#been meaning to make over some older ocs so here is round one! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

frostycatblr-fandom-files · 9 months ago

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Poets and Painters (Golden Dawn Part 1) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss. Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet. **The referenced 302nd Legion is an OC unit, led by my genderfluid Jedi OC named Caelen [they/them used for clarity].**

Word-count: 7,650

“I am Plo Koon.” The Kel Dor Jedi introduces himself carefully, speaking in slow and unhurried timbres to ensure no one will mishear him. “What is your name, little one?” She does not divulge her name, instead she takes Plo’s hand. She might be no older than five, maybe six. She's slightly taller than anticipated next to the Jedi as he kneels in the soft grass, nearly eye-to-eye with him.

Screwing up her little, rounded features in an expression of utmost concentration, she takes his hand between her own, a little firmer now, to scrutinize. A quiet minute elapses as she examines the Force-user’s hand, the nail-cap, and the arm-guards he wears. The thick glaze of twilight, the lack of the moon’s light, does not appear to make her inspection difficult in any sense. Unfortunately, you and most of the battalion miss most of the delicate beauty in the micro-expressions the Kel Dor will see.

When she speaks, it's a soft, awed voice. “Wow. You're a different kind of star person!” comes out in a peal of giggles. “So are they!” she adds, pointing to you and the commander next, then many of the men in formation behind you.

Dozens of voices parrot ‘star person’ with a great deal of confusion and speculation behind their general, behind you and Commander Wolffe as you stand so close together.

The backs of your hands are close enough to touch, knuckles nearly grazing with the other’s.

Someone hisses a sharp reminder for quiet! as the rumbling wave of voices begins to grow in volume - no doubt either of Wolffe’s sergeants. The 104th falls silent, tongues loosened in nervousness reigned in at once. Everyone still must tread carefully right now. Peace can still be so easily broken if offenses have been spoken, and disrespect has been shown.

Your tentative situation here cannot allow for that.

“That's right, little one, we are different…” General Plo chuckles in agreement up to that point. “But I am afraid we don't know what you mean by star people.”

The Chossi elder, same as before with the bent back, offers slight clarification to diffuse the confusion. “Young Mir means we are made of what stars are.” While the girl, Mir, is called back to who must have guardianship of her, Tack bravely steps forward with his datapad in his hands, seeking permission from the Jedi to offer his insight.

“Um, General, if I may?”

Permitted to speak his thoughts with a promising nod by the Wolf Leader, Tack takes a great deal of care in his words, projecting his voice to be heard by all. “The Chossi might mean we are all ‘star people’ in a very poetic sense, but, scientifically, they are right. They are star people. So are we, given that we’re also carbon based lifeforms. Stars are made of hydrogen, helium, and traces of all other known elements including carbon, to, ah… really simplify everything…” The initial confidence and bravado peters out near the end with a particular look crossing over his face, seconds before a hard swallow.

Shit. Feel like I spoke too much, it reads to you.

He likely wants to slink back to the line-up, and just keep his mouth shut for a while. Another Chossi elder, a kindly-looking woman with smile lines this time, her hair laid in many braids over the right shoulder, bids him to wait. “We are just the universe trying to make sense of itself, aren’t we, young…?” She speaks so kindly to him that it halts him in his steps. He’s been asked for his name; it would be rude to refuse to answer. Tack swallows again, less hard than before.

“Tack. My friends and brothers call me Tack.” the researcher answers.

She smiles, and there’s such a radiance to it, such a profound sense of kindness found within. It puts Tack a little more at ease than before.

“Then we shall too.” Her name is Solladara, you learn; but as she admits, the name is a bit of a mouthful, and all are welcomed to call her Dara, or whatever is easiest. Adding as an aside, she asks that you’ll have to forgive any communication blunders. “Your language is not quite alike our own. Similar, yes, but… the structure. It can be difficult to grasp for some of us, born long ago.” Dara says with a mild laugh. (Amusingly, there’s a sympathetic murmur of agreement from Plo Koon. Either through rumor or an instance of accidental eavesdropping, you’ve heard that he’s three-hundred-eighty-something years old, but you aren’t certain if that’s in any way the truth.)

In any sense, it comes as further relief to you, when murmuring from the corner of his mouth Commander Wolffe says “Truly so much for your sketches.” with the slyest of smiles.

“And so much for some of your… preparations, I’m guessing?” you return with a smile just as small, just as sly. You still haven’t the slightest idea what any of those preparations are, nor why Plo Koon had been so cryptic in his delivery. You don’t really know that you want to know the probabilities they prepared for. Falling under attack is a prudent assumption, but beyond that… Had they begun to prepare themselves for death? For the loss of someone in the chain of command, if things went askew?

Had Wolffe been preparing himself for some small chance he may die, accompanying and defending his general? He had certainly shown no hesitation when he had thrown himself on top of you because of the blow darts fired from the treeline; gentle flesh and noble plastoid serving as a shield. There are no doubts he would not do the same - and more - for the one who raised a blue kyber-blade to defend him and the surviving remnant of the 104th over the planet of Abregado.

Commander Wolffe does not verbalize anything, but he confirms your suspicions with a slight dip of his chin. The way he grits his teeth, sets his jaw, there’s some comment he likely does not feel it is the appropriate time to say.

“... maybe we should thank the Maker for that too, then.” you offer with a skyward glance, fixing an errant strand of hair back in place. “And the Force, to play it safe.”

The smile he offers is ephemeral, snuffed out by distraction.

There is an invitation issued by the Chossi elders posed to General Plo - extending to the whole of the company - to return with them and their people through the forest to their settlement. There, things will be discussed and questions will find answers. Ritual and practice to partake in and show you, they say.

When it’s decided the Jedi will go, and the Wolfpack shall follow, you know you’ll need to - want to - stick close to the Commander after everyone has ensured belongings are gathered; like his helmet, still laying in the grass where it has been dropped on the hill.

You may be ‘just Arcadia’, but without regard for how the whole of his battalion would see him in that climactic moment, Commander Wolffe had been prepared to jeopardize his own safety to ensure your own when the image of the moon had been swallowed in cloudcover… He had forgone the most important part of his armor for you to increase the odds of reaching you before any harm came upon you.

Stooping, you pluck the helmet from the lush bed of grass it had fallen in. Relief floods your lungs to find the visor uncracked when he admits he may have thrown the damn thing rather than dropping it when you go to collect it together. “No, it looks okay.” you assure him, surrendering the sunbonnet into his hands. “Maybe it’s just the internal HUD to be worried about now. Here you go.”

This next grin, full of cautious relief and gratitude, feels sweeter than any million-credit smile as he situates his bucket against his hip. “Thank you, Arcadia. Not to worry; I can work with a bad HUD.” They have training for that, both official and unofficial, he explains. These little insights into the long-rooted tactics of the GAR have been a great fascination, today.

And though you yearn to learn and understand more, you will not push for it.

What you’ve been invited to see is a privilege, you know that.

So little is their own. Their blasters, their names, their breath. And a budding, secretive culture. Several troopers appear to be speaking in a kind of code as you and the commander make your return to the awaiting group, the tail end of some conversation being something that makes Wolffe’s lip curl with disapproval.

It’s Waves from earlier - even in the low lighting conditions, you can plainly make out the extra length of his curly hair he draws his namesake from - who gets the brunt of Wolffe’s questioning. “Care to repeat that, private? Who’d you hear that from?” The commander’s voice is less of a disgusted snarl than you might’ve assumed from him, if what Waves said had really been so offensive.

“I-I heard it from Orchid, sir…?” is explanation enough, for the time being; the commander only sighing before taking this young soldier by the shoulder to offer him a word of advice.

“Don’t repeat everything you learn from him, without looking it up first, you understand?”

With the nod of an embarrassed man, the private apologizes. “Y-yes sir. Sorry, sir.” Waves’ bottom lip is set in a pout before he resets his helmet.

Waiting until you’ve gotten a little further ahead while tailing Wolffe to ask what had happened, you press only once for what had been said. “Another of Orchid’s sexual innuendos?” Maker alive, his wealth of knowledge… Someone paid a little too much attention to the health and body lessons. Though… maybe the medics are grateful for that. Wolffe doesn’t provide you with any answers, only amused chuckles for your trail of thought.

“It didn't sound like Basic, either,” you note in a whisper, “was it something in Kel Dor?”

This the Commander answers. “No. Not Basic or Kel Dor.”

“Strange…” You decide to let it go, figuring that now wouldn't be the best time to dig for details with the whole of the battalion following after Plo Koon and Commander Wolffe, where you have been invited to walk side-by-side. He lets another moment elapse in silence before he realizes you aren't prodding.

The brow cloven in two by the stripe of scar tissue lifts rather subtly. You're not going to ask? All you offer is a minute shake of your head. With the company of Clones, the Jedi just in earshot, you certainly wouldn’t. Not now, anyways. Not when the Chossi elders kindly lead you back to their settlement.

The adolescents, on the other hand, are not quite so warm; but at least they are civil, and warn you of dangers in the dark. “Root here. Take care not to trip.” one particularly brusque Chossi announces, thumping the end of a bo staff thrice on the aforementioned root to make his point. “One bad step, you’ll be hobbling in the dark.”

You thank him, and take a little extra care in your footing going forward. Would be bad to twist your ankle all the way out here, so far from the gunships at this point, for a number of reasons. Not only would it suck to get injured in the first place, it’d put a damper on making the most of this invitation for everyone; with an injured civilian, the opportunity would have to be cut short. They’d likely determine they need to go back, take you to the LAATs and some poor sap besides Clone pilot Warthog gets saddled with escorting you back to the Triumphant… The typical duties of their performance as a relief and recovery unit.

And, dutiful man he is, it’d likely be Commander Wolffe doing it of his own volition, silently adding to an ever-growing pile of stressors on a day it was hoped he could relax, before General Plo even had to ask.

After all, you think, the kind of look Sergeant Sinker was leveled with when he (in a well-meant fashion) offered to give you a lift since you were struggling to see well in the dark from the flint-gray commander had to mean something other than just back off.

There were a lot of curious murmurs as Wolffe took you by the hand; to better lead you through the forest, you assume.

There is a subtle shift in the clouds covering the face of the moon by the time the one-oh-fourth makes it to the Chossi settlement, a sweetened change in the wind so deep in the forest. It’ll be hard to go back to the oxygen-recyclers installed aboard the flagship and not feel suffocated by comparison after this. There’s a whispered word of concern somewhere in the sea of Kamino’s sons for General Plo that you catch somewhere behind you, a note of anxiety about the anti-ox mask’s capabilities to properly filter everything as it should. The brothers around the worrier tell him he won’t need to be concerned, the Jedi will be fine.

You think it’s sweet of the soldier to be so mindful of the differences in physiology.

At the invitation of the general and commander, you’ve been invited to sit among those making up the forefront of who stands across the large gathering-fire from the Chossi peoples, those who will be watched closest.

“Unless, you’re not comfortable with that.” Wolffe offers you the opportunity to melt into the shadows while everyone is moving themselves in position, a soulful expression of understanding and sympathy. You’re not required to do anything here, like him. You do not have the same levels of expectation to perform any particular way, like him. When you kept sticking your foot in your mouth by continuing to address the native peoples of Little Archossi, it was out of panic and the ingrained norms of larger society to introduce yourself to people unknown to you.

“You have a choice, here, Arcadia.” Wolffe reminds you, doing a near-perfect job of masking his envy. Commander Wolffe is not afforded many of these same choices… The leash around his throat binds him to his responsibilities. (You suspect it would take more than simply freeing him of the lead held in the hands of the Grand Republic’s army, too.)

Under the scrutiny of his eyes, the cybernetic making notable, periodic adjustments as the Chossi stokes the gathering-fire so it burns brighter, you deliver your verdict.

“I stayed on Little Archossi because I wanted to be here when General Plo made contact with the people of Little Archossi… The choice to go to the settlement was kind of made for me, but I… I think I will stay.”

He had been hoping you would say that, as evidenced by the subtle release in his tensing brow, and the freer nature of his next inhale in such close proximity. You can hear the unspoken question when the scarred brow lifts, just long enough, and just for politeness sake.

Are you sure?

And the truth is, if you told him, you aren’t. (You’re still a bit of an absolute nervous mess after provoking the Chossi warning, even though nothing negative came of it in the end.) But it’s knowing how unfair it feels to you that he does not have a true choice in this matter that makes you agree to stay by him and the Jedi. It’s knowing you would not like being ditched were you in his boots that keeps you rooted to his side.

If you thought of him as a new friend, shouldn’t you damn well act like it?

You will stay. And you do your best to ignore the curious looks it earns you from most of the battalion; their dark eyes as unfathomable as the ocean burning through your uniform with every possible thought under the blanketing of stars in the galaxy. Wolffe’s men and brothers will have their attention drawn from you soon enough, you know, aside from perhaps a few.

There’s a soft clearing of the throat behind you and to your left, vying for a chance to speak before things begin. “Commander? Hey, Commander!” Soapsuds calls in a muted whisper, just an arms reach behind you. Wolffe doesn’t turn at the waist to look, not with the bright eyes of the adolescents of the settlement held fast to him and General Plo most of all, but he still does acknowledge his brother.

“Yes, Suds?”

“I’m sorry about the flare gun, Commander. I panicked.”

Wolffe offers a near imperceptible nod to show he’s heard his soldier, eyes trained on an elder’s hands as they repeatedly lift and lower things in and out of the reach of flame. The silver-haired sergeant theorizes to the Kel Dor in a low whisper that what they’re putting in and warming are some kinds of crude vessels for drinks, but he can’t get a great look. Boost is ready to whisper something back to Soapsuds to cover for Wolffe’s silence, maybe some soothing sentiment that he’d have done the same too (because it would make only too much sense that of the four survivors of Abregado, the brothers would be fiercely protective of those other two kin) when the commander gives a curt, but emotional reply.

“I panicked too…”

That’s all he can afford to say before Dara and the man with the bent back - who she’s just called brother, his name Row - signal for things to start, a collective hush falling over this new clearing like a favorite blanket. There are giddy, excited giggles from the little ones on the Chossi side of the fire that’s proving helpful for keeping the atmosphere from growing too tense for everyone seated around this symbolic gathering place. Dara and Row wait patiently for the children to settle down, again, turning a blind eye out of kindness to some of the responsibility falling on the Kel Dor’s shoulders for being more than a little distracting. Drawing from a well of infinite kindness and compassion for all, Plo Koon has made sure no child’s greeting has gone unanswered, no matter how brief, or shy it had been.

It’s remarkably easy to forget for the moment he’s one of the sage members of the Jedi Council when you have the opportunities to witness how he interacts with children, with his men. Today he’s been so… different. Different in a way that’s difficult to articulate. You wonder for a moment when a little Chossi child curiously toddles around the fire and determinedly plops himself in the Dorin-born Jedi’s lap, if this has ever happened at the Jedi Temple, seeing the effortless nature in how he helps the child into a more comfortable position. The child looks as content as can be, happily tucking tiny fingers around a singular digit of Plo Koon’s right hand. The Kel Dor’s expression softens, something fond and amused all at once.

“Friends and strangers,” Row begins in a captivating tone, “before we invite you into our settlement, our home and heartlands, we have gathered you here not only to answer the questions of the one who calls himself Plo Koon, but to offer you promises of peace.” There is a shaky gesture from Row, asking for someone with steadier hands to assist in this next part. “Traditionally, this means a drink is offered to the visitors.” Row elaborates as a clay cup is extracted from the edge of the fire. “But, since there are so many of you, it will suffice to have only one accomplish this: partake by proxy.”

Courageously, a Clone you believe to be named Kwill - a sort of ‘cultural communications expert’ or something if you recall - steps forward and takes the offered cup in the outstretched hands of Solladara’s brother. “Thank you, I'll take this to my Commander.” The Chossi elders find this acceptable and allow for the earthenware cup to be taken with a small word of guidance.

“Sip only.” Row and Dara advise with sage nods, their copper jewelry swaying in the firelight.

Commander Wolffe hesitates to take the cup from his soldier, a clear look of why me? etched in every feature. The resulting conversation is hissed, and urgent.

“What is this, Kwill?”

“Symbolic offer of peace, Commander. General can't drink it with the anti-ox mask. Has to be you, sir.”

He already knew that much, star’s sakes, he was hoping Kwill could tell what this drink was. He resists the urge to roll his eyes, no matter how subtly he believes he could pull it off. Wolffe understands he needs to show the utmost respectful behavior possible, or risk sparking offense and discourse.

He wouldn’t dream of disappointing General Plo like that.

“Kark. Smells something awful.” the complaint comes under his breath, nose creasing with the first whiff of the pungent contents.

Sitting next to Commander Wolffe, it smells like someone ripped up a handful of grass - mud and roots included - and threw it into a bucket of seawater, and then dumped everything into a blender before turning it on for two seconds. You can't fault him for complaining, and only feel admiration when he grits his teeth and follows the siblings’ instructions.

Sip only. A full mouthful, and you wouldn't be surprised to find anyone immediately retching afterwards. It’s a long, tense moment after the very deliberate swallow Wolffe makes where he tries to find his voice.

“... thank you, for the offering.” the flint-gray Commander chokes out with some minor prompting from Kwill. “Very, um, gracious.”

