floor across the table from Pepper, giving her some space to study the blueprints more closely. After a few moments of forcing himself to sit perfectly still he scooped Morgan up off the rug and snuggled her up to his chest, letting his daughter’s squirming distract him from the otherwise irresistible urge to start fidgeting and drumming his fingers against his leg as he waited for Pepper’s verdict.

“This is…wow.” Pepper didn’t even know where to begin. She was awed by the sheer scope of the project, at the amount of time Tony must have put into making this for her - there were pages and pages of plans, intricate renderings of every piece of the suit from helmet to gauntlets to boots and every bit in between, all painstakingly (and gorgeously; with so much of his work done in holograms and machinery, it was easy to forget how much of an artist Tony really was) hand-drawn and neatly labeled down to the most precise measurements. “How… You drew all of this?”

Tony shrugged. “I’ve had the image in my head for years, this was just letting it all out, finally. Like an exorcism.” Pepper cocked her head at that and Tony laughed. “Ok, maybe that’s not the best metaphor, but you know what I mean. Besides, it was kind of nice to go analog again, break out the old pencil and paper. And it wasn’t all me! Morgan helped too.”

"Oh really?"

"Yep! Very helpful design critic, our daughter. Here, I'll show you." Tony flipped forward to a sheet that displayed detailed close-up and exploded views of the suit's helmet. "She really liked this part, see?" He pointed out the signs of Morgan's interest - a wrinkly spot on the corner of the page where the baby had clearly drooled on the paper, and a few smudges the exact width of her tiny fingers streaked right across the center of the main drawing. "Tried to grab your helmet right off the page!"

While Pepper fondly examined this father-daughter collaboration, Tony turned his attention to Morgan, giving the pint-sized engineer a playful bounce in his arms. “You really are your Daddy’s little girl, aren’t you?” Morgan smooshed her hand onto Tony’s face in response and he pretended to nibble at the tips of her fingers, making her (and Pepper) laugh. “You want a suit too, baby girl?”

Pepper stopped laughing at that and looked sternly at her husband. "Tony, please tell me you aren't…"

"Of course not," Tony retorted, making sure to sound appropriately scandalized at the very notion. “I told her, I said, not until you’re at least six-” he waited for Pepper to glare, right on cue, then finished with an impish grin, “-teen.”

Pepper rolled her eyes at that, but affectionately, and focused back on the schematics. “What’s this mean, here?” she asked, pointing out the title block at the corner of the page.

“Oh, that’s what I’ve been calling her, Rescue.” Tony explained. “You can change if you want something different though!” he hurriedly added. “Maybe something a bit flashier - you don’t know how tempted I was to go with Iron Maiden; a bit more my speed than yours, of course, but you’re welcome to it. Anyway, I just kept coming back to that first time I saw you suited up, remember? In the Mark 42 armor, how you saved me…” How you’ve saved me so many times, in so many ways over the years, he thought, but left unspoken. “It’ll still have all the usual defensive and attack capabilities, of course, and we can add in whatever fancy tricks and toys you want, but the primary intent is, well, rescue.”

“Did you start building it already?”

“No, I-” Tony’s eyes met Pepper’s and she could see the vulnerability there, the kind he only ever let her see. “I did this for you, Pepper, only for you, and it’s your choice. It doesn’t need to go any further than this, it can just be some art for our bedroom wall, if that’s all you want it to be. But I needed to show it to you either way. So…what do you think?"

Pepper traced her finger lightly over a little inset drawing on the last page of the blueprints. It was an image of Iron Man and Rescue flying next to each other, more of a sketch than a schematic really (although, knowing Tony, more likely than not still to scale and accurate in all technical aspects). There was probably some mundane reason for that picture to be there, maybe to show a size comparison between the suits, but all Pepper could think of as she looked at it was Tony sitting at his worktable in the garage, lovingly drawing the two of them twirling through the air together. Maybe telling Morgan about it, spinning her stories of her parents as knights in shining armor, off to save the world. She could see how much he wanted this - for her, for them - in every line, in every detail so lovingly rendered, and to her surprise she realized she really did want it too.

They’d talked so much, over the years, about the negative side of Tony and his suits - the obsession, all the ways he’d hidden away and almost lost himself in them - but that’s never been the whole story. There’s freedom there, and joy too and this...this, she understood, was Tony trying to share all that with her. It wasn’t insecurity or a distraction, it was calm and careful - and beautiful. Invention born out of love, not fear. And just like that, Pepper knew what her answer was. She shifted her gaze back towards Tony’s tentative, hopeful face. “I think…” she gave him a soft smile and nodded. “Yes, Tony, I’ll be your Rescue.”

#pepperonyweek20 #pepperony #tony stark #pepper potts #rescue!pepper #morgan stark #fic #my writing #decided to post the full version on tumblr too this time :)

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mahou-goth · 5 years ago

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Today is the 2nd birthday of my art blog! Maybe this is sort of silly, but I've been reflecting a lot lately, so I'll probably get rambly and sappy and serious and other bullshit. Under the cut!

TW: suicide ment, parental death

I remember when I was in early high school I was always kind of in awe that people could get so invested into something that they'd make fanart for it constantly. I'd see it a lot! But back then my hyperfixations would only last a couple weeks before I got tired of it and moved on to something else. There was never anything consistent enough that I'd want to draw fanart, even back when RWBY first came out it was the same thing. I'd be obsessed for a while! And then move on.

But two years ago on a whim I decided to make this art blog. I was honestly so sure that I'd start it, get tired of it within a couple weeks, and ultimately just delete it. But I actually got involved with the community! I saw so many amazing and inspiring artists! I read fun theories, fanfics, ideas, analysis, etc! Before long RWBY became a staple in my life. I related to a lot of the characters and their struggles, especially Yang. And with the hope of Bumbleby becoming a real possibility and being so well written, I was hooked. In the summer of 2018 between volumes 5 and 6, I lost my dad. He wasn't my biological father--that man left me when I was very young. I don't even remember him being much of a presence in my life aside from the very rare times he's visit for a couple hours. For a long time I wanted to have some sort of a relationship with him, but he let me down time and time again with false promises. He added me on Facebook a couple months before my dad died, and I remember just going off on him about how I felt. After so long of wanting him to, y'know, be my dad, when he came to me that time I was just done. I told him how I felt and that was that. I had a dad, you know? So when James, my dad passed it just felt really unfair. 15+ years of wanting a father figure in my life only to finally find someone and then have him taken away so unexpectedly. It's like a cruel joke.