Without a word, the Jedi takes the remaining drink and opts to hold the cup in his free hand for the remainder of the proceedings. Politely, Plo Koon addresses his own thanks not just to siblings Dara and Row, but to everyone sitting on the Chossi side. “As already said by my commander, we thank you for your gracious offering and the invitation that was kindly extended to all of my men, whether they be soldier or crew.” Here, he also takes the opportunity to make apologies and further elaborate on why the battalion is on Little Archossi. “I sense there is still much distrust and suspicion, regarding our presence here. We had never meant to cause any alarm when it was decided to visit your planet.”

“And why did you?” comes the curious question from a third elder, the patina of her copper jewelry not quite so deep like Row or Dara’s. “What brought you to our planet, perhaps so far from your own homes to the heart of our clan?”

It’s a very good question. One the 104th has been trying to needle out of the Jedi from the start, and now, he finally provides the full truth.

“I had hoped this day would prove relaxing for my soldiers and crew, a minor change of pace from our typical day to day. But I felt called to this sector of space, and came to investigate.” Drawn by the Force, he explains, after peculiar dreams. Visions filled by verdant seas of swaying trees, specklings of the color blue, and other things that had been obscured by a cloud, for the moment. But here, in the heart of their settlement, he feels a familiar presence. “The Force feels strong here, perhaps amplified by crystals I have noticed many of the children wearing.”

The cup is set aside so he can comfortably hoist the clan-child higher, and Plo Koon draws attention to the small bangle of copper that encircles the wrist, inlaid with a semi-milky white stone.

“Kyber, is it not?”

Tack looks like he's itching to get a closer look from where you sit, hearing that the general suspects it's kyber. Later it'd be explained to you that the heart of a ‘saber is something Tack has wanted to see for a long, long time now, but it's a desire he's kept pretty secretive.

“You're familiar with kyber?”

Plo Koon bobs his head in response to the question, carefully settling the child back into his lap. “Kyber is what powers a Jedi's weapon, after they are of age, and have completed the Gathering.”

The word Jedi sends murmurs of recognition from many of the older Chossi inhabitants, and a few children. Conspiratorial whispers are sown into the wind as Row and Dara confer with other community figureheads. Haven't they heard that word before? Isn't that what one young family believed their child to be? You steal a furtive glance at the child’s bangle, the cloudy stone, and ponder quietly. If you can commit enough of the detail to memory, you imagine you could capture the likeness in graphite and ink some other day.

Discreetly as you’re able, you slip the sketchbook from your belongings and scribble down a couple of notes on the very last page by the amber glow of the fire. The breathy skritch! of the ink stylus is noticed by Wolffe, catching his attention like it had this morning. It does not take him long to decipher the Aurebesh scratchings, a lip curling with masked amusement. Maybe curiosity.

“‘Like a piece of a star’, hm? Are you sure you’re not a poet, too?”

“Shh…” you warn him, casting a nervous glance over to the opposite side of the fire. “Trying to be discreet.”

Worrying you’ll be noticed is needless; the Chossi are more focused on sussing out other matters with Plo Koon, asking him if he knows of a child who was taken to Coruscant many years ago now. He is given a name and a general description of their young clan member to discern for a moment. It takes him a small measure of silence to work out the perplexities. “I recognize the name, but if I recall, this individual does not claim it as their own any longer. Jedi Knight Caelen is the only one who fits the rest of the description. I must admit, I was unaware they hailed from Little Archossi.” As a further kindness, General Plo promises that this Caelen who leads the 302nd Legion of the GAR is in good health, and if it would be of interest to the clanspeople, some sentiment from Caelen’s homeworld can be passed along to them in due time.

Force-sensitive children may be taken from their homeworlds and raised on Coruscant, but they do not have to sacrifice their cultures and customs.

And sensing this will take some time to complete, Plo Koon suggests he confer with the elders without holding a large audience for it for the remainder of the night. Though obedient, patient men, the General does not want to keep the Clones from exploring, or perhaps making connections with the inhabitants that have invited them to the heart of the forest, where the star-people call home.

“Yes, a wonderful idea,” Dara agrees, her smile-lines deepening, “perhaps… some of the children would be interested in helping our guests explore in the moonlight?” Indeed, the cloud-cover previously obscuring the silver glow of the moon has nearly and completely dispersed; the night vision would not be necessary to any who stray beyond the reach of the gathering fire, now that people are free to stay and listen to the discussion, or go and explore.

The little ones don’t need a second suggestion before they’re breaking away from their side; more muddling of the boundary between stranger and friend without reservations. Clones find themselves climbing to their feet, following after their beckoning, tiny tour guides, leaving their helmets where they’ve sat.

You’re considering staying and listening to the discussion, then going and having a look around the settlement afterwards. But Sergeant Boost has another idea for you, and Commander Wolffe, when Wolffe says he’ll join you in exploring later, assuming that’s what you’ll be doing, telling Boost he’s free to go, too.

“Heh, I don’t think so, Commander,” Boost replies with a defiant smile and cheek in his tone, “I’ll stay and listen for a while. Have fun exploring with Arcadia.” He won’t budge, either. He tunes out Wolffe’s insistence to get up, maybe keep an eye on Orchid, much to the frustration of the flint-gray commander. Not even trying to bring the General into it works; the Jedi offers that since Commander Wolffe took the symbolic cup, he agrees with Boost that Wolffe should have a brief reprieve. And you should too, Plo Koon adds.

Sithspit, guess you’re kind of forced to go exploring, now...

Wolffe has been quiet and partly withdrawn for the past five minutes; save for the muted crunch of gravel and twig under his feet, he is little more than a silent ghost beside you, sometimes behind you, as you move through the settlement. You don’t - can’t - blame him. But you just want to make sure he’s okay, seeing his face set in something of a moue.

“Hey… Wolffe?” You pause under one of the trees in order to talk to him, somewhere out of the way, off the path. “If you want to go back and listen, you can. You don’t have to follow after me. I’ll be okay.” The attempt to be assuring and dispel his concerns feels a bit lame once you’ve said it, but the brevity should do you more favors in the long run. “I can find Soapsuds, Orchid and Tack, stay near them, if-”

“That’s not the problem.” Commander Wolffe cuts in, wasting no time. “It’s what was said at the gathering fire. General Plo brought everyone here for more than one reason, just as I thought.” The tone is… difficult to discern here. With such a heavy thought weighing on his mind, the mild and bitter tang of anger in his voice is expected, but there’s distress here too. An undercurrent of vindication. A gossamer-thin disturbance in the utmost trust in his general.

“You must be upset with him.” you postulate, to which Wolffe is quick to shake his head no. “Hey, it’s okay if you are. I’m not about to go off and tattle like a fucking child if you admit to being upset, or angry, or even feeling betrayed that General Plo didn’t tell you - his damn second in command - what it is we came here for. You’re human, for star’s sake, you’re allowed to be angry. I almost want to be for you!”

You’re regarded quietly, thoughtfully, by the Clone commander following the increasingly emotional admission that you feel frustration for him in this situation. Full lips remain pursed together until the fire in your tongue has calmed and quieted itself, his ever-observant eyes half-lidded once he finally speaks.

“General Plo must have had his reasons, Arcadia…”

“You don’t sound certain of that.”

With a slackening in his shoulders, it speaks more truth than any singular agreeable word could. A heart’s beat of silence fills the space between you and him before he allows himself the short confession.

“It’s a hope, for the time being.”

Until the 104th makes it to the durasteel halls of the cruiser, Wolffe will not have the opportunity to confirm any of these suspicions. Before he can have a discussion at-length with the Kel Dor Jedi about what’s transpired here today, he intends to keep his comments to himself. Plo Koon will take the commander to his personal quarters to have the conversation uninterrupted, most likely; a small but meaningful act of compassion and respect for the concerns of a war-scarred soldier. His second in command.

Yes, maybe you were right. Maybe the General should have told him.

For now, he reminds himself that he’s here, and this is where his focus needs to be. With his brothers. With you.

On you.

“That’s… fair.” you decide in a quiet voice, dodging the potential for eye-contact with a wayward glance into the Chossi settlement.

Many tall huts populate this area, each built around large, mature trees. You see the similarities to Comet’s sketch from before the late afternoon of the decaying house, where moss had grown over every shingle in a blanket of life, and the roof had begun to sag under the green weight of it all in the absence of the key-holder. (Where had the homeowner gone, to never return and leave the wilds to reclaim the structure?) These stand as humble testaments to wood-working prowess, and a great respect for the trees themselves, too. Care has been taken in building around low-hanging branches, rather than lopping them off, in some of these Little Archossian homes.

Curiously, hanging off the eaves of each hut, you notice windchimes made of kyber and copper.

Are these abundant resources on Little Archossi?

“Look,” you say, directing his line of sight to one set of chimes slowly spinning in a gentle breeze, “that’s got a lot of kyber in it… Do you think those had anything to do with the strange flutter General Plo felt when he approached the settlement?”

“... twenty-seven pieces.” Wolffe counts.

“On that one chime?”

“On all of them.” comes the awed answer.

The number must have some significance to the people here, likely either cultural, religious, or rooted in superstition. Tiny little clues to a rich, inner life glimmer and glitter in the moon’s cold glow, throwing subtle fractals of light all around you. Twisting and turning to take it all in, the commander’s DeeCee tucked into the belt of your uniform begins to work itself loose and threatens to drop. You’d grown so used to the weight of it in such a short time, you’d nearly forgotten it was there. With care, you resettle Wolffe’s weapon, assuming he’d prefer you kept it on your person for some peace of mind. For both of you.

Traditional weaponry cannot be underestimated, but you have no reason to believe the people of Little Archossi are of any threat to you and the soldiers of the Republic. (If anything, your concerns are turned to wildlife.) Several soldiers walk by, children of the settlement perched on their shoulders grinning bigger than nexus. Soapsuds is one such soldier, carrying one child on his back with a second and third clinging to his legs, all three of them giggling in delight with every careful step.

“Oh, Arcadia! Commander Wolffe! Didn’t think I’d see you there.” The child on his back gives you a polite wave, which you return with laughter of your own.

“Aww, making friends, Suds?” you tease.

“I guess so! I lost track of Orchid and Tack - been trying to look for them.”

“And your six new eyes are helping you look?” the commander muses, the sarcastic question bringing a brief smile out of him. Suds only offers a sheepish grin, his shrug softly bouncing the child perched on his shoulders. He can’t be sure. Plus the little ones would probably have trouble determining the differences that marks each man apart from his brothers.

It certainly proves difficult, but not impossible.

Through broken Basic, intermingled with the native language, you and Commander Wolffe are able to navigate the settlement in search of the soldiers you’ve made better friendships with today. The children prove less of a hindrance to Suds’ movements than you would have expected, as well; he’s able to keep up with Wolffe’s brisk pace, probably to the latter's growing annoyance. What had been giggles before is now full-blown laughter from each of these boys, who are holding on surprisingly well. They must be strong like the Clones, or just possess particularly firm grips.

Even in the mingled moonlight, Commander Wolffe sees many Chossi children comfortably perching themselves in the branches of the trees with his soldiers. Some pairs have found themselves in rather lofty boughs, even, but his brothers hardly seem phased. More concerned about these children falling out than themselves.

“That would make me too nervous, I think…” you admit after seeing Comet climb into one of these trees with a woven bag full of soft fruits slung over one shoulder. You understand the soldiers of the GAR possess rather well-muscled physiques, capable of great strength and stamina that make for great stories to listen to from your workstation, but it’s the speed that Comet climbs with that makes you maybe more than a little nervous for him.

One of the boys clinging to Soapsuds’ legs decides they’re getting off here, and both climb into the tree after the Clone with two ovular markings on his helmet. It’s the fruit they’re after, calling it “hash-sah” when Comet offers some to them too. Seeing Commander Wolffe, he tips the bag in silent communication, offering some to you too. You decide to take one, but Wolffe declines.

“No thank you. Comet, have you seen Orchid and Tack?”

Comet first tosses one of the hash-sah fruit down to you, large enough to fill both of your hands, suggesting maybe you can share it with the commander in case Wolffe changes his mind. “Last I saw them, they were two trees to the northeast from here, sir.” He’s fairly certain that’s where they’ll be, anyhow. He throws two more hash-sah fruit down to Wolffe, saying Orchid and Tack may want to try the fruit, should you find them there. “Oh and the kids are saying not to eat the seeds, the seeds are bitter!” he calls after you as the three of you begin heading northeast after thanking him for the fruit.

It does not take long to find the brothers Soapsuds lost track of, exactly where Comet told Commander Wolffe they’d likely be. Huddled at the base of a tree, Orchid and Tack are having a closed conversation between themselves, discussing the 302nd as you draw near. That was the legion of the GAR General Plo had claimed this Caelen led, as you recall. And recalling further back still, this might be your answer to where Tack’s researcher friend is stationed, too.

“Can’t you ask Cypher? You’re friends with him, aren’t you?”

“I am,” begins Tack, scratching the back of his head, “but, he’s often a bit slow to reply to my questions… It could be a while before he tells us what’s up with their general and unit.”

Like trying to pull rancor teeth, you recall. “Could you try sending Cypher a nice picture of a bug and then follow up with questions?” Behind you now, Suds says that’s awfully clever, and surprisingly sneaky. Soapsuds still has the little Chossi child clinging to his back like a Kowakian monkey-lizard, slender fingers having found stable purchase in the Clone’s armor. Nothing will make the girl let go, either. Not even for sweet-rations, when Tack offers some as a bribe.

“Looks like you’re carrying her around for a while.”

“Kids tend to weigh less than a typical field kit. I’ll be fine.” Suds says with a smile as he takes the sweet-ration and breaks it in half, reaching over his shoulder to offer a portion to the little girl. She gives it a curious sniff before stuffing the whole of it in her mouth, crumbs dusting her cheeks. “Hah, you really liked that, didn’t ya? Here, little one.” Suds gives her the other, uneaten half of the treat, kindly sacrificing his portion. It’s eaten just as eagerly, more crumbs littering her face.

“Think the girl likes chocolate as much as you, Suds.” Orchid remarks with a gentle laugh, helping the child clean her face by offering her a wetted cloth he’s pulled out of his kit somewhere. Dropping his voice into a low whisper, he asks his brother if that was the last of the chocolate he had.

“Yeah. It’s okay, though.”

Chocolate, true chocolate, is a rarity among the allotment of sweet-rations they get. It’s a rarity for you too, but you can at least get your hands on artificial chocolate as a special treat to look forward to once a month; you have no idea how often the Clones get it… You rattle down a note in your datapad that when you make it back to the Triumphant, you should see what you have to offer to Soapsuds. You’re quick to tuck the tablet back among your things just when Tack gets a return message from Cypher.

Hold on: you’re currently WHERE?

The air practically punches out your lungs with laughter when the next message reads “Who snitched about the bug trick?” in all capital letters, and Tack tells his friend that if he wants to know, he better answer the rest of the questions he’s been sent. He’ll have enough time to give Tack answers, too, since one of the Chossi children approaches the little group that’s been formed with an invitation.

“Gray one?”

Though everyone here wears gray, with the slate of your uniform and the flint of the 104th’s paint, everyone figures the child must be using the same manner of address that Elder Row had in the clearing, speaking to and singling out Wolffe. Recognizing the girl, he responds promptly.

“Yes? Mir, wasn’t it?”

Nodding, Mir points behind her. “My big sister wants to show you something.” Wolffe’s eyes fall upon you first, before his brothers. You can almost see those clever cogs stirring up some strategy to convince the child to allow you and the three soldiers to come along with him, if she really does mean just him, but there’s no need to worry. “They can come too.” Mir promises, grinning brightly as she reaches to take Wolffe by the hand.

Perhaps you imagined there would be more hesitation, but Commander Wolffe is quick to give the girl his hand, and allows Mir to guide him through her community, slowing his militant stride to avoid rushing her. It’s practiced, you know. You wonder how many relief and recovery efforts he’s engaged in where he’s walked hand-in-hand with a child, perhaps ushering them from their war-torn homes… leading them to safety. Did all their hands feel so small?

When he had held your hand, better leading you through the twilight than before, you had once again felt how wholly warm he was. But what had also been noticed was how his hand compared to yours; the map of calluses that lay beneath those raven dark gloves, and the grip-strength with every finger that wrapped around your own… Well you’re almost ashamed to admit it, but your mind turned back to that dirty holonovel you’d mistakenly opened earlier with the pilot throttling both his steering controls and his junk at the thought of someone special to him.

Mir has taken Wolffe, with you, Tack, Orchid and Suds (the girl still on his back all the while) trailing after him, to one of the many shallow depressions in the soil that the community utilize as firepits, calling to her sister that she’s brought the gray one and a few others to come watch. Mir’s sister pauses in fanning the low-burning fire to greet you all, “Welcome. Come sit, come sit. Mir insisted that we show you something.”

Once more, you and Wolffe find your places around the fire beside the other, palms planted in the rich soil. Your fingers brush against his momentarily, and you hastily apologize in whispered tones, hoping the light of the fire does not betray the color in your face that has nothing to do with heat-flush.

You imagined those hands - again thinking of that holonovel - stripped of those gloves, and Commander Wolffe, rid of the rest of his armor… and the under-armor too… carefully pinning you to a bed somewhere, his private quarters perhaps. His touch flows between being velveteen and slow to rough and ravenous, some product of conflict in his need to satisfy certain sensual demands.

In fact, the mental images are starting to get a little more vivid now, the longer you’re near this fire. You swallow heavily and focus on the laces of your boots while you reign in your imagination, but it’s proving immensely difficult.

Maker alive.

Mir’s older sister listens to the young girl’s curious babblings with patience, waiting until her sibling stops. “We imagine you have seen the little blue flowers that grow here, yes?” she asks, corners of her mouth curled in a smile.

“We’ve seen ‘em.” Tack answers with an eager nod, “Dinocaeruleus anthos.”

Mir whispers something, and her sister hushes her. “I’m getting there, Mir. We call them twilight troubles, here. They can be harmful, when handled incorrectly, or taking honey from the wrong harvesters. But they can also be… helpful.” Her mouth quirks in another smile as she looks over everyone. “You’ve all been here long enough to become covered in twilight pollen.”

There is nothing visible to your eyes at least, but you don’t wholly doubt it with how many of those flowers you’ve been around today. The laundry sector of the Triumphant is going to become very busy decontaminating a whole battalion and crew’s worth of blacks, undergarments, and uniforms.

“What makes them helpful?”

“Gi says it makes you creative!” Mir exclaims with excitement, no longer able to contain herself.

With a long-suffering smile, Gi confirms that though it’s putting it a bit simply, her sister is correct.

The poets and painters of Little Archossi use the pollen and other botanical byproducts of the twilight troubles to encourage their natural creativities and spur their inspiration. If you’re patient, she can ask Mir to go get some examples of their local artistry while she prepares something special for everyone since you are guests here on her planet.

Thinking of others before himself once again, Wolffe makes a quiet remark that he imagines you and Tack would be happy to see samples; Gi’s offer is agreed upon.

Golden Dawn is the last segment, I promise! Just splitting it into parts. If you would like to add yourself to my tag list for any future fics, the form can be found here.

Taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar

[Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Midday] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Here]

[Golden Dawn pt. 2]

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godkilller · 3 months ago

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SHIPPING INFO. answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

What’s your OTP for your Muse(s)?

I will always ship Ginran above all else, but Aigin is lovely too and has some spice to it -- and I could be convinced to dabble in other pairings considering activity's been sparse from my shipping partners (not their fault, life's tiring and I'm barely here too!) and Gin's a social butterfly. I've opened my eyes to the potential for Gin and Izuru, but on my terms and not at all in the fanon's direction. Ultimately people shouldn't try to ship with me unless they're mentally prepared for their character to be constantly contesting against Rangiku in terms of their importance to Gin. As a sidenote; Shipping Gin with an OC is nearly impossible, as he requires knowing someone since the dawn of time to ever consider developing feelings for them, and I'm not too keen on people inserting their OCs into my character's past solely to avoid doing the heavy lifting of courtship.

What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

I'm not afraid of dipping into the toxicity of certain dynamics, nor am I one to ignore the cruelty that Gin can exude -- he's manipulative, possessive, and altogether a murderous obsessed freak. No amount of unconventional devotion can hide the darker parts of him, though I am also one to enjoy writing Gin experiencing and attempting domesticity and the softness that comes with it. I'm flexible.

How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

Shinigami age-gap discussions are tricky, especially the whole 'Tite forgot how old this person was / how ageing works' undertones with some of his characters (Hiyori is the same age as Gin????? Hello?), but basically I don't want anything to do with creepy shit, thanks. If Gin can comfortably punt your character into the stratosphere because they're snack-sized then he doesn't want them sexually or in any manner.

Are you selective when shipping?

ABSOLUTELY. Gin can get the ick, no matter how hypocritical he is for getting it, simply because your character didn't reply 'right' to his throwaway comment. Gin gets bored easily; if your character isn't as smart or smarter than him (and I mean that in a cunning / well-rounded way, not a 'this character knows everything that could possibly be known about the development of spoons throughout history' or some sort of thesaurus-vomit of them trying to sound super smart to him, he'll immediately become violently unimpressed he'd sooner gut himself with Shinso than finish a conversation with them) or your character is immensely weaker than him, then he isn't interested. Gin requires being challenged. Both Rangiku and Aizen challenge Gin pretty outright in different ways. Keep him on his toes, push and pull at him, make him want to pick you apart. Don't bore him.

How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

I don't tend to tag things until it's literally inappropriate if it was a visual medium instead. Kissing and clothed touching, even if in raunchy positions, aren't NSFW to me -- I expect everyone following me to understand my blog is an adult space. Tags won't come out till genitals get involved. If people read the written word 'nipple' over your shoulder from ten feet away and get you into hot water then you gotta tell me where they get their superior hawk-esque eyesight from, I'd like a slice.

Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

Just Rangiku and Aizen for now, but as I said before I am opening up to the potential for Gin and Izuru. Gin and Byakuya is hilarious, too, and I've made jokes in the past about Gin and Kenpachi. Pfft. It's hard to ship Gin with other female characters in Bleach considering Orihime's a human teenager, no thanks, and Rukia hates his guts and Gin clearly didn't like her either so it'd be a hateship purely, Harribel and Gin never exchange actual canon dialogue, Unohana is way older than him and probably thinks he's an amateur at murderous intent, the Zero Squad ladies only exist after he's canonly dead, Hinamori's a whole child and is traumatized by his Aizen-killing/not killing stunt, Tatsuki is a lesbian human teenager, Soifon is laughably a lesbian so pent up she might explode if a man ever tries to lay a hand on her, Yoruichi is too close to / complicit with Hogyoku-maker Urahara Kisuke whom Gin loathes for inspiring Aizen to steal a piece of Rangiku's soul, Nemu is too busy being Mayuri's... whatever the fuck, Isane would faint if Gin opened his eyes once at her, Hiyori is literally split in half by him and she's a literal child, Yachiru is a literal child, Lisa is also at least bi-woman preference if not fully a lesbian, Kukaku probably hates Gin's guts ever since he lopped off Jidanbo's arm at the gate because that's a sore subject for her, Kiyone is a literal child, Sung-sun is too boringly quiet and weak for his tastes, Loly isn't quiet enough and is too weak, Apacci is even worse, Mila Rose is on thin ice too, all of the Femritters are introduced after Gin's dead so we'll never know for sure if he'd even tolerate their girlbosses-don't-look-at-explosions-then-get-stupidly-defeated act, oh god who am I forgetting -- I want y'all to know I had to stop here to Google it and for some reason in the list of all female Bleach characters, somehow, Omaeda is on the list at the very bottom.... congratulations on your transition <333

Anyway long story short I don't think Gin's very compatible with the existing female Bleach cast, hence my various male/male ships instead. Gin's fluid. I acknowledge and approach shipping with the assumption that most if not all Bleach canons probably think Gin's gross or deplorable or both. But hey, I have a soft spot for writing enemies-to-lovers.

Does one have to ask to ship with you?

Yes because otherwise I'll just stew in the possibilities and assume it's one-sided and never bring anything up 'cause I don't wanna freak people out. But please keep in mind I am very picky because Gin himself is even pickier. You may be rejected ultimately, and it's really not something that's personal with me. A better approach would be the age-old, tried and true method of jokingly saying 'wouldn't it be funny if they caught feelings?' at me and then we spiral together from there. I'm not open for that currently, but in the future perhaps.

How often do you like to ship?

I kinda wanna only ship things if it's been earned -- we put in the work, things escalated naturally, and then we're exploring the dynamic thoroughly from there instead of just jumping to the juiciest parts first. I am a patient person, Gin is too, we're not about to pounce on somebody just because they stuck their leggy up real high. I'm a previously single-ship-only kinda guy, I yearn for that commitment.

Are you multiship?

I am duo-ship at the moment, with the possibility of opening up from that in the future -- so technically yes. I approach things though with a strict refusal to write cheating, so everything is a separate verse. Gin isn't sleeping with Rangiku and then tiptoeing to Aizen's room after, I refuse to do that sort of shit. Gin's all-or-nothing and so am I, so expect that if I ever do multiship -- it'll probably not be willy-nilly, I'll be severely selective.

Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

Daydreaming about dynamics is my bread and butter. I'll be cooking up entire scenarios on my own while watching paint dry, my mind knows no limits and the links to musing posts/quotes/aesthetics/tiktoks that make me think of our characters together merely scratch the surface. If a ship hits right it consumes me.

What is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

I'm a sucker for Ginran, Aigin, Ulquihime, Shunuki, Ichiruki, Grimmjow and anybody really, Ichihime, Mayuri and permanent death, Ishihime, Rangiku and genuine happiness, whatever the ship name for Urahara and Yoruichi is, Aizen and touching grass instead of committing atrocities. I could be down for Gin and Izuru, I also think Kenpachi and Byakuya make a funny / cute pair. I'd also die for the ship I have with @madestars with their OC Hotaru and Gin's daughter Keiko.

Finally, how does one ship with you?

Hit me on the head with a brick irl.

tagged by : @despairforme

tagging: @dokuhai, @keikakudori, @madestars / @rejekshun, @gyakusama / @owabisuru, and anybody else!

#[ out of character ] masquerade; hide your face #/ long post

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sotwk · 4 months ago

Note

Happy birthday and bless you for coming up with such a fun, hobbit-like way to celebrate!

I would love to avail of your matchmaking services for one of my OCs. He’s called Ejder and he features in the Boromir/OC fic I’m currently working on, as Eirlys’ stepbrother by her stepmother Miryeman.

He feels somewhat separate from the rest of his new family, feeling like something of a leftover. This, coupled with the sense of alienation from both his home culture and that of Gondor, means that he, more than the rest of Duinhir’s children, is entitled to a bit of a whine. (Try telling them that though)

Since his mother married Lord Duinhir, he has actually been the child who has spent the most time with his stepfather, acting as his advisor and his more diplomatic mouthpiece among his people, since politeness has never been Duinhir’s strong suit

He’s naturally friendly and resilient. He tends to adapt well due to having a keen eye for social dynamics (inherited from his mother) and being genuinely nice to be around

Outdoorsy but not in the ‘must go kill something’ way of his stepsiblings and more in a ‘ride alone and contemplate the trees’ kind of way. Eirlys sometimes goes with him but tends to ruin the vibe by bringing a crossbow and getting trigger happy around rabbits

He really enjoys making pottery. He started learning it when he and Miryeman were living in the Haradrim quarter in Minas Tirith and he befriended a local pottery (who he lowkey wanted to be his new dad) and has pursued it henceforth whenever he has the time. He’s actually really good and finds it an effective way to relax

Despite not being naturally inclined towards the life of a warrior, he joins Gondor’s active military in the final years of the War of the Ring to tamp down rumours of his disloyalty to Gondor due to his heritage

I’m really bad with actors and tend to have too specific an image of a character for an actor but here’s a picrew of him all prettied up for some event at Minas Tirith.

Given that I actually haven't worked out who/if Ejder will end up with anyone, I am interested to hear what match you comeup with!

"Feeling like something of a leftover" and "sense of alienation from both his home culture" produces such delicious angst in a well-rounded character! But I love that Ejder rises above those issues to use his gifts and help his father with official duties. He definitely sounds like a stand-up guy and a great catch! I have just the noblewoman to suit him nicely...

The SotWK Matchmaking Machine pairs Ejder with:

IDIS, Daughter of Théoden! (Semi-Canon)

Idis 100% exists in the SotWK AU and is given the fanon attention she deserves! I don't want to spoil my own WIP too much, but Idis does play a significant role in flashbacks of "Change the Stars". She is Théodred's older sister by only a year, so they were very close throughout their childhood.

Idis is smart, kind, brave, and skilled. She has the makings of a shield-maiden just like her cousin Eowyn, but she was born with health issues that precluded her from that lifestyle. She therefore turned to intellectual pursuits, and becomes somewhat of an expert not just in Rohanese lore, but also the cultures and histories of other realms of Men--yes, including the Haradrim, Ejder's (his mother's??) homeland!

Idis is constantly overlooked in favor of the King's heir, Théodred, but she does not begrudge him that; she loves her brother and cares for him in place of their deceased mother. Idis knows the realities of her situation, it does sadden her sometimes--she just keeps in all inside. She and Ejder would be able to bond over this as well.

(My Unsolicited Fancast: I thought Santiago Cabrera fit the bill for Ejder, based on your Picrew of him!)

Thank you for trusting me to match up your OC! :)

This OC Matchmaking game is part of SotWK's Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024. (Requests accepted only on July 11-15, 2024.)

#sotwk answers #ocs of friends #Theoden #idis #Haradrim #gondor #rohan #lotr #tolkien #SotWK Summer Campfire Sleepover 2024 #SotWK Matchmaking Machine #oc matchmaker game

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neonsix67 · 1 year ago

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My lamb!! (This pic has already been posted by @spotlightstudios per my request because I thought I wouldn't get around to actually posting about it, but here I am so awe well)

My little thing ♡

Physical concept explanation -

-> As always, I live to add a tail to everything I can but I mainly did it here because it helps me understand how to be more expressive with this specific creature, because I'm not the most comfortable with drawing animals.

->I mainly used the Tarot fleece for this because that the fleece I main-ed, but I did just unlock one of the second round of fleeces so idk...that may be subject to change but I really do like the design of that one for the Lamb.

->Can't really see it, but this Lamb has some heavy eyebags. Earned through extreme devotion and hard work, the stress of managing 24 idiots 27/7 has its weight over time, and never being able to sleep, eat, or die has some more...visible side effects.

I didn't change a thing with Narinders' design, at least not his Bishop design. I expect something a bit more...indulgent when I get to his defeated follower form.

But now a quick question (not really heavily ruling on answers but I am a little curious) but I have this idea for another Lamb OC/self-insert. Adding her would mean the existence of another Lamb with this version of the story, and I would likely pair it up with the other Lamb, or should I keep the Lamb of this one as the last and just make this other one a separate story? So the question is-

My version of the lore under break

Okay so I am running very heavily on a family dynamic here. Spot can advocate... but the whole idea is that Narinder kinda adopted this thing and it was SO gosh dang grateful that it worked, lived, and breathed for him. It wasn't long that Lamb starting viewing Narinder as a sort of father figure, never having one for itself since lambs were hunted down to extintion. Lamb would use every death as an opportunity to see Narinder and tell him about the Cult, or the most recent crusade, or just what sort of people Lamb has been meeting, anything to keep his attention.

The first time Lamb called him "Dad" was a slip up, quick and accidental, but Lamb never really apologised, and seeing that Narinder didn't really get mad at the title, Lamb just kinda kept calling him Dad, and eventually even gets cute with it and calls him Papa Nari (this is a reflection to me playing the game...but I met him one time and was like...yeah that's Papa Nari, no one can tell me otherwise). Eventually Lamb hangs around enough during that little bit of time that it takes for it to be resurrected it begins to talk to Aym and Baal as well, who both, seeing that their Master favors this one, oblige to conversate with. It wasn't much longer after that that Lamb began to really view the two as older siblings, playing knucklebones or sharing cult dynamics like a sort of gossip with the two.

As time progresses and the Cult grows, so does the family dynamic, and the Lamb is viewed as Papa Nari's golden child, which doesn't really bother anyone other than Narinders siblings, who catch on that this Lamb is successfully a killer by nature and is learning to be loved by The One Who Waits. Slowly, as they each fall to its blade, does it really sink in that this mission may succeed in the Fifth Bishops' favour. Well, that doesn't quite sit right with Lamb... what will happen when they complete Papa Naris' mission? Don't get it wrong...it WILL complete what was asked, but Lamb has this nagging fear and anxiety that this happy afterlife, this second chance at a real family, will be stripped when they kill all the bishops and provide with Narinder the freedom he so deserves.

So far, that's all I care to type out for now, but boy has this been lingering on my mind for the past couple of days.

Oh and quickly back to the idea of a second Lamb! Spot! Know that this doesn't stop me from crossing our headcannons together. In my mind, your Lamb still exists somewhere out there and just ticks off Papa Nari by not doing anything killing wise. It does not like it one bit but doesn't mind it enough seeing as it makes Papa more proud of it when it continues with the mission.

#neon!drawn #colt fanart #neon!headcannons #cult of the lamb #this has been a weight on my shoulders for a while #and i am so happy to get it all out #i aslo have a sort of oc with all of this #but she is not going to mentioned for a while #because thats a problem for another time #anywhk #this post is already long enough #so imma head out and draw some more concept doodles #i really wanna get aym and baal out on paper and into this style im using for cotl #which byw i have no idea hoq i managed those sketches above #it was like i was possesed #it all just came so naturally

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outeremissary · 1 year ago

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✨ How did you come up with the OC’s name? For Balthazar (Seriously curious because I love that name and have had a stuffed animal named it for years)

Siren, I fear you (and Cassy, who asked as well) are about to get far more than you may have anticipated for this and it will be very silly. Balthazar is probably second only to Carmen (who is a much older character) in terms of convoluted meta histories that get long winded answers.

[prompt list]

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

Okay, so there's a bit of necessary background here. Balthazar is loosely derived from a character conceptualized in 2016 who never had a real, settled name (mostly a series of titles; at this point the most consistent have been Herald and Three-Horned Devil). The project this character was made for was mostly to entertain me and keep me sane during the first year of university. At some point in the front half of 2017 I began learning 5e. A part of the process for this was getting a feel for the scope of characters and limits of character creation by making a bunch of character sheets with different concepts. To expedite this process, I used OCs from stagnant or abandoned projects as the basis for concepts; Caina and Balthazar were pulled from the same one (although it's possible that Balthazar actually had a 3.5 sheet first- he was a recurring character in my 3.5 campaign and I don't remember if he was introduced in spring or fall).