During that time, RWBY became a distraction. Volume 6 teasers started popping up, the fandom was becoming more active again, it helped a little bit. I think the worst of it was right around when volume 6 was probably about halfway through. Grief really fucks up a lot for you. I became a really angry person, I isolated myself from friends, told everyone multiple times there was no way I'd be able to support anyone emotionally, and I left some awful friendships. Even my girlfriend at the time, who knew what this sort of grief was like, tried to hold on to me so tightly that it's ultimately what ended up pushing me away even further. A lot of things just kept going wrong. I remember being downtown by the river one night cause I wanted to get away from everything for a bit, and I just really missed my dad. I missed him a lot. The thought of "If you miss him so much, why not just join him?" ran through my head a lot, staring at the water. It was a little scary.

As stupid as this may sound, clinging so much to a show, "I want to know what happens next." was the simplest response that kept me going. Seeing a new episode every week and then coming on here to see all the new fanart, the wild theories and analysis, all the way down to the smallest things that likely didn't mean anything. (Like Blake taking One Whole step closer to Yang when they told everyone Oscar was missing.) That goofy excitement and seeing so many happy posts made a lot of the grief bearable. It was my first time having to deal with such a life changing loss, but RWBY and its community softened the blow a little, and I'm really grateful for that.

I think some people don't quite understand that. My ex got annoyed that I just wanted to watch RWBY, read stuff about it, draw for it. I tried to explain it to her a few different times like... why I wanted to focus on it so much, and she'd understand for a while. But she'd always get frustrated again a few days later. I tried to do the right thing and break it off a couple times because I just wasn't able to maintain a relationship, but it just sort of... kept dragging on before I finally put my foot down and called it quits for good.

On the other hand, others did understand why RWBY was so important to me, and still tried to chase me from the community anyways due to some issues with my platonic partners coping in unhealthy ways with trauma. (That was a looooong talk with them;; but it all turned out okay and they're doing better.) They knew all of this. I was really scared for a while. Not that I'd lose followers or that people blocked me, I didn't care about that. I was scared that I'd lose the only way I've found that's helped me cope with losing my dad.

I knew grieving was a hard process, but I never thought it'd be so difficult for others to let me grieve. And for me to let myself grieve. Maybe it's dumb to rely so much on a show to help me get through the hard days, but if it helps me that's all that really matters. Volume 7 will be here before we know it and I am beyond excited. Regardless of how much shit people have tried to throw at me and how cruel others are, a lot of good has come from it too. I've experimented more with my art and have tried to improve in areas I've always been too nervous to try cause of how bad I am at them. I've made some really awesome friends!! And I hope to talk to more people and possibly collab with artists! And! I reconnected with an old friend who is now my girlfriend by getting her into RWBY, and of course the bees. :P

I feel like this whole post is a big jumbled mess, but really I'm just so beyond thankful for this whole community. I'm thankful for the people who enjoy my art and continue to support me and I'm grateful for all the fun content people make for it, from fanart to analysis to shitposts. It's all helped me so much.

It's been a really wild 2 years and I'm stuck in this fandom for a long time. Nothing and no one will change that. ♥

#alice.txt #oh my god why do i always do this #i write sappy shit and then like a week later i'm too embarrassed to even look back at it #but i just ahhhh #rwby really just means the world to me

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soundofseventeen · 5 years ago

Text

Robin Hood (Lee Chan)

Hello!! Onto the next one! We’re almost half way through now!! Wow!! Enjoy!!

Master List

*Fairy Tale*

You sighed, looking out the window during yet another meeting with your father and his advisors. You sat silently next to your mother, half listening. You always got so bored during these meetings. All they did was complain or brag, depending on the week. Today appeared to be complaining. Someone had been stealing from each of their kingdoms again, and they were infuriated about the fact that they couldn’t catch whoever it was.

Why it was your kingdom’s problem, you weren’t sure. It’s not like you were being stolen from. They just wanted to complain about the mild decrease in their fortunes.

Literally. You did the math once. The amount stolen was barely enough for them to notice, yet they always did.

You often wondered about this thief, how he managed to consistently steal from kingdoms. Kingdoms! Part of you wondered if it was multiple people. It had to be. How on earth could one singular person manage to pull on this off, and manage to never be caught? It didn’t make any sense.

“Excuse me Mother,” you whispered, standing. “I must use the bathroom.” She simply nodded, giving you permission to leave. You quietly, but quickly excused yourself, exhaling as you got into the hallway. As you looked down the hall, you saw something peculiar.

There was a boy walking down the hall, casually picking up items and taking them, continuing to walk. You slowly started to follow, hoping to see exactly what he was doing. Maybe he was taking things to clean, some new part of the staff.

Wait. Nope, he was definitely stealing.

“Excuse me, what exactly are you doing?” You said, causing the boy to turn around. He seemed partly startled to see you, but not entirely.

“I’m sorry Miss, I was just admiring the decorations.” He smiled a far too charming smile.

“It looked as though you had just taken something.” You said, looking at the vase in his hand.

“Ah, silly me. I was admiring it and I must have forgotten to put it back.” He said, stepping forward and placing the vase back on the table. You eyed him, suspicion all about him.

“You’re the great thief, aren’t you?” You asked, expecting him to get offended. Instead, he looked at you for a second, giving a grin.

“Even a thief has a name Miss.” He held out a hand, waiting for you to shake it. “Sir Dino, at your service.” You slowly shook his hand, confused by his confidence.

“If you know what’s best for you, you should be making your way out of the palace.” You said simply, letting go and walking down the hallway away from him.

“As the princess wishes.” You heard, looking back. He was already gone from the hallway, the table now empty again.

Not to mention your bracelet was gone.

*Today*

“So you just… Found him?” You asked, looking at Seungcheol as he took a sip of his drink, eyes wide.

“I’m telling you, I was just out for my run. I took that route that runs by the docks, and there was a blockage in the path, so I took a detour and I came out on the edge of the beach and he was just… there.” Seungcheol said, shaking his head. “It’s the craziest thing. He didn’t look hurt at all.”

“What did you do?” You took a bite of your sandwich, reminding yourself to give Mingyu a medal later for cooking.

“What else could I do? I called an ambulance and took him to the hospital.”

“I mean, that’s all you could do, I guess.” You said, and Seungcheol nodded. “That’s just so weird. I wonder who he is?”

“Who knows. I’ve never seen him before.” Seungcheol shrugged, eating the last bite. “I gotta run, tell Mingyu I said thanks.” He said, taking one last sip and waving goodbye, leaving the cafe. You waved an arm as Mingyu came back out.

“What were you and Seungcheol talking about? Sounded serious.” He asked, picking up Seungcheol’s plate, raising an eyebrow.

“He apparently found some dude on his run this morning. Totally unconscious. Not a scratch on him.” You said, giving the quick version. Mingyu scrunched his eyebrows together.

“Weird…” Mingyu muttered, putting a bag on the counter. “Hey are you going by the record store today? I made a lunch for Jihoon. I’d take it but Jun doesn’t come in for another couple hours and I have another order to drop off.”