So Balthazar at this point did not have a name, and I needed to make a "traditional fantasy" name appropriate for what was then a half-elf sheet. The class, sorcerer, had already been determined, as had the first of several concepts for the adapted version of the Herald. My goal was to make a name with an occult sound to suit this ambitious Vecna cultist and to honor the Herald's whole evil god thing. And my other, more specific goal? To work in at least one demon name to amuse myself. I hate coming up with names so I have a bad habit of the joke name that sticks.

Anyway. I started with the demon names. The first and most obvious point to me was Ba'al. I was familiar with Ba'al as god king and god of storms from the Ba'al cycle and some related Urgaritic texts, but as I recall Ba'al was a title meaning "lord" attached to a number of regional deities (some variants of that Ba'al). In Jewish and Christian texts Ba'al appears as a false god and force of emnity. Ba'al also provides the root of "Beelzebub," and eventually becomes absorbed into the roster of demons in many traditions (I'm most aware of medieval Christian here) before washing back up in horror flicks as a stock name for a demonic force. The aspect of transformation was appropriate, I felt: a messy polytheistic deity who was also now known as a menacing demon. This worked well for the Herald. I was especially attracted to the "false god" aspect. So I wanted a name that could incorporate that name and ideally might naturally produce something functionally like Ba'al as a nickname. I chose Balthazar. It was a real name, which felt especially grounded, and it had an archaic sound due to having fallen out of style in the region I live in long, long ago, which gave it a certain mysterious flair.

From how that story went you may already have guessed about Lucienne. And you would be correct. That famous angel Lucifer was the over the top element used to round things out- partly because it's very easy to find other derivations from lux. It's also true that Lucian was a given name I'd considered for the character before discarding for being too trite (although Lucian Balen would become a recurring tongue in cheek alias for NPC Balthazar cameos in oneshots). I decided to push for a French sound because in my mind - and don't ask why, I have no fucking idea - French was an especially alchemical sounding language. Now some of you reading this may know some things about French, and may perhaps speak it yourselves. If this is you, you've probably caught the thing I wouldn't realize until two or three years too late, which is that Lucienne is not a French sounding name. It is an actual French given name of the feminine gender, the feminine equivalent of Lucien and the French version of Lucia. Whoops. At that point I was in too deep to change it and I just pretend I do not see it. Maybe it's endearing in a quirky JRPG way. French doesn't exist in most fantasy settings anyway despite the prevalence of Latin out there. It's fine. At this point the in story origin of the name is that he made it up himself anyway, so who knows. Maybe that 12 Int just produced the same mistake as me.

#I'll never live down the Lucienne thing really #actual genuine total mistake lmao #I think someone asked me this some time back in fall in a Discord server. now everyone gets the ~extended cut~ for better or worse #complete with my doing my best memories of etymology from a class I took six or seven years ago #for the record absolute total flop on the nickname front no nickname anyone has applied to him (Balth and Baltie) has been that lmao #I like those though :) short sighted younger me failed well #I do like the name even if the origins genuinely embarrass me #I am glad you enjoy it as well :)#ask game #ask me emithing #balthazar lucienne #I actually got out my old volume of Canaanite mythology to fact check at least some of this so we weren't just relying on my memory

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mercy-of-the-ashes · 2 years ago

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Danganronpa OCs!

Hi! Since I’ve used OCs in some roleplays here, I realized I should actually introduce you guys to them. XD

To start things off, I’m bringing up the link to Nozomi’s own individual post. I’ll still add her here to round the number of characters to ten. 😊

Nozomi Haruno Shizuka is Haiji’s kindhearted, intelligent, and timid partner who’s a talented inventor and a capable fighter. She’s the rational one of the duo, though she can still be emotional. In spite of her delicate nature, she possesses a ruthless demeanor and remarkable physical strength that transform her into a powerhouse.

Haruka Hagoromo is a cute, cheerful, and energetic teenager who loves stuffed animals and has a talent at making them. She is talkative and quick on her feet, but she can be cocky and doesn’t always take things seriously. Nonetheless, she’s still a girl with a good heart. She has an unrequited crush on Haiji, much to his annoyance and discomfort.

Don’t be deceived by Kiyoshi Honda’s bad-boy appearance. He may look like one of those tough biker types, but he’s actually like a lovable teddy bear. He’s Haiji’s best friend who can be a bit of a coward and a klutz, but nonetheless he’s a reliable man who’s always there to give someone a shoulder to cry on whenever they need it.

It’s no surprise that Mareo Honda’s just as sweet as his husband Kiyoshi. Vivacious and friendly, he gets easily excited over things, such as hats and jewelry, and is sensitive about other people’s feelings. He’s also not the best cook, but funny enough, his baking skills are impressive, so no need to worry about eating desserts that taste like dirt.

Kazuma Minazuki is the friend that acts more like a parent. He embodies all the qualities that are expected in a babysitter, and all the children adore him. He’s a kind, diligent, and responsible young man with the patience of a saint that it’s almost impossible to truly anger him. Still, he won’t hesitate to discipline anyone, whether they’re a child or an adult.

Tsubomi Haruno Shizuka is the near-polar opposite of her older sister Nozomi. The only things they have in common are their love for cute things and using their fists to kick butt. Tomboyish and arrogant, Tsubomi has the habit of being rude and reckless, and is very protective of Nozomi after learning about her abusive ex.

There are two words to describe Tristan O’Doherty: selfless and optimistic. He loves playing his dudelsack and lending a helping hand. Although, his attitude can be annoying to others at times, but in the end, he means well. He’s a pacifist, hates swearing, and gets nauseous at the sight of blood and gore. This often puts him at odds with his twin brother.

Aidan O’Doherty is Tristan’s serious, fearless, and violence-loving twin brother. He gives it his all in everything that he does, especially when he plays his harmonica, but tends to overly critical of himself whenever he believes he failed to do his best. As expected of their opposite personalities, Aidan’s behavior often incites Tristan’s horror.

Melantha Rohan is the proud heiress of a large fashion company that she hopes will destroy other competitors. She has the same sarcastic, cowardly, and antagonistic demeanor as Haiji, and loves taunting others for her own entertainment. Despite that, there’s a soft spot hidden beneath her prickly character. And just like Haiji, she has her own robotic arm.

The best way to describe Joshua Harvey is that he’s a shy and devoted man who would do anything to protect Melantha. After she saved him from a toxic relationship that would’ve been fatal, Joshua fell madly in love with her. Despite being fiercely loyal, however, he knows when to stand up against his hotheaded love interest when he believes she’s in the wrong.

(Most of my OCs were made on Charat (Bigbang and Genesis). Haruka was made in a phone app that no longer exists while Melantha and Joshua were made in now-deleted Picrews.)

#ooc post #characters from the mun #randomness from the mun #danganronpa ocs #danganronpa oc #danganronpa #nozomi haruno shizuka #haruka hagoromo #kiyoshi honda #mareo honda #kazuma minazuki #tsubomi haruno shizuka #tristan o’doherty #aidan o’doherty #melantha rohan #joshua harvey

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curatoroffiction · 2 years ago

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Ramshackle's New Student

Summary:

Yuu/The Main Character of the Twisted Wonderland series gains a new student while setting the groundwork for some major renovations on the Ramshackle Dorm. Based on a great concept written by fairytaleliving over on Tumblr. I was so inspired I had to write it. Sunny, the new student, is their concept, I just took it and ran with it.

Notes:

For @fairytaleliving

Inspired by "au where yuu gets a freshman" by fairytaleliving.

---

This was one of the first pieces I’d written in a really long time. It actually revitalized my passion for writing! This is just to explain that this is one of my older pieces, so the writing might be a little different than my usual stuff. I recently re-vamped it and am starting to add more chapters. It’ll come out a lot slower than my other stuff, because I wanna base it off of the series, and I’m an English player. As of posting this, the series has only released up to Book 4.

---

Warnings: Spoilers for Twisted Wonderland series Tags: Reader-Insert, Ungendered MC, OC Characters, Overblot, Twisted Wonderland, Ramshackle

Chapter 1 of ?: Rough First Day

"Hey, ___, You've been disappearing after classes lately. What's been up with that?" Ace asks as you and Grim come to sit down with your food at the table.

"___'s been working hard on our dorm!" Grim pipes up excitedly. This piques the interest of the lunch table.

"Working on your dorm? What does that mean?" Cater asks, curious.

"Oh yeah, I've got a system worked out with Crowley. I took over the expense reports and expenses for the Ramshackle dorms, he gives me a stipend every month to do so, and any money I can save from the month's budget will become mine. It also means I can save money for larger projects that I can't do myself, which would be a headache and a half for Crowley to oversee, which means the dorm property gets faster upgrades, so, it's a win all around."

Deuce's eyes sparkle at the idea. "So wait, you've been working on the property yourself?? How?"

"Oh, I used to do woodworking back in my own world. Re-upholstering isn't actually all that hard to learn, it's just the working with wood part that's a fancier problem. Even then, I'm pretty well trained in it."

"Can we come and see? That sounds really cool."

"Sure, but I warn you; The front yard's a bit of a warzone. I've started a personal fight with the chairs and couches of the dorm. They need some TLC. I'm gonna have to figure out a way to handle the waste from the projects, but that's a small price to pay to be able to have some pocket change in the near future." Nearby, a certain fiscal Hyena's ears perk up.

"How much is the budget anywho?" Trey asks, curious himself. The school has always typically managed these types of matters, so this is new information to him.

"Oh man, it's like 5000 Thaumarks. It's an insane budget. I figured the school was used to paying cost AND labor, but I didn't realize labor was such a high markup around here. Makes me wonder if they actually know how things cost when you take the time to take care of it yourself."

"Oh wow. How much are you saving on the budget?"

"Well, Instead of blowing the whole month's budget on replacing only a fraction of the chairs in the dorm, I've spent about... $500 Thaumarks on getting myself some necessary tools, and $500 more Thaumarks on tangible supplies for refurbishing the existing furniture. I estimate on that, I can get about half the chairs done on that alone, and the only stuff I'll really need to replenish is the wood and fabric for the next round of furniture. So, I'm using about 1/5th, maybe 1/4th of a month's budget to achieve what would have taken multiple month's budgets to achieve. I'm saving up the rest for the floors, which severely need to be replaced. It's gonna be a tall order, and I've still gotta shop around to see how much it'll take to replace the wooden floors we've already got."

Trey looks earnestly surprised. You're taking on quite a lot of responsibility for this project, but you've never looked more in your element than this moment. Everyone at the table is a little in awe of how readily you've taken to the management of the dorm's expenses. Nearby, a certain Hyena can't stop listening in on your conversation. At his table, Leona raises an eyebrow, glancing to him.

"Yo, Ruggie. I still need that drink."

"Gimme a sec, I've just tuned into a very interesting station." Leona looks around. Interesting? Well, he doesn't often butt his head into other folks' business, so he can't seem to make out what's so interesting that his drink has to wait. He watches the flicker of Ruggie's ears as he listens in on your conversation, and uses that to pinpoint that he's listening in on your conversation specifically.

"Oh wow! So you're gonna be making bank pretty soon, eh?" Ace grins widely.

"Tuna! We'll be able to buy tuna!" Grim dances in his spot at the table. You laugh, gently petting his head, lightly scritching behind his ears.

"It'll take a bit of time, but I estimate I'll be in the green sometime around... 5 months from now? After that point, it'll mostly be small-fry projects that the monthly budget will be more than enough to cover, and the bulk of the budget will just be saved up on the side for if there's an emergency. Like if a certain small monster chooses to set something ablaze. And if I spend a chunk of the budget on nicer tools, I can get even more done on the property. The externals are last, though the walkway's gonna need some serious repairs or replacement before then. I estimate I'll have to do some stonework if I really wanna make the property shine." You scratch your chin thinking on that last part. "If that ends up being the case, then I'll probably see some bigger expenditures after the bulk of the dorm is in good shape, just because landscaping isn't really one of my strongsuits either."

"Wow, where did you learn how to do all of this?"

"Eh, it's just stuff I picked up in my old world. My dad was a carpenter, so woodworkin' was easy to learn. The rest I learned to make money here and there. People would pay through the nose for the pretty kinds of things. Luxury has a cost, and I could be it's source."

Deuce grins excitedly. You've got a goal in mind and you won't settle for anything less than achieving it. It's admirable. "I'm excited to come take a look at it. Maybe today after our classes?"

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan." The conversation shifts to talking more about school projects, and Ruggie tunes out. Leona sighs, having already laid his head on the table to nap. Ruggie stands up, grinning to himself with his newfound little nugget of info. It's never a bad thing to know who has skills, and who has money coming in on the horizon. He pockets this information and goes to grab Leona his drink.

---

"Oh wow!" Cater's eyes widen as he sees the before and after of the furniture. "This is amazing! This would be so perfect to capture for magicam. People love DIY nowadays! May I?"

You laugh. "Sure. Thank you for the compliment."

"No but seriously, this chair looks like brand new." Ace looks it up and down. "And it looked like THIS before??" He points to the one next to it. It's a dingy old piece. The cloth has been worn through, sun-bleached, and the wood has lost its luster.

"Yeah. You just yoink out the seat, re-upholster it, and then tend to the wood frame of the chair. The chair legs have been the biggest hurdle, since some of them have gotten broken. Some of the chairs have a weave in the back that's also taken a rough beating, so I have to manually re-weave the strips of wood or re-make a chair leg from scratch, which is where most of the time on this project gets eaten up. But after that, I just sand down the old stain, re-stain the whole piece and let it sit in the sun while I'm working, and take turns wiping and reapplying until I get the desired color. Let it sit for a day, and then I can go over it with a lacquer to keep it scratch-safe. Then I just plug the cushion back in, and BAM- Good as new." You're proud of your work. It's hard not to gush about everything you've been doing.

The guys don't mind though. They're earnestly infatuated with your work. "It's like the work of a master craftsman." Trey comments, touching the finished product. "Well, you have my respect. This is amazing work you're doing."

You smile warmly, grinning sheepishly as you lightly scratch the back of your head. "Ahh, you're very kind. I appreciate it."

"No seriously, this is top-tier. I couldn't do this even in my dreams." Ace grins, moving to sit in the completed chair. "It's even comfy to sit in!"

"Y'know, we've been looking to get some personalized chairs for the Heartslabyul dorm.." Trey grins.

You laugh and shake your head. "Maybe we can figure out an order once my dorm's in good shape. Who knows how long I'll be here."

---

It's been a few months since you started working on the dorm house. Most of the furniture has been repaired in all the main rooms, and you've even been able to start repairing and refurbishing the bedrooms. Even if you don't live in them, it'd be weird to leave them in the sorry state they were in before.

Tonight is the first New Student ceremony since you got here. It's hard to think it's been a year. A lot has happened in that time, even amidst your dorm repairs. You were told by Crowley that as a Dorm Prefect, you'll need to attend the ceremony, even if it's only for ceremony's sake. He even sent you some robes for the occasion. You feel strange in the robes, considering that you weren't really keen on the pomp and circumstance of it all. What if they had another 'fluke' like you? Someone ripped from their world with nowhere to go? You've never believed in flukes. If anything, you almost expect it. Something's up with that mirror. You couldn't have been the only one. Still, arriving in the Hall of Mirrors, you find yourself a little shy.

There's a spot for all of the prefects to sit in, and everyone's already seated. Well, everyone except Leona.

As you move to your seat, you hear Riddle murmur to you "Prefects should always be 15 minutes early to the start of any occasion."

You glance to the empty seat next to yours with five minutes left to the time when students are meant to be piling in.

You raise an eyebrow and Riddle sighs, his eyebrow twitching. "Leona isn't someone to model yourself after."

You laugh quietly, sitting down.

The event seemed pretty normal. Everyone was getting sorted into their dorms, it seemed pretty evenly split amongst them. No new students for your dorm, which was expected, you suppose. It's not like your dorm was a real one anyway. You didn't have one of the great seven associated with your dorm, your halls were filled with ghosts, and the only active students who lived there were a monster and a magic-less human.

That is... Until the mirror calls out the unexpected, causing the entire room to quiet down. "Ah yes... You have the spirit of Ramshackle inside of you." Everyone in the room is quiet. So quiet, your new student turns around cautiously. No one else had been added to Ramshackle. Was.. Was it dangerous? Scary? Bad? Even Crowley is surprised. It even takes the headmage a moment to compose himself.

Your new student finds himself intimidated by this.

"Please continue to your seat, so others may be sorted." Ever the face of the school, Crowley doesn't want to let the student body realize he's just been shaken. No one's been sorted into Ramshackle in about ninety years. He knows this has to be because of the work you've been doing, but you have no magic. What have you been doing?

The other prefects are looking at you, but as Crowley tries to gloss over this strange occurrence, they begin to compose themselves as well, looking back to the mirror. The bewildered look on your face was already soaked in by all of the other dorm leaders though.

A student? Are you a real prefect now?

---

As the other students pile away after their dorm leaders, people keep giving you looks. You haven't moved from your spot. You're waiting until everyone's gone. Your lone student sits in their chair, looking around at all of the other students as they pass. Once the room is cleared out, you stand up and walk over. Crowley accompanies you.

"Ah.. hello. You're the Ramshackle student, right?" You ask, looking to him. He seems almost relieved that someone actually came to retrieve him. Though, looking you over, you seem so... Ordinary. One of the other prefects had horns. He was so sure that a dorm as exclusive as this one would be something wild and scary, but you seem so... normal.

"Yes. Are you my dorm prefect...?" He looks between you and Crowley.

You look to Crowley. "Am I?"

He muses, scratching his chin lightly. "Hmm.. I suppose you are."

You look back to your new student. "I suppose I am."

"Why.. why is it only me?" He asks, looking between you two. Isn't that the headmage? What's he doing weighing in on this matter?

"Honestly? We didn't expect my dorm to get any new students." You say, scratching the side of your head.

"Huh? Why's that?"

"See, we're not really a dorm. I mean, I suppose we are on paper.. But.. ahh.. Hmm."

Crowley sets a hand on your shoulder, pausing your explanation. "Ramshackle is a unique dorm. You're the first student who has been sorted into it for about ninety years." The student's eyes widen in surprise.

He points to you. "Then.. How does it have a Prefect..?"

"Well, your amazing prefect ___ has taken up residence in the Ramshackle dorms due to reasons that the universe has yet to enlighten us on. Even the mirror didn't know where to sort them."

You grin sheepishly. "I.. ah.. I'm not a typical student. I have no magic, and I didn't really come here of my own volition. I was scooped up from my world and taken here. I've been trying to get back ever since. That's why it's a surprise to have you, a student, now living in my dorm."

No magic? The student before you's eyes widen with more than just surprise now. "Wait, you don't have magic? And you're from another world? You can't even go back..?"

Crowley weighs in. "No, the world that ___ came from appears to be missing from even the mirror's eyes, which does beg the question of how it was able to collect them in the first place... But I assure you, ___ is more than capable to handle everything this school has to throw at you. You're quite lucky to be in their hands."

The compliments surprise you, though, it's probably just fluff to make the new kid feel more comfortable. You decide to speak your mind.

"Look, I know it's.. Not the most desirable arrangement. The other dorms probably still have room if you wanted to transfer. That mirror is all kinds of wonky as far as I'm concerned. You don't have to be trapped in this if you'd like to change dorms."

Your student furrows their brow. Everything they'd known about the mirror and this school tells them that if they were sent to your dorm, then that's where they're supposed to be. Just because it's strange doesn't mean it's wrong.. "Well, the mirror chooses the dorm that would best benefit our journey in learning, yeah?"

Crowley nods. "Yes, it listens to the heart of your magic and what dorm would best be tuned to helping you to succeed."

"Then, I guess I belong to Ramshackle. I'd like to at least give it a chance before I go throwing myself into something else."

Crowley grins. "Wonderful! Yes! Ramshackle has officially flourished under your tutilage, ___. Breathe in the rewards of your labor!"

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. Yeah, okay. "Alright then, come on. Let's head on over to our dorm. I'll show you the way." Your student looks around at all of the mirrors around. Which one could be yours? You motion for him to follow you out the door of the building. "C'mon. We don't have a mirror yet."

---

"When we get there, you're gonna meet everyone else who lives there."

"I thought it was just the two of us though."

You sigh with a chuckle, shaking your head. "Far from it. Grim is a monster that is a fellow student." A monster? Wait. As a student?? "Also, there's a few ghosts that live on the premises." Ghosts?? "Don't worry about them though. Everyone's pretty chill. Grim's a handful, but he's pretty relaxed if you get him some tuna or pet his belly. The ghosts just like to play tricks, but if it ever bothers you, lemme know." Just what exactly did he just get himself into, accepting this dorm as his own..?

As you reach the gate at the foot of the hill leading up to your dorm, he peers up at the abandoned looking building. "Oh god, please tell me you're hazing me."

"I promise, it looks a lot nicer on the inside." You laugh, opening the gate leading up. He follows after you, looking around. Cobwebs, dead plants, overgrown foliage as far as the eye can see. There appears to be a.. workshop..? Set up outside?

"What's that area right there?"

"Well, when I got here, it was a decrepit old shack of a building. I've been breathing life into it by using the dorm's upkeep budget to fix it up. Made a little arrangement with Crowley to be able to control the upkeep budget. I finally got to replacing the floors this last month, so things are lookin' real nice if I do say so myself."

When you go to open the door, your student is shocked to see how beautiful the interior is compared to the outside. "Wait... You did this? All of this? All on your own?? With no magic??" He stares at you, then back to the floors. To the furniture. If the nearby wall didn't have visible tears in the wallpaper, he'd almost not believe it. The majority of the room looks pretty brand new. The floors even sparkle from fresh oiling.

"Yeah. I mean, Grim helped a little here and there, and so did the ghosts, but they can only do so much. Their help was mostly just grabbing me tools and stuff from inside the house while I was outside because I couldn't be assed to clamber all the way inside to grab a screwdriver. I'm the one with woodworking training and the knowhow of shopping for contractors."

Your student is immediately enthralled by your handiwork, admiring the furniture. "You didn't buy this?"

"Nah. Just cleaned up and refurbished the furniture that existed here beforehand. Wanna see what they looked like before I got my hands on 'em?" You grin.

"Yeah!"

You tug out your phone, pulling up a picture of the couch that sits in the main hall. "Check it. That used to be this." Your student looks bewilderedly between your phone and the couch.

There's no way you did that.

"You're like an artificer!!"

"Hmn?"

"A craftsman of magic artifacts!"

"Oh yeah, I've heard of those. I've been looking into that kinda stuff recently, actually. Turns out, you can perform a lot of magic through crafting objects. Magestones are the magic-less person's magic craft. You just gotta charge the stones correctly and know how to build something out to allow it to best use the magestone's magic. It's a lot easier to research crafting magical objects, and I've been wondering if the path home is through crafting my own mirror to go home. I do have objects from my home that could act as a catalyst.." You get lost in your own thoughts, which your student can't really follow. But he can't argue with the results. Your work is amazing.

He's beginning to get the idea of why he was put into your dorm.

---

"This room here is mine and Grim's. All the other rooms on this floor have been cleaned out. The floors on this floor haven't been replaced yet, but we're working up to it. The ones downstairs have been replaced, but they're also pretty barren since I had to move all the furniture out. At some point this month, we'll probably have to move downstairs for a week while some guys come in and replace this floor's floors. So don't get too attached to how things are right now. Lots of changing in the works."

"Why do the floors have to be replaced?" He asks, looking around. Sure, the floors aren't new and pretty like the ones downstairs, but some TLC would probably do them some good. You kick the long hallway carpet aside to show him a massive hole in the floor where a chandlier was dropped by the ghosts when you first got here.

"We uh, don't go past this point in the hallway all that often. I'd like for new students to be able to walk anywhere in the building without worrying about their safety. The floors are pretty old anyway. I'm pretty sure they were old a few centuries ago. They're pretty overdo for replacement."

Sunny blinks. It looks like an impact. Did something happen here? Actually, now that he thinks about it, why is this dorm practically abandoned and filled with ghosts? Is there a story here they haven't told him yet..?

---

"Sunny, huh? My name's ___. It's good to have you around." You had to fill Sunny in on so much when he got here, that you've only JUST gotten to a formal introduction. He doesn't mind the informality though. You've definitely got a lot on your plate already with the renovations of the dorm. Though, it surprises him when you get up early enough to make him some breakfast the next morning. He shyly sits at the breakfast table, not really sure what to do. You give him a glance over as you start putting some food on his plate.

Setting the pan aside on a potholder, you reach over and fix up his tie. "We've only got three students who go on campus, so we've gotta try to be presentable. Let me know if you've got any problems adjusting. I know it can be pretty hard." Pretty hard is an understatement. You've probably gone through hell as a non-magical student. Sunny has been in awe of you since he saw the foyer. "Wash your dishes by hand and leave them to dry on the rack. We don't have a working dishwasher." You motion to a rack on the counter by the sink with a towel underneath it. You don't even bother to sit down, you scarf down your food while standing by the stove. Grim happily munches away at his tuna in a seat nearby Sunny as he looks around, beginning to eat his own food. It's all still pretty new to him, so you're not surprised he's taking a minute to adjust.

Still, you can't slow down much to help him. "I'm going to be solving a problem at the library today, so if you need me, I'll be there."

"Wait, what kind of problem?"

"Ahh, I think they have an infestation in one of the back rooms. Whatever the cause, Crowley was insistent that it was 'too much for him to handle' so he dropped it on my plate."

"You address the headmage so informally..?"

You laugh for a second, pausing for the first time since you got up. "Oh, yeah, dude, our dorm's unofficial name is 'Crowley's Bitches'. Every time he has a problem, he'll show up at our door and tell us to solve it. Grim, we've gotta go soon if we wanna get there in time to get to our classes afterwards."

"Our dorm acts as the Headmage's personal assistant??" Sunny's eyes widen again. That's a lot of responsibility.

"Yeah. Though, that's more of a me problem. It's because I'm staying here on his dime while I'm trapped in this world. You don't get things for free here, so, while my life incurs expenses, I pay them off by doing odd jobs. You don't have to worry about that. I mean, unless you'd like to help. I'll never say no to help."

Sunny wonders on that. With how much praise the headmage gave you upon his arrival here, being in his good graces would definitely be a positive. And, if you've got your thumb on all kinds of things in this school, he could push himself ahead by involving himself too. And no greater way to do it than to learn under someone so experienced. "Yeah, actually, I think I'd like to help out. Just consider me part of the team." He grins, flexing one arm and grabbing it with his other hand.

---

Upon arriving at the library, the librarian knows you and opens the doors, locking them shortly after you and your entourage come in. Sunny looks over the vast library in awe. It's his first time seeing it.

"Alright, so where's this.. infestation? That Crowley mentioned?" You ask, looking to the librarian getting straight to business.

"Follow me." He sighs, motioning for you three to follow him into the back. Grim glances around as you're led behind the desk. You keep your eye on him, but now you've got another person to watch. You don't know how Sunny will handle the pressure of these odd jobs, but it's nice to have someone willing to try. Did the mirror fuck up again? Or is he planning something? You catch yourself wondering on Sunny's motives, and you quietly laugh to yourself. It's funny. With how long you've lived here, you really have become accustomed to the way this world operates. Whatever the case, you're in charge, so you're sure you'll figure it out if something goes awry.

The librarian opens one of the doors in the back and you're greeted by a prompt book being jettisoned from it. You quickly dodge the projectile, seeing the dent it leaves on the wall behind you. Everyone looks to the Librarian, who stands off to the side of the room, avoiding looking in. Glancing inside, you see the disfigured face of.. A ghost. Suddenly, the headmage's request for you to get involved makes a lot more sense. The ghost screams and dives into the storage stacks of the room. You look over to Sunny to see he's frozen. Yeah, that tracks. Stepping forward, you start to walk into the room and Sunny grabs you by your sleeve. "Wait- You've got no magic-"

"Magic can only do so much anywho. C'mon. Unless... you're scared?" You give him a small, challenging grin. He's shocked. You're so relaxed. Whatever's in there is aggressive and doesn't want to be bothered, and will likely lash out at anyone that tries to get it to leave. Ghosts are one thing, but angry ghosts are another thing entirely. He's studied on them before, fascinated by the ghosts of the school. This is a bit more... exciting than he anticipated though.

You see the look in his eyes and you sigh, gently patting his shoulder. "Hey, just stay here, alright? No hard feelings if you can't go in there. Just watch." You look to Grim and he grins to you, putting on a fierce expression as you two step into the room. "Remember, no fire Grim."

"I know!!"

"I really mean it. These books are priceless."

"I'm not gonna burn anything!" The librarian watches from the doorway next to Sunny, and Sunny finds himself.. fascinated by the expression on the librarian's face. He almost looks... guilty. Books fly at you as you step into the room. Trinkets you can only presume are valuable for studying are tossed against the walls and shattered. The floor itself begins to move as the wallpaper of the room begins to tear. The ghost splatters ink against the wall that screams the word "LEAVE" in the dripping stain.

You prepare yourself for the violence, batting away books with the bat you brought as you call out to the ghost; "Look!! You're a person! So let's talk person to person, eh!?" The ghost screams audibly as it flitters through the bookshelves. One of them begins to tumble towards you off of the wall and you scoop up Grim, jumping back. "You weren't always like this, right?!" You shout amidst the chaos. "Something happened, so talk to me!"

As you speak, the librarian seems to be fiddling with something in his pocket, his eyes glued to the scene in front of him. Sunny, however, can't seem to take his eyes off of the librarian. Sunny knows when someone's hiding something, and this guy's definitely holding back some vital information. It's when the ghost begins to scream again that it clicks to Sunny's mind. Every scream is accompanied by movement in the librarian's pocket. Almost as though he's got his hand on something that's causing the ghost to lash out. Without even thinking about it, Sunny snatches at the librarian's pocket, causing the librarian to jump back.

"What do you think you're doi-" The librarian snaps, interrupted by Sunny.

"What're you doing that's pissing off the ghost?" He calls out, garnering your attention. You glance over to see the librarian yank his hand away, the glint of something shiny in his hand unmistakable.

You call out to Sunny; "Grab the artifact in his hand!" And he jumps into action without even thinking about it. "Grim, help him." Grim, glad to escape the wrath of the pissed off ghost, rushes to Sunny's side to help him. After a tussle with the librarian that takes them out of your line of sight, Sunny and Grim manage to get an artifact out of his hands, and the ghost begins to calm down. The room falls silent, telling you that Sunny's hunch was right on the nose. The question is, though.. Why? After talking it out with the ghost, you learn that the ghost is one of the ones that helps in the library sometimes, but 'help' is the key word there. He wanted to leave, and the librarian tried to tether him to the library as a permanent captive.

Out in the main area of the library, the librarian begins lashing out at Sunny and Grim. His body begins changing in a familiar way, and Sunny can't believe his eyes. You can already tell from the ghost's story where this is going.

"Holdup, I'll be right back. Please, don't cause anymore damage while I'm gone."

"I just want to go home..."

"I'll need your testimony for the headmage so that the librarian is brought to justice." The ghost is sad, but resigns to it. Maybe after this, he can finally go home. You run out to the main area of the library, where Sunny and Grim went with the librarian, and you see the librarian finish his transformation. Overblot. That certainly seems to be a reoccurring problem in this school.

You immediately begin to bark orders. "Sunny, go get help. Grim and I will keep the librarian busy. This is WAY over your head." He can't help but be amazed by how quickly you step up to the plate, unfazed by things that he was sure would haunt him in his nightmares.

The librarian begins to scream about how he has too much work on his shoulders. How it all falls to him. How he can't handle it anymore. He lashes out, sending a blast of cutting air in your direction.

Grim is about to burst into action when you grab him and hoist Sunny out of the way of the blast. "GRIM. NO FIRE."

"HE'S GONNA KILL US, ___!"

"THE BOOKS STILL MATTER, AND I'M NOT INCURRING DEBT TO THIS SCHOOL BECAUSE YOU BURNED THEM ALL." Even in the midst of this chaos, you're aware enough of your surroundings to see your effect on the world around you.

Sunny stands slowly, stepping between you and the librarian's overblotted form. "Maybe my magic is better suited for this." He says, hovering his hands outward, pen in hand. You don't even take the time to ask if that's true or not, you just switch tracks. If the kid is willing to fight, and he's not about to set the library on fire, you say let him fight.

"Change of plans then. Grim! Get help! We'll handle this as best as we can!"

"No need to tell me twice!" Grim rushes for the door. The librarian lashes out at you three with another blast of air, to which you kick over a heavy table as a barricade to give Grim a cover to escape from.

Behind your makeshift barricade, you look to Sunny. "Okay. What type of magic can you perform?" You ask, glancing over the edge of the tipped table to keep an eye on the librarian between blasts of cutting air.

"Uh.. Mm.." He raises his pen, "You're alone, and you are scared, but the banquet's all prepared- Be Our Guest!" Books and debris around you begin to dance, moving around. The table itself begins to move, surprising you. You reflexively bark orders to the table to hold its place, and it.. Salutes.. you..? But it stands firm in its position, even moving its own legs to better leverage against the blasts.

You look to Sunny in earnest surprise. This is a powerful spell.

You can't help but let a large grin spread across your lips as an "Oh hell yeah" escapes your lips. "I can work with this."

Using guerrilla tactics and dancing book ends and library ladders, you two are able to lure the overblotted librarian deeper into the stacks, catching him offgaurd from multiple angles as you take control of the field. Finally, he gets so fed up that he just begins using his personal magic to try to hurt everything that comes near him. You couldn't catch the spell, but it looked like sand is engulfing everything. Where did the sand even come from..? Is this what higher level magic looks like..?

It isn't until Grim returns with Ace, Deuce and.. Rook? That the tide of the fight shifts.

Everyone working together, you're able to wear down the librarian enough that he's burnt out his emotions before his magic has been burnt out.

He passes out and you look around at the massive mess. Ace and Deuce are high-fiving and laughing as Rook is commenting on how dastardly the beast you just hunted was, and how beautiful and impeccable your teamwork was. Sunny is exhausted. He's spent more magic in just this morning than he has in most of the exercises he's ever had before this school.

You look to his pen and can see the cloudiness in it, and you rest a hand on his shoulder. "Stand down, Sunny. You did great. Relax and rest. I'll handle the rest." He watches you in awe as.. even though you've already spent so much energy running around in warfare amidst the bookshelves, you stand tall to thank the help that came along. Deuce and Ace both grin and demand you buy them lunch and you happily agree. Rook on the other hand is now more interested than ever in your prowess in the field, and keeps suggesting you'd make a great hunt. Sunny isn't sure what that means, but it doesn't seem to be a favor you're keen on giving him.