“Nope, I have to go straight to the clinic today. Someone found these dogs and we gotta try and figure out who they belong to.” You looked to the door as it dinged, pointing at the person walking in. “Why don’t you ask Soonyoung? He sees Jihoon every other day and probably has other deliveries anyway.” You said, putting some money on the table and waving goodbye.

You started your walk to the pet clinic, plugging in your headphones and zoning out the town around you. As you took your normal route, you noticed road construction down the street, completely blocking off the sidewalk. You rolled your eyes, looking down to your right. It looked like the sidewalk would meet up, so you shrugged and turned. You found it hard to believe, but you had never been down the street before. You looked into each of the windows as you walked past, not recognizing any of the stores.

You stopped in front of one with big windows, making the inside visible. Someone was dancing inside, moving fluidly across the floor. You tilted your head, watching him dance. You always thought you knew everyone in this town, at least by face, but you didn’t recognize him. But there was something about the way he moved and the look on his face that almost made you feel like you’ve watched this before. Or at least seen him before.

You watched for a little bit longer, then noticed he had stopped dancing. You shook your head, continuing to walk down the sidewalk before he noticed you.

As he packed up his bags and left the studio, he saw a book sitting on the sidewalk. He picked it up, noticing they almost looked like notes or a journal. He looked up and down the street, not seeing anyone, and turning the opposite direction from you.

*Fairy Tale*

You looked around the ballroom, begging this night to be over. You usually loved balls, but after your encounter with the thief and the fact that a majority of the people here were present for your parents, you were bored out of your mind. You spotted the clock, letting out a groan. You had at least another hour or two to go.

“Here, let me introduce you to my daughter.” You internally groaned, putting on your best polite smile you could, and turning to face whoever your father was introducing you to now. You stopped in place as you came face to face with Dino, dressed up much nicer than when you had seen him earlier, not skipping a step.

“This is my daughter, Princess Y/N.” Your father said, gesturing to you. “Y/N, this is Prince Chan. He’s visiting from a neighboring kingdom.” Your father smiled, gesturing to him. Chan gave a small bow, smirking at you.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Highness.” Chan said, the smirk not leaving his face.

“The pleasure is mine.” You said, trying to hide the shock on your face. Based on the smirk that must be glued to Chan’s face, you weren’t doing a good job.

“Darling, I must go speak to the Grand Duke about something. Please keep Prince Chan company.” Your father said, officially leaving you two alone.

“How dare you.” You said as soon as your father was out of earshot.

“How dare I what?” He asked, the smirk falling off his face.

“How dare you come to my father’s party and act as a guest when just this morning you were steal-” Chan shushed you, starting to walk away, waiting for you to follow. You looked around, quietly following him onto a balcony. He shut the door behind you, taking a deep breath and turning to you.

“So you were the girl from this morning.” He said, and you raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t recognize me just now?” You asked, and he shrugged.

“Not really. I thought you just a person of the house.” He said, looking over your garden. “And now you know my secret.”

“Why do you do this?” You asked. “Why on earth would a prince steal from other kingdoms? What’s the purpose? You have enough wealth yourself!”

“It’s not for me.” He said, as if that explained everything.

“Who’s it for then?”

“Your people.”

“My people?” You looked at him, mildly offended.

“Your people, the people of other kingdoms. People who actually need it.”

“My people are fine. You don’t need to steal from their kingdom for them.” You argued, and Chan raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me Princess, when’s the last time you actually saw your people?”

*Today*

“What’s that?” Chan’s coworker asked, looking at the book he was flipping through.

“I think it’s some kind of journal…” Chan muttered, turning another page.

“Who donated a journal?” She asked, picking up another box to sort through.

“It wasn’t donated silly.” He grinned, already knowing how excited she was going to get over yet another box of random… Well, junk. He was basically here because she thought everything had value, and he knew that most things that came through the shop had little to no value. Somehow the two of them made it work.

“Then is it yours?” She asked, starting to dig.

“Nope.” He said, turning another page.

“Who’s is it?”

“No idea.”

“Then where did you get it?” She looked at him, mildly concerned.

“I found it after I danced today.” Chan muttered, glancing at a drawing in the book.

“Should you be reading that then? It’s probably private and whoever lost it wouldn’t like you reading it…”

“If they cared so much, how come they left it on the street?” Chan smirked, causing her to roll her eyes.

“My point still stands sir.” She said, turning back to her box.

“There’s not much in here anyway. Random writings, some drawings, a lot of dogs.” He said, turning another page.

“Maybe they work at the pet clinic.” She said, pulling out a cheap lamp. “Or maybe they know Minghao. You could ask him, if they’re so artsy.”

“Just because someone likes art doesn’t automatically mean they know Minghao.” Chan muttered, shutting the book.

“Oh shush.” She said, looking at the clock. “Oh shoot, I’m late!” She said, running to the back of the store.

“What are you late for?” Chan asked, mildly confused.

“That guy who was in here earlier? He wanted to buy some nets but he wasn’t sure which ones would fit his equipment best. So I’m bringing it by so he can see before he makes the purchase.” She smiled, picking up a big bag of nets.

“As long as your back before I leave.”

“I will try my best!” She laughed, leaving the store. Chan shook his head, knowing she wouldn’t be back before he left.

*Fairy Tale*

“What do you mean?” You asked, confused by the prince’s question. “I see the people all the time?”

“No, you see them are events and during royal outings. When is the last time you actually saw how they live and what their lives are like?” He asked, no humor on his face. You thought about it, and hated to admit he was right.

“Fine, so I don’t make it down to the towns as much as I’d like to. What does that have to do with you stealing from us?” Chan sighed, leaning on the railing of the balcony.

“Do you realize how poor your kingdom is?” He said, looking at you. “Do you know how many people struggle to get by every day while you thrive in this castle? How many children go to bed hungry because their parents couldn’t afford to buy food? How many people fall asleep worrying that they won’t wake up or will wake up to find something else of theirs missing?”

“Surely that’s not…” You said, feeling slightly sick to your stomach. If your kingdom was really that bad, you would have heard about it, right?

“Your Highness, I’ve seen your people.” He said, looking you straight in the eye. “I’ve seen this with my own eyes.”

“It can’t be. I’m sorry, but we would have heard it.” Chan looked at you for a second, then back at the party. Suddenly, he held out a hand.

“Come with me then.” He said, and you looked at his hand.

“What?”

“I’ll show you what I mean. Come on.” He took your hand, pulling you from the balcony.

You returned to the castle an hour later, ready to cry. You were sure you were already crying. You had always thought your kingdom was happy. You had always thought if something was wrong you would have heard about it.