Grim cries out that he worked hard and deserves tuna, and you agree as you start moving tables back to where they belong. Sunny is exhausted, but he knows his spell would help a lot with the cleanup. Still.. he finds himself drifting off to sleep before he can swing his pen in any way to help.

---

Sunny eventually wakes up, this time in the infirmary. You're sitting next to him. Crowley is standing nearby as well. He can tell you both were talking about something before he stirred awake. Crowley cries out in joyous lament from the state of Sunny's awakening, saddened that such a student fell so exhausted and was put in such danger under his watch. You figure he's putting on a show to try to make Sunny feel responsible for getting involved in one of your little 'odd jobs'.

"How're you doing, Kid?" You ask him, nudging his shoulder.

Sunny tiredly looks to you, then to Crowley, rubbing his eye. "Nngh.. I'm beat.."

"It was really kind of you to help out with that odd job, but, the headmage here says it'd probably be best if you didn't help on those in the future." You grin sheepishly, but are startled as Sunny shoots up, gripping your forearm.

"But, I wanted to help!"

This surprises Crowley too. He figured you had pressured Sunny into it, but it seems he was a bit more boisterous than you BOTH expected. "I.. I liked being able to be useful. I learned a lot, and, and.." Sunny tries to explain himself and Crowley smiles. From your story, this kid is the primary reason that the school even still HAS a library. Maybe the mirror seems to know what it's doing afterall.

"Alright. Okay. I involved myself because I was worried that your first day was a little TOO rough, but it sounds like you're more tenacious than I expected. Your teachers have been made aware of the situation, so please, Sunny, take the rest of the day off." Crowley's less concerned about the backlash of the kid's parents, and more concerned about the darkness clouding his magestone. He doesn't really know how to hold himself back. He's a little too eager, and that concerns him. "Your magestone is quite clouded, so you need to rest more than anything."

You immediately step up to the plate, giving Crowley a silent confirmation that you'll help your student recover from this incident; "I'll go by all your classes to get the classwork for you, so, just consider today your day off. We'll start again tomorrow, fresh as a daisy." You grin, patting Sunny's shoulder. He tiredly nods, resting back in the bed. You get up. "If you feel ready, let the nurse know, and I'll come return to walk you back to the dorm. Alright?"

Today it was just exhaustion, but, you make a note in your mind that Sunny doesn't really know how to stop himself from pushing himself too hard. You'll have to keep an eye on that.

---

"What ever happened with the librarian?" It's been a few days, and the library's been inaccessible due to repairs. Sunny asks the question over breakfast.

"Ah.. yeah, Crowley was not psyched to find out what he'd been doing to the ghost that was helping in the stacks, but he also felt responsible for all of the problems that'd fallen on the librarian's shoulders. Still, given the level of damage he did, and the fact that he endangered multiple students, it's not likely we'll see that librarian again for a while, if ever. They're probably gonna get a new one, and give them more help than they did the last one. Can't have a teacher who overblots like that instead of communicating to the headmage about their struggles."

"You seemed.. so used to it. Like nothing about any of that surprised you. Is that.. Is it common for you to deal with that kind of stuff?" Sunny's voice is slow, almost not sure how to phrase the question.

You laugh. "Yeah, you could say that. A lot of people have overblotted at the school, and I keep landing in the center of those fights. It's never my fault, it just seems that a good chunk of the things Crowley doesn't have time for are things that need the most tending to."

Sunny blinks. "The more I learn about this headmage, the more I'm surprised he's allowed to run a school. He seems incredibly irresponsible."

"Hey now, Crowley bankrolls that breakfast you're eating, so you gotta play nice. But.. I getcha. It's exhausting. I figure he's doing the best he can, but it is awfully suspicious that he is always conveniently gone when overblotting starts happening. I've had my thoughts on the matter, but, eh, I've got enough to worry about. 'Sides, it's in the job description."

"Job description?"

You grin. "Y'know. Crowley's Bitches." Sunny laughs. He gets it now. ——– Chapter End. ——– You can read the rest of this series, and other works, here!:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37540159/chapters/93698119

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yslkook · 4 years ago

Text

BRIGHT (2)

mind of mine masterlist

summary: you and jungkook share a moment in a bookstore. pairing: “badboy” jk x “shy/reserved” oc warnings: cursing, excessive use of pet names…bc its me

“Oh, lighten up Jeon,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “You look like someone told you that your cat died.”

“The only kitty he wants won’t give him the time of day,” Mina grins, earning herself a glare from Jungkook.

“More like I can't get her time of day because her stupid best friend has a stick up her ass,” Jungkook mutters.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this,” Mei observes, “Our baby tattoo artist pining over a girl…”

“If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now, Mei,” Yoongi says pointedly, “Now stop wasting time meddling in Jungkook’s love life, Jin will have all of our heads-”

“Love life? I don’t have a love life,” Jungkook protests, eyes adorably round.

“And that’s why you’re so broody today, honey,” Mina teases, “More so than usual at least.”

“I am not broody,” Jungkook grumbles, turning his back on his laughing coworkers and friends. He can’t help but smile at their teasing.

“Oh, lighten up, Kookie,” Mei says lightly, clapping his shoulder, “If it makes you feel any better, that girl couldn’t stop staring at you at Hobi’s birthday. And she definitely wants a piece of this.”

Jungkook ignores the raucous laughter of his friends (which only increases when Jin comes out from the backroom to add on to his suffering) and the reddening of his cheeks as he gets ready for his full day of tattoo consultations and appointments.

Jungkook’s day ends about an hour earlier than he had anticipated- his last client for the day had to reschedule due to a last minute conflict. That’s fine by him. It gives him time to stop by the bookstore a few blocks away from the tattoo parlor before it closes.

Jungkook tries his best to read at least one new book a month. He’s known the older shop owner, Jia and her young son, Jae-sung, for years now, as he had basically grown up with Jia from childhood.

He loves the quiet of the store and the immediate scent of vanilla and cedar that surrounds him as soon as he walks in. The bookstore itself has a vintage sort of feel, with dimmed lights, old shelves of mahogany and candles placed throughout the store.

Jungkook always brings croissants from the bakery nearby for Jia and little Jae-sung. Usually when he comes by, the bookstore is empty (or close to it).

Jae-sung screeches when he sees Jungkook walk in the door and immediately runs up to him, hugging his legs. Jungkook crouches, ruffling his hair fondly and Jae-sung is nearly bouncing off of the heels of his feet.

“Mommy say she have new book for you, Kookie!” Jae-sung beams, eyeing the box of croissants in Jungkook’s free hand.

“Does she?” Jungkook muses, “Your mommy always knows what kind of books I like.”

“Me too! Me too!”

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jia’s voice filters through the store as she approaches, “It’s been a while.”

“It took me a while to finish the last book. But so worth it,” He says apologetically, “I also brought croissants. Enjoy.”

“You spoil us,” Jia rolls her eyes, “The new arrivals are in the back, third aisle from the left. You know the drill.”

Jia has known Jungkook since he was a baby in diapers- she’s been his aunt’s close friend for years and years now. Jungkook likes to joke that he likes Jia more than his own aunt, and Jia always reprimands him (without really meaning it).

He thought the bookstore was empty, save for Jia and Jae-sung. But he’s clearly mistaken, when he sees a figure in an olive green sweater and black jeans perusing through the new arrivals with their bottom lip tucked between their teeth in concentration.

He recognizes them immediately and when the person raises their head in curiosity, he sees your wide eyes and a shy smile starting to pull across your lips.

You’re here, in his favorite bookstore where he feels like he’s at home. If he was looking for a sign, then this was it.

“Hi,” You say softly, waving your fingers at him, “So you like reading, huh?”

You visibly cringe and Jungkook chuckles. Your cheeks feel warm when you take him in, swirls and dots of his tattoos peeking out of his black leather jacket and beckoning you closer to him. The three hoops in his left ear glint with the light and the dangling earring on his right ear dangles with the movement of his head. His hair is tied back into a ponytail, accentuating the curve of his jaw and his soft dimples.

Your breath is stolen away when you meet his eyes, deep brown and murky, popping against the peach eyeshadow on his eyelids.

You nearly swoon on the spot before you get your bearings. Maybe he’d catch you if your knees buckled, you think dryly. How embarrassing.

“I try reading something new once a month,” Jungkook replies, pulling you out of your reverie, “And I just like the bookstore in general. Sometimes I like to just come here and hang out with Jia and Jae-sung.”

“Oh! Jia makes my favorite lavender chamomile tea. There’s nothing like it,” You say a little dreamily, “Jae-sung is a cutie. That boy can just look at you and you’d be putty in his hands. Kinda like you.”

The last bit slips out of your mouth without you meaning for it to.

“Kinda like me, huh,” Jungkook smirks, eyes glittering, “It would be fun to see if you’d be putty in my hands, wouldn’t it?”

“The world may never know,” You mumble sheepishly and avoid his eyes again, “What kind of book are you looking for?”

“The one you’re holding, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, looking past your shoulder for another copy of the same book.

“Are you looking for this book just because I’m reading it or because you’ve been genuinely eyeing it?” You ask boldly, a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Jungkook snorts, walking past you to grab the book off of the shelf.

“So I’ve been told,” Your eyes flash, “We should do a boozy book club.”

“Is it a book club if it’s just the two of us?”

“It can be whatever we want it to be,” You shrug, “Besides, don’t you wanna hang out with me?” You tilt your head and Jungkook’s resolve weakens. His heart does something funny- is this how it’s supposed to be?

“Of course I wanna hang out with you, baby,” Jungkook murmurs smoothly, “C’mon, let’s go have some of Jia’s tea. And a croissant too, if Jae hasn’t eaten them already.”

Jungkook glares at Jia the entire time that she’s making tea for both of you. He knows her sly, curious eyes and was unable to keep the surprise off of her face when you had both walked down the stairs together.

She even had the audacity to wink at him. He hopes that the family groupchat doesn’t start blowing up when Jia inevitably informs his aunt and mother about this new development.

“Kookie,” Jae-sung whispers (loudly) when you step away to use the bathroom, “Is dat your girlfriend?”

“What?” Jungkook hisses, “Who told you that?”

“My mommy say I ask you! I not know!”

“No, Jae, that’s not my girlfriend,” Jungkook mumbles, shooting Jia another death glare. She only smiles smugly at him from her spot behind the counter.

Jia leaves him alone for the most part when you return and take your seat next to him. He can still feel her eyes on you both as she washes teacups, watching like a hawk.

“These croissants are so good,” You nearly moan, “Where’d you get them?”

“There’s a bakery near the tattoo parlor,” Jungkook says, “You should come by sometime.”

“The bakery or the parlor?”

“Both?”

“I’ve only been there a few times,” You muse, “I hear you’re the best tattoo artist there. From the mouth of Hobi and Jin themselves.”

“Don’t let Mina and Mei hear you say that,” Jungkook says weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are a little pink and you resist chuckling to yourself.

“I’ve always wanted to get a second piercing,” You trail off, “But never really committed to it.”

“What would you want to get? We do piercings, too,” Jungkook says.

“Cartilage? Industrial? I don’t know,” You shrug, sipping your tea.

“Mina usually has a good eye for that,” Jungkook admits, “Now you have more of a reason to stop by.”

“Oh, I already had a reason to stop by the parlor,” You say brazenly with a sweet smile.

“Is that so?” Jungkook says, quirking an eyebrow at you.

You hum and continue to sip your tea, wondering if he can somehow hear the loud rattling of your eager heart in your ribcage.

Conversation with him comes so easily and you don’t know when the last time you had spent this long with him was. Something always seems to interrupt you both when you eventually do find yourselves alone with each other during outings with friends. But this time, it’s just you and him tucked away in this bookstore.

The sun has long gone down and Jia was about to close the bookstore for the day. In fact, the only reason she kept it open for this long was because of you both. You apologize profusely with worried eyes when you realize the time and see Jae-sung fast asleep in his mother’s arms.

She waves you off, giving Jungkook a lingering look that you don’t understand.

“I’ll be back soon,” You promise Jia in a soft voice, so as to not wake Jae-sung, “Be well, Jia.”

She bids you both goodnight, and unbeknownst to you, she shoots Jungkook a simple text. It states: “keep her close, i like her”.

Jungkook ignores it in favor of focusing on you.

“How you getting home, baby?” Jungkook asks as you both walk up the block shoulder to shoulder.

“Hmm… I’m supposed to meet Sora for dinner but she said she’s stuck at work,” You murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself as you scroll on your phone, “But I was just on social media and it looks like she’s getting drinks with her other friends…”

You look at him with a frown tugging at your lips and your eyes wide. “Maybe it was a last minute thing,” You mumble to yourself.

“Or maybe she lied to you,” Jungkook says sharply. You only look at him in silence for a few moments with furrowed brows.

“Maybe there was a reason,” You shrug, “Why would she lie about that?”

Because she’s Sora, and she just would. But Jungkook stays silent. You don’t need to hear about how he dislikes your best friend, at least not yet. Not when you’re not ready to hear it.

“Forget about her,” Jungkook says easily, “Lemme take you home, baby.”

“I’m not riding that metal death contraption,” You say flatly, “You just got it! Like two weeks ago! You don’t even have an extra helmet, and forget a helmet, I need elbow pads and knee pads-”

“Will you relax,” Jungkook says, putting your books in the small basket he built into the front of the motorcycle.

“No, I will not relax, Jeon Jungkook!” You nearly screech, “This is so dangerous, we could both fall in the road and then what? Become roadkill for the next soccer mom van to run us both over? Death by soccer mom, what a way to go-”

“Are you done?” Jungkook says dryly.

“No, actually, I’m not done-”

“You trust me, baby?” Jungkook asks, hand on your shoulder. You can’t even properly appreciate the warmth of his large hand over your jacket.

“Of course I trust you, I don’t trust that,” You point at the motorcycle accusingly and Jungkook rolls his eyes. You can already feel your resolve weakening. He wordlessly places his own helmet over your own head and you glare at him, about to start your tirade again.

“You take mine,” Jungkook murmurs, “And hold on to me.”

“You can’t just give me your helmet, what if you fall? Or worse, get pulled over?”

“Or worse, get pulled over, are you joking-”

“Jungkook! Be serious!”

“I am being serious! You said you only live ten minutes from here, just relax. I won’t let anything happen to either of us,” Jungkook says, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“If anything happens, it’s your head on a platter and I’m bringing it to the tattoo parlor.”

“How can you do that if we both die?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You say, but a laugh escapes your lips. Jungkook sits on his bike and looks at you expectantly.

“C’mon, baby,” Jungkook coaxes you and you awkwardly sit behind him, making sure that your legs don’t touch his and your arms are safely away from him.

“If you sit like that, you’ll definitely fall off,” Jungkook snorts, “Wrap your arms around me.”

You hesitate, afraid of touching him like this for whatever reason. He unnerves you and you feel completely exposed like this. You’ve never really been this close to anyone, at least anyone who made you feel the way Jungkook makes you feel.

Biting the bullet, you tensely wrap your arms around his narrow waist loosely. “Good girl,” Jungkook murmurs, “Tighter, baby. I don’t bite, unless you want me to.”

Your stomach flips at his words, subconsciously wrapping your arms around his narrow waist even more tightly. Your fingers graze the hard press of his tummy over his jacket and you almost moan at how warm and strong he feels. He smells nice, like Sunday morning laundry.

“Ugh, you’re annoying-” And then you shriek as he pulls away from the road and shoots off into the night with you plastered against his backside.

“See that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jungkook says, taking the helmet off of you. He’s met with a glare but you sigh in defeat.

“No, I guess it wasn’t. But I never want you driving this hunk of death without a helmet for yourself,” You say, poking his chest.

“You should be nicer to her,” Jungkook says, taking your finger in his large hand.

“You’re right, it’s you that I should be mean to,” You roll your eyes. You wonder if Jungkook could feel your heart slamming in your chest (in fear, adrenaline and excitement) as you hung tight to him. You had refused to look up, pressing your face into his back and squeezing your eyes shut the entire way. Jungkook had only chuckled.

The heat in your eyes melts away quickly once Jungkook helps you off of the motorcycle. “Thanks for taking me home, Jungkook,” You murmur, “I’m glad I ran into you at the bookstore.”

“Any time, baby,” Jungkook says. A strand of dark hair falls from his ponytail and into his face. You reach your fingers up to thread through his hair before pushing it back behind his ear for him.

“Get home safe,” You say, with stars in your eyes, “Can I hug you?” When he nods, and before you can change your mind or convince yourself out of it, you wrap your arms around him. And before he can properly return it, you dash into your apartment building while calling out “text me when you get home!”

Hours later, when he’s in the comfort of his home, he decides that he likes the way your spicy vanilla scented perfume clings to his leather jacket.

tags: @kookdbean @tiemeuptogoldenchains @boymeetsparadise @jungkooksseuphoria

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fluff #badboy jk #badboy jungkook

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hazbincalifornia · 2 years ago

Note

The results of your mpreg poll was disappointing and sadly not unexpected. I had a feeling the results would reflect how the fandom usually is about Stolas. All attention on him, obviously he's the only one who gets to be preg... it just sucks for Blitzo. Where's the love for Blitzpreg? Hell, where's the love for trans Blitzo? I guess there are more Blitzpreg fics because there's more of a story to tell? But it's strange that there's no art to be found, almost seems to be due to peer pressure?

Also tfw I draw my Stolitz fanchild OC and people immediately assume they came from an egg like the others, because obviously only Stolas could have given birth to them? No?? My fanchild is the result of Blitzpreg, thank you very much. I feel odd about my OC being rounded up with the other fankids under the banner "Stolas's many eggs" because mine didn't come from an egg. I guess I'm taken aback by the automatic assumption. Do I really need to make it clear that I like Blitzpreg?

(These came in one right after the other so I'm pretty sure they're connected, putting my response under the cut bc of some salting 🧂)

I haven't been included in any of those roundups, but I'm not being followed by most of those people, so it's not like it's a slight against me or anything. I can definitely see how that would be frustrating, though, (if anybody did it with Stella I'd be pretty damn annoyed considering her being Blitzo's is kind of the whole point of my fic) and having everyone automatically group it into just eggs from just Stolas, I assume mostly because of Dani is... frustrating, yeah. (I'm not particularly a fan of Dani and have had her muted for something like a year now. This last week has been a very mixed bag of 'I'm glad people are having fun, but ughhhh.') There are other options- even if it wasn't Stolas, both Blitzo and magic are options if it's their bio kid. Magic took a pretty decent second place, after all.

I've puzzled over 'why are there a bunch of fics but I never see it outside of said fics/ao3' a lot- from what I dug up from the older years of the IZ fandom (and this wasn't extensive, by any means- I'm sure plenty of it was lost on old sites) there was a similar divide with Zim/Dib preg content, with Zim getting more fics and Dib getting more art. I think in both HB and IZ, 'there's more of a story to the one that gets the fics' is probably at least part of it, but it was a lot more... idk, even with Zim. Like, I still saw Zim art, and one of the biggest fics had Dib instead, (thanks Zadr Orange, for being incredibly OOC but also helping make me Like This) it was just the balance was slightly tilted towards one of them each way. Here, the fics are roughly 2:1 for Blitzo (although that may change in the coming weeks) but the actual fankids/art tilt way more heavily to Stolas.

I genuinely like the headcanon of trans Blitzo, (and wonder a bit why intersex Fizz is a thing but not any of the other main characters?) and y'all know I like to think of imp sex as a lot looser than it is for humans (and for humans, it's already a whole spectrum!). Plus, having to stick with cloaca 'because he's a bird' when he's a humanoid demon, anything would make sense, and a cloaca isn't actually a pussy, my dude... it's not something that should have really been argued as hard as it was. Sure, transphobic shitheads can choke and I have zero problems with it as a general headcanon/idea, but I've seen people who were told they needed to change their art because they drew Stolas with a dick because they weren't on twitter during the two days the Discourse was raging, like that's not inappropriate in itself.

Anyway. That was kinda off topic. If you want to shoot me a dm or something I'm generally free to chat, I just usually don't want to ruin anybody's fun so I just try and boost up mine and Emmie's Blitzo stuff more, and getting to salt a little was kind of cathartic.

#shut up shadow #eh this goes in there

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

Note

Hi, Eve

Rose here from yesterday, thank you very much for the Birthday message, I wasn't expecting you to read it let alone reply but I was looking for Coops kids Birthday fluff specifically. It doesn't matter if you don't have time however as I don't want to be a bother.

Hello Rose, and happy (belated) 20th birthday! Sorry for the wait--I really wanted to get this one right to celebrate such an important number. I hope your day was absolutely fantastic! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Stella is an OC

Combined with asks for Sirius lightly making fun of Remus' accent and Remus yelling at a game show (@nazar4114)

“Medusa!” Stella shouted with all the force in her thirteen-year-old lungs. Remus leaned forward on the couch. “Medusa!”

The front door opened with a creak. “I’m h—”

“Yes!” they cheered in unison as Nicole answered correctly. Remus turned and gave Stella a double high-five, feeling his heart squeeze at the vivid joy on her round face. “Good guess.”

“I knew she was gonna get it,” Stella said with a pump of her fist as she turned back to the show and folded her legs underneath her.

“Gonna,” a familiar deep voice mimicked from the doorway. Paper bags rustled before footsteps stopped behind the couch; Remus tilted his chin up without sparing a glance, and Sirius pressed a laugh-laced kiss to his cheek before dropping one on Stella’s head as well. “You sound too much like your dad.”

“Love you, too,” Remus said wryly.

“I’ll take ‘Myths and Moths’ for 400, please.” Nicole’s voice snapped his attention back to the screen, and Stella narrowed her eyes.

“Daily Double!” the automated voice announced. Stella gasped; Remus bit his lower lip. “This mythical shield was wielded by Athena, and is sometimes said to be made of goat skin.”

“Aegis,” Stella whispered, then raised her voice. “It’s the Aegis, Nicole. You know this.”

“We know you do,” Remus said, scooting forward. “You just guessed whose head is on it.”

Nicole’s buzzer went off with two seconds to spare. “What is the Aegis?”

“Hell yeah!” Stella whooped.

Remus turned to her and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse you.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you two going to do this the whole afternoon?” Sirius asked from the kitchen, obviously amused. “We might need to get the neighbors some noise-cancelling headphones.”

Stella blew a dark lock of hair out of her eyes as she flopped her head back. “It’s almost final Jeopardy, papa. We have, like, ten minutes.”

Sirius blinked at her, then shook his head. “I swear you two share genes.”

“Ope, you caught me,” Remus said over the noise of the commercial break. “When I was 20 and had literally never left Wisconsin, I went and had a secret kid in Maine who looks terribly like you just so that someone would watch Jeopardy reruns with me thirteen years later. Oops.”

“It’s the truth,” Stella said with great gravity. “I remember.”

“Mon dieu,” Sirius muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile down. He had never been able to hide around Stella, not once in the three years since they had adopted her. It was one of the things Remus loved most about him. “By the way, nobody under the age of fourteen is allowed in the kitchen for the next…hour. Ish.”

Stella squirmed around until she could rest her arms on the back of the couch. “What if I get thirsty?”

“I’m sure you can invoke birthday privileges and ask your dad to get something for you.”

“Birthday privileges?” Remus scoffed. “Nobody in this house has a birthday today. Yours was last month, and mine’s in March.”

“It’s my birthday,” Stella said.

“What? No, it’s not.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Your birthday is in June.”

“It’s today.”

“Or maybe July?”

“It’s today, in December, when there’s snow,” she insisted, throwing herself back against the pillows. “Come on, dad, that’s not funny anymore.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Is somebody too old to find their poor old dad amusing now? Can you go back to being twelve so somebody will laugh at my jokes again? I know, I know, we're super lame compared to all your friends’ parents—”

“So lame,” Sirius agreed from the kitchen.

“—but I like to think we get one more year of pre-teen cuteness before the teen angst takes over.”

Stella sat up again with a groan. Looking at her, Remus saw a mix of himself and Sirius that had always baffled him, considering they had adopted her comparatively late in her life; beneath it was something uniquely Stella. Maybe it was her double-jointed elbows, or the board-straightness of her hair next to their curls, but there was no mistaking that she was her own person through and through. He loved that about her. “I’m not going to be a terrible teenager.”

Sirius poked his head around the edge of the kitchen—his nose was adorned with a smudge of flour. “Can I record that for future use?”

“Non.”

“Ooo, using the French,” Remus hissed. “That transformation is already beginning.”

“It’s not like you were bad teenagers, right?” She settled upside-down on the couch with her flamingo-patterned socks high in the air.

“I almost convinced Grandma to let me dye my hair blue, but otherwise I was pretty good.”

“I was terrible,” Sirius laughed. “I didn’t talk to anybody for a solid three years.”

Stella frowned. “How? I think I’d die if I did that.”

“He’s stubborn,” Remus stage-whispered.

“I heard that.”

Stella suppressed her laughter as best she could, but she was about as good at hiding her emotions around them as Sirius was. She didn’t really giggle—the amount her voice had deepened over the past three years always gave Remus whiplash—but her laugh had the same cadence as it did the first day they heard it. While Stella had been quiet at first, it only took love and time to bring her out of her shell. Within a year she settled into their lives like she was always meant to be there.

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “This is my last year before high school.”

“Does it feel different?”

“Not really.” She paused, then shrugged. “And a little. I don’t feel older. It just feels like there’s stuff I won’t get to do anymore.”

“And a lot more you will get to do.” Sirius left his dishtowel on the counter before joining them on Stella’s other side. “You can drive soon, you’ll get a longer curfew, you get more freedom…”

“I guess.”

“What are you going to miss?” Remus asked as she toyed with the hem of her shirt. It was a basic Lions FAN jersey; he was fairly sure she bought it to be ironic. That, and she only wore one of theirs if she was upset with the other, or if one needed a boost at a game.

“I dunno.” A few beats of silence passed. “My classmates. My team. It feels like everything’s going to turn upside down.”

“You can still keep in touch with your friends, and I bet your team won’t be too different,” Sirius said quietly. “Even if it does, that doesn’t mean you have to give all of them up. People change in different ways. They come and go on their own time.”

“There’s going to be a lot of upside-downs over the next couple years, kid.” Remus offered her a smile. “But you’re going to be just fine.”

“You two sound like such dads right now.”

“This might shock you, but that’s because we are.”

The corner of her mouth tugged up and she lolled her head to the side to look at Sirius. “Is the cake done?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“Will you watch final Jeopardy with us?”

“What’s the category?”

“US Presidents.”

Sirius exhaled through his nose, but nodded. She grinned and turned herself upright to snuggle against his arm. “You just enjoy watching me lose.”

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

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Sirius called from the kitchen.

“On three,” Remus said, raising his phone camera. “One, two, three!”

“Happy birthday to you,” over a dozen voices sang. They were off-tempo and so out of key the composer was probably spinning in his grave, but Stella’s clear joy didn’t waver for a millisecond even as her cheeks reddened. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Stella, happy birthday to you!”

Finn, of course, dragged out the last note. So did Leo, Logan, Kasey, James, Lily, and Talker in varying degrees of awful harmony attempts. It was terrible, and beautiful. “Make a wish,” Sirius said softly as he set the cake down and stepped back. His eyes were the brightest quicksilver Remus had seen in many moons.

Stella closed her eyes, took a breath, and blew as hard as she could—the entire room erupted into cheers when all the candles went out. She was laughing and blushing at the same time when Remus turned the lights back on, though the humor won out in the end and she helped pass plates of cake to her many aunts and uncles. Like every year prior, Regulus managed to smear a bit of frosting on her chin, only to immediately deny it with great offense when she noticed. It was becoming a bit of a tradition—one that Remus never grew tired of.

I know what I would wish for, Remus thought as he looked around the table at their patchwork family. Celeste, Dumo, and his own parents had no doubt spoiled their first grandchild with ‘cusp of adulthood’ gifts, and Natalie and Lily would certainly steal her away after cake for some girl time. Finn and Logan would remain the fun uncles while Leo and Regulus kept their thrones as the cool uncles; Stella would interrogate Jules on the intricacies of high school for at least an hour before they destroyed everyone in a snowball fight. The world they built together had a place for everyone.

I would wish for this. This, for us, forever. It wasn’t a bad eternity to imagine.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #coops kid #stella #lions #regulus black #my fic #fanfic #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #birthday party

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Eunoia - Harry Styles

a/n: i’ve been meaning to write a piece filled with just fluffy, domestic moments through a relationship, and that’s when i created Flora in my mind. wrote it with an OC bc i had very specific traits and stuff in my mind about her and it didn’t feel right to write it with y/n but feel free to read however you’d like it! but i think Flora is a delightful girl, she is a teacher and a free spirit, i think you’ll like her!

pairing: Harry x OC (Floortje ‘Flora’ Hoven)

word count: 9.5k

masterlist

Eunoia (n.) Beautiful thinking: a well mind.

Harry is always looking forward to times when his days aren’t filled from morning to midnight, traveling all around the world, meeting dozens of new people at various new meetings. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the buzz his life comes with, but one can drive this lifestyle only for a while before getting tired. He now appreciates his calm periods, when he is not living out of his suitcase, he has the time to drop by a café and enjoy his morning coffee sitting down instead of grabbing it in a go-to cup and chugging it down in his car. When he can just take a walk when the weather is nice enough and his favorite is when he has the time to just look at things without a rush and appreciate them.

He has built up a habit of going to the same coffee place since he got off tour and jumped right into his well-deserved months off filled with meditation, resting and focusing on himself after giving so much for the world. It’s just two corners down his place, falling perfectly into his way to the gym and now he even has a favorite table in the corner, because it gives him a great view of the place but the vines hanging from the ceiling masks his presence enough that people don’t often notice him there, providing some privacy for his morning coffee.

It was his third day here when he first noticed her. She was sitting at the table by the window, near the door, deep in a book, another pile waiting for her on the free seat next to her as she intensely made notes of her reading. She had her wild, curly hair in a puffy bun on the top of her head, clearly just thrown into it haphazardly when she started working. Her ivory frame glasses kept sliding down the bridge of her nose and thy seemed a bit too big for her face, but they overall fit perfectly with her knitted sweater and dungarees. And Harry couldn’t look over the fact that she had little sunflowers painted on her nails. That instantly made him smile as he adorned her from afar.

As the days passed and Harry spent almost all his morning at the same spot, he started seeing or more like noticing her more often. She always sat at the same table and Harry figured it was because of the natural lighting coming through the windows that came in handy, because she was always either reading and making notes, or doing something crafty, mostly origami, he noticed. She often had her laptop open with tutorials on different origami works that she was trying to make herself, not always succeeding, but she got it right most of the time, a triumphant smile plastering across her face every time she finished a piece, her dimples digging deep into her round cheeks. Harry couldn’t stop herself from smiling whenever she held up the finished work and adorned what she just created. He often wondered what happened to the little creations afterwards, but she just usually shoved them into her backpack before leaving.

By the fifth or sixth time he has seen her, he already knew her order. Vanilla latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. Large sized, of course, so she has something to sip on while she typed away on her laptop or finished reading another book.

Harry caught himself looking for her on mornings when he didn’t see her, which were usually Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, but one Wednesday, when he had an early meeting for a change with his team, he arrived before 8 am into the place and for his biggest surprise, there she was, sitting at her usual table, drinking the same drink as always. Later, Harry found himself coming earlier on those days just to find her there yet again and he figured her work schedule must start earlier on those days.

As the days went by Harry started to play with the thought of walking up to her. He wondered if she has noticed him as well, but it seemed like even if she did, his presence didn’t impress or bother her at all which just irked his curiosity about her even more. But every time he thought about finally talking to her, he decided against it, feeling like he would just be an intruder in her morning sessions. Until one day, the chance was handed to him on a silver plate.

She is doing origami once again on this particular day, making little cranes, one after the other, using different colored papers to make them form out a mess rainbow on her table. It’s a quiet morning, only a few more people sitting around at place. It’s been quite windy the past couple of days and today seems to be the worst, the trees are being tossed around by the howling winds outside, but it just makes it even cozier to sit inside in the warmth, enjoying a nice hot drink.

Harry finds himself watching her intently as her delicate fingers work on the paper, one crane following the other, she is starting to have a whole army of them.

An older man walks into the café and as he opens the door wide, the wind is quick to run into the place, knocking over everything that’s not heavy enough to stay still and the paper cranes are the first ones to start flying off the table.

“No! Darn it!” she gasps, her hands grabbing after them, saving just a few, but most end up on the floor, somersaulting away from her table. Harry is quick to jump to his feet and come to her rescue, lending her a pair of helping hands as she gathers her creations. “Oh, thank you!” she breathes out softly, her eyes meeting his and for his biggest surprise… she doesn’t seem to be stunned or even surprised by him, as if she doesn’t know who he is.

Maybe she doesn’t, it’s a possibility, he tells himself, smiling at her as he collects the cranes from the floor.

“Guess they wanted to be free,” he jokes, setting them on the table with the rest.

“It wasn’t my brightest idea to do it on such a windy day near the door,” she chuckles, looking over the bunch she’s been working on for the past thirty minutes.

“May I ask why you need so many paper cranes?” Harry inquires, leaving out the part that he’s been watching her do her origami for weeks now.

“Oh, I want to make decorations out of them, hang them up in my classroom. I’m a teacher,” she adds smiling.

That’s the most fitting job he could ever imagine for her, she is definitely the cool and adored teacher every kid is obsessed with.

“Wow, and how many do you need?” he asks, the stack of paper at the edge of the table looks quite a lot and he wonders if she wants to use them all for the cranes.

“Well, as many as I can make before my fingers fall off,” she jokes. Harry notices her freckles from up close that have been hidden behind her glasses until now. Her hair is in two space buns today and she is wearing a striped shirt with light-washed jeans and colorful sneakers. The sunflowers are gone from her nails, replaced by tiny daisies, but Harry likes them just as much as the previous flowers. They fit her well.

“Do you… I would love to help, if you want,” he finds himself offering, not even thinking about the question before it slips his mouth.

“You sure?” she asks, seemingly surprised but she definitely doesn’t find it weird that he just offered to help her.

“Yeah. Looks really calming and I haven’t made one in so long. Want to see if I still remember the steps,” he smiles.

“Take a seat then,” she nods, returning his smile. Harry goes back to his table to grab his stuff and join her.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he introduces himself as he takes the empty chair at her table, holding out his hand for her that she gladly takes.