But the things you saw tonight… If you hadn’t seen it, you surely wouldn’t have believed it.

“I’m sorry, but you had to know.” Chan muttered, walking you down the hall. You wiped your face, confirming that you had cried. “I’m also sorry I took this from you.” He said, holding your bracelet towards you. You just shook your head, feeling bad enough that that bracelet could probably feed several families alone.

Chan sighed, stopping and taking your wrist, pulling it up. You watched as he put the bracelet on your wrist, confused.

“Normally, I don’t feel bad taking things from the rich. Most of the time they barely notice that I took something. And then if they do notice, it’s usually still small enough that they don’t do anything about it.” He sighed, looking up at you. “I did feel bad about this though. I saw it was engraved, so it must be personal to you.” You looked at the bracelet, twisting it on your wrist.

“Well, I should be going. I have to get to my friend’s kingdom in the morning.” He said, shaking your hand one more time. “It’s been a pleasure, princess.”

He started to walk away, but you caught his wrist.

“I’m going to fix this.” You said, causing him to look at you. “I’m not sure how, but I will fix this and save my people.” Chan gave you a small smile, squeezing your hand a bit.

“Good luck, princess.”

*Today*

You sat at the counter, sighing to yourself. Your coworker had left an hour ago, leaving you alone until the night person came in. You were mildly irritated, since you couldn’t remember where you lost your journal. You had already called the cafe, and after a mildly short conversation with Jun, you concluded it wasn’t there. You knew you had put it in your bag this morning before leaving your apartment, so it was definitely somewhere in town.

When you were stressed, you usually drew or wrote in your journal.

So you were beyond frustrated right now.

Plus, all the dogs from this morning had been picked up, even the one with no tag, and you had no dogs staying the night. So it was just you there, alone and bored.

You put your head on the counter, groaning a bit. At least, it was loud enough that you didn’t notice the door open.

“Are you okay?” Your head shot up, looking at the boy standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, not fully processing his words. Oh no. He was the guy from the dance studio.

“Are you alright? You seem frustrated?” He asked, and you nodded your head.

“Yep. Yeah, I’m good. I’m sorry. How can I help you?” You asked, standing up.

“Well, I was wondering if someone here lost a journal? I found one this morning and there were a lot of dogs in it so-”

“You found my journal?!” His eyebrows shot up, starting to dig into his backpack.

“Is this it?” You gasped, grabbing the book from his hand.

“Oh my god! Where did you find it?” You looked at him, and he shrugged.

“It was outside my dance studio.” He zipped his bag back up, swinging it back. “I assumed someone just dropped it, so I picked it up.”

“Thank you so much!” You grinned, flipping through the pages and content to see it was all still there.

“No problem, I’m happy I found it’s owner.” He smiled, you still flipping through. “You’re talented, by the way.”

“Woah, wait. You looked at it?” You asked, suddenly nervous.

“A little bit. I had to see what it was, sorry.” He scratched his head. “It’s how I figured out where you were, actually.”

“How so?”

“All the dog pictures. I figured this would be a good place to start.”

“Oh…” You said, looking at the cages. “Yeah, there’s not much else to draw here.”

“That’s probably fair.” He laughed, looking around the clinic.

“So who can I thank for bringing my journal back?”

“Oh, I’m Chan.”

“Nice to meet you Chan, I’m Y/N.”

*Fairy Tale*

You shut your bedroom door, letting out a sigh. It was another long day of arguing with advisers and attempting to learn how to rule this kingdom. It was tiring work, but hopefully it would lead to some real change. You sat down on a bench, hearing the door to your balcony creak open a bit.

“You know,” You said, not looking towards the door. “We have doors for a reason.”

“Oh come on, what’s the fun in that?” You turned your head to see Chan leaning on the door frame, raising an eyebrow.

“How can I help you?” You asked, ready to go to sleep.

“Just wanted to visit an old friend.” He grinned, you giving him a small smile.

“Oh? I’m an old friend?” You teased, Chan shrugging.

“Of a sort.”

“Well okay, then why are you visiting me now?” You asked, and he again shrugged. He really needed to stop doing that.

“I was in your kingdom the other day.”

“You were?” He nodded his head, letting out a hum and walking to lean on your desk. “How was it?”

“Well, people are still hungry and poor.” He said, looking at you. “But, there’s improvement.”

“Really?” He again nodded his head.

“It’s slow, but it’s happening.” You leaned back in your chair, starting to finally feel relief. It was working. “You should be proud.”

“I should?” You looked at him. “There’s still so much to do and so much to change and fix and-”

“But you’re doing it.” He interrupted, a small grin on his face. “I’ve met a lot of royals in my lifetime, and the ones within corrupt kingdoms never seem to care about what happens to their people. You do.”

“I’m… Trying.” You said, this time a full grin coming to Chan’s face.

“Well if this is trying, I’m excited to see what full confidence is.” He laughed, turning to look over your balcony. “You’re going to do amazing things for this kingdom, princess.” Slowly, you stood up, walking over to stand next to Chan.

“Thank you, your highness.” You grin, suddenly having thought. “Tell me, how does a prince become a thief anyway?” Chan looked at you for a second, raising an eyebrow.

“When he sees wrong going on, and needs a way to fix it.”

“But you could have just donated money yourself and then you didn’t have to be all secretive.”

“Then the money would have gone to the corrupt kingdoms. This way the money comes from the corrupt kingdoms and still helps people.”

“I suppose you have a point…” You muttered, looking at your town.

“You know…” Chan started, looking in the same direction as you, “If you ever wanted some help or to run by ideas, I always have an ear to lend. Until next time princess.” He winked, starting to leave.

“Do I at least get a warning the next time you come?” Chan looked at you for a second, shrugging.

“Maybe.” He was about to leave, then stopped and turned to you. “Oh, wait, I did have a favor to ask.”

“Hm?” You looked at him, eyebrow’s furrowed.

“I need your help to find someone, and I have it on good authority that she lives in your kingdom.”

*Today*

“Well… I guess it’s time for me to go.” Chan said, waving a bit. “Keep an eye on that notebook, okay?”

“I will do my best. Thank you.” You grinned, tucking the notebook back in your bag. Chan gave one more wave as he exited the building, leaving you alone again. You sighed, looking around the room. You might as well make sure all the cages are clean.

As you stood up, you felt a warm breeze blow past you.

“What a weird delay that had…” You said, looking at the door. As you tilted your head, seeing it was still shut, you suddenly felt dizzy, collapsing on the ground.

Your eyes slowly opened, causing you to blink several times. This wasn’t your room. You didn’t even think this was your kingdom. You slowly stood up, questioning the clothing you were wearing.

“What…” You said, looking around some more. You walked to the door which appeared to lead outside, walking into what seemed to be a town. You took a couple steps, then tripped over something. Hitting the ground, you turned around to see what it was, eyes widening.

“Chan?” You said, crawling to him. He was still unconscious. “Chan?” You said, shaking him a little bit. Slowly his eyes opened, squinting a bit in the sunlight.

“What the… Where am I… Y/N?” He said, looking at you in confusion.

“Do you know what this place is?” You asked, looking around. Chan sat up, rubbing his head, looking around himself.

“I don’t… I’ve never been here… But it… Seems familiar…” He said, standing up, offering you a hand.

“Do you think-”

“Prince Chan?” You both turned, seeing two people.

“Seungkwan!” Chan said, running to him.

“What’s going on?” The girl with Seungkwan asked, Chan simply shaking his head.

“We don’t know.” Chan looked at the girl next to Seungkwan, turning back to him. “I take it this is who I was supposed to find?” Seungkwan looked at her for a second, a slight grin on his face momentarily.

“So if we’re here, and you’re here, does that mean others are here?” Seungkwan asked, and Chan shrugged.

“Not much more that we can do but try to find out.” Chan said, turning to you. “You ready?”

“Yes.” You said, nodding your head. “Let’s go.”

#seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen oneshot #seventeen series #seventeen x reader #lee chan #dino #dino au #chan au #dino fic #chan fic #dino fluff #chan fluff #dino oneshot #chan oneshot #dino x reader #chan x reader #fairy tale au

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everly-kindred · 5 years ago

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Eve’s Diary - Entry #43

Synopsis: The first week back at school has come and gone, and Eve collects her thoughts on strange dualities.

Words: 1,132

Date: 11th of January, 2027

Dear Diary,

A week seems both a long time and an incredibly short one, especially when so much has happened in only seven days. Time is such an odd thing to perceive. I don’t know if I’ll ever wrap my mind around it.

I rode the train back with Ruby, Marigold, Aures, Talula, Casey, and a few other students. We shared a car and had sweets. Ruby and I played this game where we both take turns adding to a drawing, and made this… frog thing with wings and a lantern hanging from his forehead, and wellies?

And then we got back to school and had dinner. It was such a tearing feeling of both returning home, and leaving home at the same time.

We didn’t actually have a feast with speeches and stuff until Sunday, when the Deputy Headmistress told us there had been some attacks. Apparently someone has been targeting animagi, and I honestly cannot fathom why. Who wouldn’t want to be able to turn into some sort of creature at will? I know I desperately want to, but that type of magic is far too advanced for a little firstie like me.

Anyways, she said a former student was amongst those attacked. I read an article about the attacks, and… Well, that Hufflepuff girl, Aisling Jones, was attacked at King’s Cross Station, at Platform 9 ¾. She’s been so kind to me, I wish I could visit her somehow… She is one of five people attacked now. Apparently, the villain wears full plate armor.

We had Defense Against the Dark Arts with Vikander. I sat in the front row with Aures, and this skeleton of a baby dragon came down. It started acting like it was going to chop Aures’ head clean off between its jaws, so I hit it with a book… And found out it was only being playful, so I felt really really really bad about hitting it. But, I didn’t want it to hurt Aures! I apologised, though, and the dragon doesn’t seem worse for wear. His name is Jeremy, apparently. What an… odd and rather boring name for such a fantastic creature, I’d say.

There was this Hufflepuff girl in the back who kept talking out and arguing with the professor, so she lost us points, which was a little annoying. Speaking of, I should probably practice more for quidditch, but it’s been snowing nonstop. I… Don’t want to let Nate and them down again, so I’m determined to get better.

We had a discussion about if dragons should be considered dark creatures. Some people said they think they should be, because they can harm humans, which I thought was silly. Dragons just try to survive like any other creature! Dementors and Boggarts and creatures like that take pleasure in suffering, but dragons… they’re just like really big, super duper dangerous animals. That are really intelligent and hoard treasure.

It ended up begging the question, though - are humans, witch, wizard, and muggle alike, the darkest creatures of all? We kill and cause harm and steal every single day, all over the world. Not even just in a criminal sense, but in a practical one, too. Slaying creatures for potions ingredients and such, for example. We use. But I like to think - I like to hope, anyways - that we give back what we take in some way or another.

Bobby and I had a little chat in the dungeons. He shared this gummy snake with me that hissed and tasted like raspberries. I found it a little bit easier to eat than chocolate frogs - I still can’t get over the way those things move, and the way in which you get them to stop moving.

It’ll be his birthday soon, so I told him we could make him a cake. He wants to make sticky toffee pudding, so sticky toffee pudding he shall have!

In artificer club, we started making wands! Bonnie had us carving out the shape from blocks of wood, and we have little cabinets where we can keep our things in. I started trying to carve my wand into looking a little like a berry branch, since that was the first idea to pop into my head. To look how I imagined my first wand might look.

In charms class with Crawford, she had us pair up to practice Flipendo. I managed to duck a Flipendo Talula had sent my way - she was my partner - but I couldn’t manage a single one against her. She said she felt a little push, but I don’t know if that was true or if she was saying that to cheer me up. Practice makes perfect, I suppose. I had tried to do alohomora to lift her sleeve and mess up her wand movements, but I didn’t have any luck there either.

Speaking of Tal, in divinations, her and that Slytherin girl Ruby is friends with - Octavia Dechants - got into some sort of row in front of the professor. They had a lot of not so nice things to say to each other, which made me a bit sad.

We had to practice something called oculomancy which is when you divine by gazing into someone’s eyes. Grey eyes like mine apparently mean I’m prudent, practical, and I have strong moral strength. I don’t know how accurate all the eye color correspondences are, if it’s like horoscopes or what, but… I suppose I can hope I do have strong moral strength. I don’t think I’m very practical, though, and I don’t know what it means to be prudent.

Caitlin had sat with me but we had run out of time before we could practice with each other, so I promised we could be partners next time. I like her, she’s always nice to me.

Today we had magical theory and sort of brushed up on the three elements of a spellcaster and wands and such. I love that Professor Reuter always has tea for us! This time I had jasmine with just a bit of honey. Anyways, I find his class especially fascinating as they require a lot of deep thinking but they’re still cosy and oddly very relaxing. It was a good class to end the week with, for sure.

Tonight is the full wolf moon. I hope that if there are any werewolves in the castle - and I know there’s at least one, Persephone Vitrac - they have an easy time tonight. I’ve been trying to read more about them so I can get a better understanding of them, and it seems like they suffer a lot.

Anyways, it’s late and I’m very sleepy. I think I’m going to get something to drink and go to bed, maybe read if I can’t sleep.

Much love, Everly

About the Character: Everlina Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page.

About the Author: My name is Katherine! I am a 21-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr!

#witch #hufflepuff #harry potter #diary #magic #hogwarts #journal #witchy #magical #secondlife #mischief managed

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creepyscritches · 6 years ago

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So, I think I’m ready to lay my cards on the table. Bad news that I’m turning good with as much strength that I can muster. This got a lot longer than I planned, so I’ve tucked it beneath a readmore.

Last month my new job ran out of enough sustainable work to justify continuing my recent hire and gave me the axe on the last day of my first 90 days. It really shook me up and hit me hard in my professional self esteem to say the least. On top of the panic of losing a steady income at a new job I loved, I also lost my healthcare that same day, which to someone with a progressive autoimmune disease...that’s scary. They didn’t plan this to happen and it was unfortunate all around and left me with glowing references to aid me in my job search. I still see them as a loving group of people, but things happen and life happens.

Aside the shock, I’ve been dealing with a lot of embarrassment and shame that logically I know is unfounded, but that’s just how you react to this kind of stuff sometimes. This is why I’ve been pushing my Ko-fi and the wonderfully kind help all of you have given me has really kept me in a good place emotionally and that’s honestly more valuable than any money sent to me. I have pretty constant self harm and suicidal thoughts that surface multiple times a day for the past 10 years and to actually feel a genuine flood of warmth is just...idk it’s something that always feels unattainable, so when someone gifts me with kindness it’s an out of body sense of gratitude and vitality. Honestly, thank you.

The day I got home after losing my job, I asked for a bunch of requests and being able to connect with all of you and have fun drawing really was a miracle in how calm and reassured I felt. I know a lot of you follow me because you enjoy my funny art and I want to attest that I love making things that you love. Seeing excited comments or tags on my art really warms my heart and I feel a drive to make people smile even when things are dark for me--making happiness for people is my deepest form of self care. I’m glad y’all are here and I’m glad I can make you smile or laugh with my silly sense of humor.

My response to emergencies is usually to become numb and efficient; to be cold, calculating, and logical in an endeavor to resolve issues and tie up loose ends. Usually in situations like this, I only have to maintain this for short bursts like an emergency call or acting as a shield while I extract someone from a toxic environment, but this is more long term and it’s possible to weather me down if I keep focused on just the giant problem of finding a job.

Because of this, I’ve forcibly stepped back and observed the entirety of my circumstances and found that this period of unemployment has given me a real opportunity to address things I’ve shoved to the side out of fear of dealing with them.

I got my mantra of “Be kind to yourself” tattooed over my left arm’s self harm scars in braille as a physical reminder to myself to treat myself like I am compelled to treat others. I’ve found myself running my fingers over the braille more and more recently and had some deep talks of encouragement with myself to take the first steps and observe what makes me better and to finally open up little by little and ask for help personally--to allow myself to be vulnerable. It’s not scary to be a shoulder for those who need it and to share my experiences with those who come to me for help with self harm, trauma, suicide, and abuse. It’s instinctual to be the warm safety these people need, but it’s personally terrifying for me to put myself in the role of the one asking for help.

I don’t think I’m a rare breed of person at all when it comes to being kind and offering guidance and dispelling fears of judgement, but this idea that when I finally come to someone that I’ll be judged, seen as lesser, and horrifyingly put in the same light I see myself in in someone I love’s eyes halts me in my tracks. It’s crippling mental illness, I know, but an illness is characterized by the fact that it can grip you against your will. Whether your kidneys fail or your legs slowly stop or your mind tells you you’re worthless, it’s out of your willpower’s control and that knowledge is exquisitely maddening and devastating. My fears are results of a diseased vital organ and that’s an immense weight to push past. I can only hope to crawl before I walk and aspire to eventually run, even with musings of how to kill myself later that day fogging up my vision.

I know art makes me happy. I know people smiling from my efforts makes me happy. I know crying with relief despite the walls blocking me from crying makes me happy. I know when people tell me they love me and miss me when I’m gone makes me happy. I want to know what else makes me happy; not just entertained or distracted, but truly warmly saturated with goodness.

Cooking for friends makes me glad I’m here and when my mom excitedly calls me just to hear my voice makes my emotions positively radiant. Having vacuumed carpets, freshly scrubbed bathrooms, and a spotless kitchen brings me joy, but I’ve learned a cluttered mayhem of art supplies and sketches at my work space makes me inspired and encouraged, so I accept some messiness is good for me while I need to remember that I feel great when I muscle through cleaning other aspects of my home. Hiding my shortcomings or misfortunes from people makes my gut feel full of sandpaper, but I’m teaching myself person by person that confiding in loved ones and being vulnerable truly only makes me feel weightless and that things are going to be okay.

I opened up to my mother about how frighteningly severe my mental illness is last week. She knows I’ve struggled with self harm for over a decade and that I have problems with taking leaps, but I’ve kept my scarier symptoms closely guarded from her my entire life. I finally told her that I can’t remember a day I haven’t thought about killing myself, even if I had been having a fun time. I told her that I can’t stop a constant barrage of thoughts that tell me I don’t need to be here, that I’m a waste, a failure, or that I’m just disgusting inside and out. I finally told her how helpless and scared I feel constantly and how I’ve been convinced I’m going to be my own cause of death since I was 10 or 11 years old. I’d never laid myself bare like that and I finally confessed that’s why my countless therapists haven’t been able to help since I couldn’t bring myself to admit the ugliest parts of myself and instinctively protected myself behind a shield of compensating and presenting as a successful determined prized student or career woman instead.

She treated me like I treat others who come to me with the same fears. It felt like a wall shattered and I could see the outside world for the first time. It felt like...I don’t know how to put it...like the world actually did include me in its count and it was faulty logic to think I’d always be the one left out of situations good or bad. She helped me look for some potential therapists and even offered to pay for my appointments, and she acted as a second opinion on possibly exploring the disability route for all this. But most importantly, she didn’t cry or panic like I’d always been afraid of making her do. She was the stability I need and held my hand through decisions and tasks and affirmed that my state is something unbelievably difficult. Idk, she just really made me feel strong when I feel so weak, you know?

I keep looking for things that make me feel happiness even in small amounts where it never was before. This week I discovered that hanging all my wall art makes me feel at home and glad to be awake to see it all. I spent about 30 minutes marveling over my mother’s incredible cross-stitch art that I’ve had in every home I’ve lived in since I was born. My favorite is an enormous jaguar against a black background, slinking from behind foliage, and looking piercingly to the distance behind the edges of the frame. I’ve loved it since I was little and I can’t believe I forgot how much warmth it gives me.

Looking around my home I always think about how much I love cacti, succulents especially, but have never bought any since I can’t keep plants alive to save my life. Sometimes the simplest answers are the last you think of: artificial plants. Even though I don’t have the money to do so now, I’ve been building wishlists of potted cacti, succulents, ivy, and flowers and mentally placing them around my home and I feel happy just imagining that I can have that environment eventually.

While mentally mapping out the plants, I realized I don’t ever hang my own art I love creating. In high school I used to make giant wall pieces but stopped when I moved out on my own, but now I think I’d like to feel the satisfaction of making a big piece and actually displaying it, even if it’s just for me to enjoy. There’s an exhilarating adrenaline rush to realize I can buy some canvases and create the big pieces of lounging felines and animals again and there’s nothing stopping me from spending a small amount of money on some canvas.

This whole time I’ve been looking for work, I’ve been mainly trying to be truly happy. I’m making little steps, but I feel amazing and full of life like those permanently thriving artificial cacti I’ve been fawning over. I’m going to be better, even if I stumble backwards, I’m going to always remember to put my foot back down and take another stride.

Times are rough, but I truthfully feel better than when they were good.

#creepy chatter #i'm trying to peel away all my bandaids and i'm feeling lighter with each one #this is okay to rb by the way--i'm not shy about this

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evangelineartemiasamos · 6 years ago

Text

Red Queen Secret Santa 2018 for Rhia @redqueenfandom <3

A/N: A modern AU, a sequel to the ones I wrote before. I wanted to place this in Paris at first, but then I thought I should rather write about a place where I’ve been to – although my memories aren’t that perfect^^° I’m sorry for eventual inaccuracies.

A New Place

Growing Up

The Dinner

Roman Holiday

The Wedding

FInd this on Wattpad and on AO3

Roman Holiday

Mare POV

It’s eleven in the evening when I can call it a day on christmas eve. I put away my apron and slip into my coat and scarf and step outside of the café and onto the streets of Rome, bright with lights, filled with people, bells sounding over me.

Astounding that I hardly need the coat, despite the time and season. But this is a warm place, making it even more of a magnet for tourists coming to flee the winter or to experience christmas surrounded by supposedly more holiness than at home, wherever it is.

I’m not sure whether I should call myself one of them. I’m still a foreigner like them, frequently overwhelmed by Rome’s grandeur and age and visiting its endless sights. But then again, I make my living by serving tourists currently.

Four months into my gap year, I’m spending the winter in Italy, working as a help or assistant in various institutions, first in the cheaper countryside, now in the capital. I was tempted to see the festive spectacle, to be honest, that I’m putting up the higher costs of coming here. Fortunately, my room is affordable enough, but nothing I’d like to stay in for longer than a few days for that price. I knew what I was getting into, I guess, so I’m here to make an experience of it.

Truly, it is one. The ancientness of the city, the marks of history and art everywhere, often pull at my suspension of disbelief until I can take it for real. The more I stay, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll normalize the marvels one moment, no longer able to take it all in as much as it deserves. But I don’t intend to stay that long. I’m here to travel and see the world, and my next stations are waiting. Because for all its greatness, Rome’s also tiring, exhausting me.

There’s a price for a year of travelling, and that is hard, ever-shifting, and often boring work. It isn’t difficult to find jobs when you’re a native English and Spanish speaker in places full of tourists. Interpreters are good to have and I’ve a talent for languages, so my Italian improves by the day. The café I currently work at seems to have mostly foreign customers talking English, but to encounter the barriers of languages, from one foreigner to another, leaves a strange impression. Words get jumbled and guesses have to be made all the time and I try to smile away the stress. I hope that eases the work as well as raise my tips.

Although I’ve understood the processes of applying and have some reserves at hand by now, a consequence of the gap year is a constant worry of having nothing when I wake up next. It can eat at you no matter what, having to rely on yourself alone this much, but then again, it’s also the freedom I’ve craved. Whatever I do, I achieve it by myself. I can be proud of that. Doesn’t that mean I can manage everything?

Yet, it also means that often, I’m terribly alone. To be here, I’ve left behind my home, my friends, and my family. Now I’m meeting strangers every day, of whom each might become a new friend if I gave them the chance. It’s hard, the enduring newness of people and everything else. I can’t open myself up to them all the time, re-introduce myself and every part of me, can’t bring up the energy to translate all of their conversations in my head to take part in them. Thus, I frequently fall into myself and rest alone at the end of a long day full of work.

Tonight is such a time, or could be. It’s still christmas, but the loud and lively shift has destroyed pretty much of my festive mood. This is nothing like my little girl christmases and their inherent childhood magic. This is noise and exhaustion and unfamiliarity. It’s a feeling pulling me off the ground and I’m not willing to give in to it.

The streets around me roar as I scout for a quieter spot where I can sit down. Not easy to find here, as many are already taken, or dirty, or prohibited so traffic isn’t disturbed. But finally, I find a free building block close to the Pantheon. I get down on it and take a deep breath of the night air, letting my body relax as good as possible.

It’s not far from St. Peter where the greatest crowd will celebrate and if I weren’t so tired, I might go there to watch them, to get my own image of it. Shade would be offended to hear about this, as he’s always keen on calling out the catholic church and the pope especially. But I’d welcome his rant if I saw him in person again, like the rest of my family. I miss them so much, and curse once more my decision to stay abroad during christmas. The loneliness is cruel on this day, and the only thing I can do is getting my phone out and looking over their pictures and messages again. I do so every day and send replies back, but I delayed this today, hoped not thinking about them and being unaware about what I’m missing would make my shift more tolerable. That didn’t really work out. I just had a bad day that went to waste while everyone else around me is having fun.

So now I can be lonely while watching my family celebrating christmas. Tramy sells christmas trees and presents the fairy tale-like winter wonderland of the garden center he works at. Bree is with his girlfriend, both grinning and likely slightly inebriated, when Kilorn crashes their photos. Shade, despite his atheist statements, put outfits on his baby daughter Clara that make her look like an elf of Santa Claus and he stands arms in arm with Clara and Diana under a mistletoe that hangs over their door. In another, Diana, seriously studying an important-looking book, wears a silly blinking cap on her head, and in a second photo she hugs Clara besottedly as if in ignorance of a photo being taken.

Mom and Dad are similarly in love with their first grandchild and have tons of pictures with her, of Dad keeping her from crawling into the Christmas tree, or of Bree holding her up to pull on a pinata.

Gisa shines in these photos, too. Even on casual days, her outfits leave me so awed and envious of her style full of details and perfection achieved by her own ideas and efforts. One time, she’s wearing a black dress, a ball dress I almost think, and she looks so gorgeous in it that I don’t know whether to adore her or to be scared of her.

I sniff and swipe tears from my eyes. When I look back to the screen, my contacts are shown. My fingers must’ve slipped and I scroll back to find my family again, as I still have to send greetings and wishes. It’s christmas after all, and since it’s still afternoon over there, it must the perfect time for messages. Maybe even a call. Yes, I should make a call. Yet I stop searching when I see another name on the list.

Cal.

His profile photo seems to smile at me, and I feel myself smiling back at him automatically. At the boy I dated a few times back in the States. The silly, rich, hot and kind Cal who’d muttered something about christmas in Italy back then. How decadent, I thought. And now I’m actually here. I can’t resist the temptation and text “hey” to him.

“Merry christmas!” he texts back. “My parents wanted to visit the holy night in Rome and now we’re watching from our hotel balcony. Can you believe?” Added is a photo of the crowd on St. Peter.

I can’t help grinning like an utter fool.

“Guess what …” I write to him.

I drop hints for him about where to find me, not really expecting him to show up. Why should he, when he’s with his family on christmas eve? And yet, between messaging my family and joking with Kilorn about food, I glance over my appearance in more than one mirror or window to make sure I have nothing in my face.

I’m right at replying to Kilorn’s snarks when I almost bounce into someone. I’m fast enough to get out of reach, but make myself ready to rant back if necessary.

Light falls on his face, and I, silly me, recognize him as Cal, who’s really come to meet with me in the middle of the holy night.

“Merry christmas again, Mare,” he says.

I hesitate. I tuck my hair behind my ears nervously and chew on my lip as I look for words and my composure. But when I see his face, beaming with excitement, I laugh out loud and he laughs along with me. I go to him and in a blink, I stand before him and give him a hug. A friendly one, like I’d hug everyone, yet I don’t let go, and neither does he. I pull him closer, my hands pressing into his back as I step on my toes to kiss his – stubby – cheek and whisper “merry christmas,” into his ear.

He returns the kiss on the cheek.

And then he kisses me on the mouth.

It’s a surprise for both of us, but we don’t stop. Does it mean anything? Or is it just fun? He might be drunk although I’m not, only tired and in need of warmth and a familiar human body close to me.

We pull apart to draw breaths and don’t know what to do afterwards. We grin and laugh again. “We can ... walk a little?” he prompts and I agree and take his hand. With him at my side, I don’t feel so tired and lost. We’re two people enjoying christmas together in a beautiful city, and that changes everything.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” I say.

“Same here,” he replies. “Well, you said something about being in Italy during winter, and when my parents talked about travelling on Christmas, I put in an option or two …” He shrugs.

I elbow him softly. “Stalker,” I jest.

“Hey! It was still a surprise,” he objects and smirks. “And you called me.”

That’s true, but I’m unsure whether to tell him how needy I felt an hour before. It’s good as it is, should I dive deeper? We’re strolling through this ancient quarter, two people who might be in love during a lush night, like millions of other people must’ve done before. It doesn’t make me feel small, but incredibly connected and right where I belong tonight. Cal especially seems to fit in here perfectly. With his handsome face, the contrast of light skin and dark hair illuminated by the moonlight, he could be a mystical apparition rising from the ruins.

Oh god, I can never tell him that. He’d never shut up about it, and the idea is way to pagan for this night. Shade would be proud.

“What?” Cal nudges me and I shake my head a little too long just to win time. He frowns.

“You’re her with your family?” I ask eventually. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“I …” Bingo. “Ugh, right, that must sound ridiculous to you.” He’s completely flustered and it’s very endearing. “You’re here on your own,” he continues, “and I came here on a family trip like a big baby.”

I incline my head, the corner of my mouth twitching. He doesn’t offer me a chance to reply though.

“However, it does mean something to me.” His hand squeezes mine, possibly inadvertently, as his voice gains a serious edge. “My parents often went on trips with me, of course. But this is the first my half-brother is with us.”

I stand still.

“Mare?” Cal asks. I don’t react. “Mare, your mouth’s open till the Alps,” he says.

A shiver washes over me and I look up to him. His confused face likely mirrors mine. “Mare, didn’t I tell you about my brother? Who’s lived with his mother?”

I nod gravely.

“You see, as I’ve told you, we met at the same college. And somehow, we got along surprisingly well. I was so glad, you know? I think Maven is, too.”

“That’s great.” I smile faintly.

“Indeed, so after a few months, we decided to go on vacation together, as a family. And Maven loves Rome.”

I can easily imagine him, standing in a museum or on the capitol hill among paintings and statues and looking like a mischievous fallen angel himself. “Oh, absolutely,” I say aloud. Only that that deeply puzzles Cal, because he doesn’t know that I know Maven personally, that we were friends and a couple for years. I’ve only learned by accident that he’s Cal’s half-brother.

Now I have no idea how to tell Cal this so late. Seems like Maven didn’t tell him either. I wonder if he figured out who Cal is meeting tonight.

Cal still isn’t enlightened and I take both of his hands and know I have to confess. I look into his beautiful eyes, golden like fire, like light. “I’ve been friends with Maven for a long time,” I say. More than friends. “Until last year.”

If I leave it at this, I’ll never be able to finish. So I go on. “We were together for a while,” I say quietly, and speaking feels like lifting a ton. “As a couple.”

Cal gasps for words. I Iay a finger on his lips. “But that’s over. I’m just glad, really happy, that he is doing well and getting along with you.”

Relief washes over Cal and I’m sure he’ll have to digest this for some time. His hands wriggle in mine, loosen, and wander over my arms to my shoulders. He rubs them and I don’t want him to stop and he doesn’t, as he’s still at loss for words.

I stretch to give him a light kiss. He chuckles. “And I thought about asking you to come with me tonight …”

“Oh, how scandalous.” I tease back, hands on my hips.

“Yes, it’d be awkward for several reasons.”

I shake my head. “Not tonight, “I say with a sigh, a promise ringing in my voice.

He catches the note and smiles. His palms remain a caressing, welcome presence on my back, and I take the final step to embrace him. He pulls me even closer, bending down to my ear. “I’d say I’m looking forward for another time, Mare,” he mumbles, turning my name into a tender touch. “But whenever I let go of you and say ‘goodbye for now’, you vanish in a flash, fast as lightning.”

“I – ”

He kisses the top of my head. “I want to meet you again. I want to get to know you – for real.”

His eyes burn with intensity, his arms feel like a home. So under an infinite black sky, bells tolling around us in a city of legends, I whisper a time and place into his ear. “I’ll be there, I promise.” My hand rests on his cheek. “It’s my christmas present to you.”

@merrymareshmallow @clarafarleybarrow @inopinion @lilyharvord @elliemarchetti (gosh I just hope I did get Italy mostly right) @eurydicel @sarcasm-and-procrastination @marecalrandomstuff @calmareforever @choosemarecal

#red queen secret santa 2018 #red queen #marecal #cal calore #maven calore #mare barrow #red queen fan fiction #victoria aveyard #rq ss 2018 #red queen secret santa #roman holiday #rq modern au #christmas fic

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