“Floortje, but everyone just calls me Flora,” she smiles.

“Never heard that name, what’s the origin of it?”

“It’s Dutch. My dad is Dutch, he came up with the name as well and my mother liked it. It means little flower, nothing grandiose,” she chuckles, reaching for another paper to start her next crane.

“Do you have a Dutch last name as well?” he asks, but then realizes she might not feel comfortable sharing her full name just yet. “You don’t have to tell me your last name though, if you don’t want to.”

“It’s alright,” she chuckles. “It’s Hoven, which is Dutch, but you pronounce it pretty much the same as you’d if it was a simple English word, just with a softer V in the middle,” she explains, her fingers working easily and fast on the thin paper, the crane is already starting to form. Harry reaches for a paper himself and tries to recollect his memory of the steps.

“Were you born in the Netherlands too?”

“Yes, I was born in Eindhoven, but we moved here when I was five. But my Dutch is still just fine, luckily. My dad refused to talk to me in English when we moved, he said he won’t have his daughter forget her mother tongue just because he is getting paid more here,” she explains with a soft chuckle as she finishes up the crane, putting it to the pile.

“I always envied bilingual people. Must be great to speak two languages that easily,” Harry wonders, eyes fixed on the paper as he is trying his best with the crane. It’s slowly coming together, though it’s not as pretty as Flora’s.

“It’s not that fun when I suddenly forget a word in one of the languages and then spend twenty minutes trying to remember when I know for a fact I know the words, it’s just stuck on my tongue.”

Harry laughs, finishing up his creation, holding it up and Flora looks at it as well. It’s a little crooked and one of its wings is longer than the other, but overall, it’s a decent first one.

“You don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” he chuckles, putting it to the others.

“What are you talking about? It looks great!” she smiles, taking it into her hand, looking at it from all angles, smiling widely as she places it back to its peers. “It’s a nice one, and after all, it’s not your job to make cranes, so you’re fine,” she jokes.

Harry reaches for another paper as he thinks about if she knows him. Does she know what his job really is? Not that he expects everyone to know him, but she seems his age and it’s been quite impossible for him to meet someone close in age to him and not know a thing about him.

“Yeah, origami is definitely not my job,” he hums and then adds: “You… know what my job is?”

Flora glances up at him, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“Is this your way of trying to find out if I know you or not?” she smirks, tilting her head to the side, and it’s already a giveaway that she is very much aware of who she is sitting at a table with.

“I know, it was lame,” he huffs awkwardly.

“No, it was alright. And to answer your question, I do know what your job is, Harry Styles,” she replies.

“Sorry for asking around about it, you just seemed so casual and unbothered when you saw me, I thought you have no idea who I am.”

“I’m a teacher, my job is to treat everyone the same, I take equality very seriously. I don’t want my kids to think I put any of them above the rest, but I do the same outside of school too. Or do you want me to gasp and stutter now that you are sitting here?” she teases him making him laugh.

“That’s not needed at all.”

They work on their cranes in a comfortable silence and just as Harry thought, it’s quite relaxing, his thoughts slowly clear out, only focusing on the little birds he is creating. Then he glances up at Flora and suddenly his thoughts are filled with her once again. Now is his chance with her, he doesn’t want to leave this café without at least asking for her number even when he knows that he will surely see her around, just like always.

“Can I ask you something?” he speaks up as they both keep folding the colorful papers.

“Of course.”

“I hope I won’t sound creepy or something, but I’ve seen you around a lot and noticed how much you read. Is that just your hobby or…?”

“First of all it’s not creepy that you have noticed me, it’s flattering, because I have noticed you as well,” she smiles, paying him a quick glance.

“Really? I had a feeling you haven’t even seen me.”

“I did, but I thought you come here for the same reason as I do; to have some peace for yourself.”

“Ah, I see,” Harry nods.

“But to answer your question, I’m working on my second degree.”

“Oh, what’s that about?”

“Special education, speech therapy to be exact,” she tells him and Harry is even more stunned by her. Education is already a field not many can handle and then there is Flora, who didn’t just take up on it, she jumped right into it, pursuing a second degree in special education, a hard and challenging part of this job.

“Any particular reason why you chose it?”

“I have a younger brother, he is ten years younger than me, so he was already born here, but he was taught Dutch too. However, it wasn’t as easy for him as it was for me to speak two languages at the same time and he has developed some speech errors. Nothing major, but it was enough for him to be bullied in school. I saw his face every day when he came home and lied to our parents that everything is fine but then he cried to me in my room when they weren’t around. I don’t want any other kids to go through that, I’d love to be the one to not just help them come over their speech errors but also make sure they are treated the same way as everyone else.”

Harry hasn’t even noticed that he stopped working on his crane, he is now staring at her in awe, completely stunned by her. The more he learns about her the more he thinks she is a literal angel sent from above and that he can’t let her slip from his hands.

Flora looks up at him and finds him staring, a blush appearing on her full cheeks.

“Sorry for staring, but I just… this is so beautiful. Your passion about education is just one of a kind, truly. And the way how you made it your whole career and everything, I’m just… blown away,” he admits.

“Well, you made a career out of your passion too, didn’t you?” she chuckles softly.

“I did, but your story is just a little more touching,” he smirks. “Flora, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’ve been meaning to come up to you for a while and now that we officially met, I just—I would love to take you out on a date and get to know you better.”

She blushes again and Harry notes how well the pinky shade fits her even if she probably wishes she could control it more.

“That would be lovely,” she smiles shyly and grabbing a crane from her pile she grabs a pen from her bag and writes her number to the wing of it before handing it over to Harry.

He loves that she could have easily just typed it into his phone, yet she chose to do it this way. He smiles down at the crane and puts it into his bag, securing it as if it was his biggest treasure.

When Flora opens her door for Harry she is still wearing her apron that’s filled with tulips, a pair of simple jeans underneath it with a bright yellow shirt. Harry smiles as he leans down and greets her with a soft kiss. Ever since their first kiss he has been obsessed with stealing one whenever he has the chance. Their first one was nothing grandiose, such a simple and mundane moment but for him, it was perfect. They were visiting a gallery, he chose the exhibition hoping she’ll be a fan of it since the theme was botany, all paintings connected to flowers, gardens and plants and he was right. Flora was stunned, fascinated by each painting as they stopped at one after the other, taking their time to adore the works. They were looking at a painted garden filled with colorful wildflowers around a small cottage in the distance. Flora’s eyes wandered over all the tiny details as Harry stood close to her. She then leaned closer to point out her favorite flower and once they realized just how close their faces were, he just easily closed the gap and kissed her softly, surrounded with art, but he was convinced she was his favorite masterpiece he has ever seen.

“Hi, sorry, I’m a little late, dinner is not ready yet,” she huffs letting him inside. “Had to stay at the school a little longer than expected.”

“Don’t worry. Can I help with anything?” he asks following her into the kitchen, putting the bottle of wine he brought into the fridge to keep it cool until dinner.

“No, it’s fine. I just need about fifteen minutes to finish up the veggies,” she smiles at him and tiptoeing she steals a quick kiss. Harry hasn’t been the only one obsessed with kisses. “Make yourself home.”

Harry leaves to use the bathroom quickly and on his way back he finds himself wandering into her bedroom. He has been in her home just a few times before, only spending short minutes here when he was picking her up but now he has time to actually look around, hoping she won’t mind him snooping around.

Her whole place is just as colorful as she is always, each piece of furniture a different style and color, yet fitting so well when you see it as a whole. The quilted patchwork blanket over her bed is definitely homemade, each patch has a different flower on it while the left lower corner has Floortje embroidered into it. Harry wonders if it was made by a friend or family member, either way, it’s surely a special piece.

Her dresser is cluttered with rings, perfumes and endless amount of hair ties. She has complained before that her hair stretches her elastics out so fast, she keeps buying new ones every month. The little armchair in the corner is covered with a few of her used clothes, ones she’ll wear once more before putting them into the laundry basket.

As he walks over to her nightstand that’s filled with books, at least seven piled on each other, his eyes stop over something that makes his heart flutter.

A crooked little paper crane is sitting on the edge of the nightstand, the one he made the first time they talked, to be exact. Harry takes the bird and looks at it in awe, surprised that she kept it to herself. However he doesn’t find it odd, not even a little bit, since he has also kept the one she wrote her phone number onto, it’s sitting on his desk in his study.

“Found something interesting?” Flora walks in and Harry’s head whips towards her, feeling like he was just caught. But the warm smile on her lips is a telltale sign that she doesn’t mind him looking around.

“You kept it,” he states matter-of-factly, holding up the paper bird.

“Of course I did,” she nods, walking closer. “It’s a special one.”

“Thought you treat everyone and everything the same,” he teases smiling as he puts the crane back, his hands finding her waist.

“I guess there are a few exceptions,” she smirks slyly, her hands running up on his arms until they reach the base of his neck.

“Am I an exception?” The corners of his mouth curl up as he places the bird back on her nightstand and circle his arms around her waist.

“Did I say that?” she teases him. “I think I called your work a special one.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, pretending to be hurt at her words, but he can’t push the growing smile back from his lips. They’ve been seeing each other for only over a month, but it was enough time to make him completely hooked on her. He is amazed by her in every possible way, feeling like he could never get enough of the ray of sunshine that Flora is. His favorite thing is that she makes him feel so normal, just an average guy dating a girl he met at a café. Not once did she treat him any different because of what he is and it’s just the feeling Harry has been looking for for such a long time.

“Come on, dinner is ready,” she smiles, pecking his lips before peeling his arms off of her frame, taking his hand as she pulls him out of the bedroom, however they surely end up in there again sometime after dinner, but with way less clothes on.

Harry watches as Flora plays with the bubbles in front of her, picking some foam up into her hair, watching it move around on her wet palm before blowing on it gently, her delicate fingers poking at the small bubbles that escaped from it. His hands are caressing her sides under the warm water that was once hot when they first got into it about an hour ago.

It’s been a lazy Sunday, Flora arrived early in the morning and went plant shopping. Her home has always been filled with plants and Harry has grown a liking to all the greenery, wanted some more in his house as well and Flora was more than happy to help him pick out the ones that are the easiest to take care of. Then they cooked lunch together, watched a movie and cleaned up the mess they made in the kitchen before running the bath. Harry has been loving these domestic days, lounging around his or her home, wearing comfy clothes and not caring about much of the outside words, just enjoying each other’s company.

“Remind me to buy peanut butter the next time I’m going grocery shopping,” she speaks up, leaning further back against his chest while Harry rests his chin on her shoulder, his arms tightening around her waist under the layer of bubbles.

“What do you need it for?” he hums, nudging her hair with his nose, her curls ticking his face, but he doesn’t mint it.

“I want to make cupcakes for the kids next week.”

“What for? Is there gonna be a special occasion?”

“No, they’ve just been super nice lately, we set up some new rules in the classroom and they’ve been really good following them.” Harry hums, loving how she is so eager to treat her students, he is convinced she is easily the best teacher he has ever came across.

“So peanut butter, huh? I think I need some too. Been dying to eat a good burger with some peanut butter.”

“I cannot believe you put peanut butter into your burgers,” she chuckles, peeking at him over her shoulder.

“Don’t bash it when you haven’t even tried!” he defends himself, kissing her cheek softly.

“The Aztecs would be so disappointed,” she sighs turning back forward, so she doesn’t see the puzzled look on Harry’s face.

“The Aztecs?”

“Yeah, they technically invented peanut butter,” she nods, as if it was common knowledge.

“Do I want to know why you know this about the history of peanut butter?” he chuckles softly.

“Well I had this kid last year who was obsessed with it and I started looking up fun facts for him for mornings when he looked a little moody. Then the others started enjoying it too so it became our morning thing that I told them a fun fact about anything.”

“Oh really? Tell me one then!” he asks smirking, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Okay, um…” she thinks to herself. “Do you know what the Olympic rings stand for?”

“I do not,” he shakes his head.

“The five rings stand for the five inhabited continents of the world, united by Olympism.”

“Sounds logical,” Harry nods. “Tell me another one,” he asks.

“Are you going to make me tell you all my fun facts?” she chuckles, turning a little so she can look into his beautiful green eyes.

“Maybe. I like it when you talk like this,” he smirks playfully.

“Like what?”

“Like… smart. I love how you know all these little things about the world and teach it to not just the kids but to me as well.”

“You don’t think I’m a smartass?”

“Why would I?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed.

“I used to be picked on in middle school because I liked to learn, more than what was required.”

“That doesn’t make you a smartass, baby. You don’t go around, correcting every tiny mistake around you. You use your knowledge to educate, like you should.”

Flora smiles softly at him, his words bringing the sense of reassurance she’s been seeking for so long. She pecks his lips shortly before turning back forward.

“Do you know how many days a billion seconds make up?” she asks, smiling to herself.

“I don’t.”

“11 574 days. That’s a little over 31 years.”

“So I haven’t lived a billion seconds in my life just yet,” Harry states, doing the quick math.

“No, you haven’t,” she smiles, mostly at the fact that he didn’t just listen to her little fun fact, but also thought about it a bit deeper.

They stay in the bath until the water gets cold and Harry keeps asking for fun facts and Flora gladly tells him whatever comes to her mind.

Harry finishes up the fresh salad, filled with Flora’s favorites: cherry tomatoes, feta cheese and corn with some kale, baby spinach and garlic dressing. He even sprinkled some sesame seeds on top, now he is pretty proud of his work, it looks like something influencers would snap in an aesthetic photo to their Instagram feed.

His bare feet tap against the hardwood floor as he makes his way to Flora’s bedroom where she is still curled up on her chair in front of her computer, her hair in a mess on top of her head, glasses perched up on the bridge of her nose. She hasn’t moved much from the spot in hours, intensely working on her thesis that should be finalized within the next two weeks. She has been gradually working on it over the last few months, in no mean she is behind, but she’s been extra nervous about making it as good as she wanted it when she started and Harry has been nothing but supporting about it, knowing how much it means to her. So he’s been her moral support, making sure she eats, gets some rest and doesn’t get herself too worked up about her research. She appreciates his efforts and though she often feels bad for neglecting him lately, he made sure to assure her, he’ll be right here when she is finally done with it.

Harry walks around the mountain of books on the floor she has piled up from the library these past two weeks as he walks up behind her while her fingers type away on her computer so fast he can barely believe she even understands what she’s typing.

“Hey,” he softly calls out, leaning down he kisses her cheek, holding the bowl of salad in front of her, drabbing her attention, making her gaze move from the screen to the food in front of her.

“Oh, hey! Is this for me?” she asks with a soft smile, lifting her head so she can look at him. Even with the circles under her eyes, the messy hair and worn out t-shirt that she’s wearing, he thinks she is the most wonderful creature he has ever seen.

“Yeah. Come take a break, yea?”

She doesn’t protest, just saves the file before moving away from the desk to the bed along with Harry. She props herself up against the headboard, a tired moan escaping her lips as her spine rests against the pillows under her back. Harry hands her the salad and she digs right into it, only just now realizing that she’s been feeling hungry for the past two hours, but ignored it entirely.

“How much do you have left?” Harry asks nodding towards the computer.

“I’m finishing up the last part, then I just have to write the abstract and then…” she explains, popping a tomato in her mouth. “It’s just gonna be the formatting. I think I’ll be done by Wednesday.”

“That’s great,” he smiles proudly. He has always admired how hardworking she’s been when it came to school and her profession. He could never imagine himself do the same, especially because he didn’t even finish high school. He used to feel a little self-conscious about it when they first started dating, afraid that she might think less of him because he didn’t finish his education properly, even though it was never something that bothered him. But Flora assured him that it makes absolutely no difference in her opinion about him.

“It’s not about the papers or how many schools you’ve finished. It’s about how you see the world and if you are willing to learn when it changes around you. And I think you are perfect in that department, your curiosity and openness makes you an excellent learner,” she told him without even thinking about it.

Harry lies on his side next to her, one hand propping his head up while the other one wanders to her thigh, massaging it gently. She hums to herself, enjoying the food he made and he can’t help the smile that creeps on his face. He loves taking care of her, especially because most of the times it’s her that takes care of him. Cooking for him after a long day at the studio, putting his laundry away while he is in an online meeting or writing him a list for when he goes grocery shopping, Flora has been watching out for him through these little things, but now it’s finally his turn to give it all back.

He’s been thinking about asking her to move in with him for a few weeks now, he just hasn’t been brave enough to bring it up, thinking that she might find it too early for such a big step, seeing that the two of them have been dating for a little over nine months. He’s been playing with the thought of coming home to her every single day, waking up next to her in the mornings, watch her form his home more to her liking, creating a space for the both of them, making it a home not just for him but her as well.

As she finishes up her salad, completely oblivious to what Harry is thinking about, he decides to bring it up once she is done with her thesis, not wanting to bother her in any possible way until she is finished.

“Mm, this was lifesaving, thank you,” she sighs, leaning over she kisses him softly as her appreciation for the sweet gesture. “I’ll finish up this one paragraph I’m in the middle of and then we could watch a movie. But strictly without subs, because I’m done with words for today,” she jokes, making him laugh as he takes the empty bowl from her hands.

“Sounds good,” he nods. “I’ll clean up in the kitchen and find something to watch while you finish.”

“Thank you.” As they both get up from the bed, she pulls him down for another kiss, Harry’s free hand finding the small of her back right away. “I love you,” she whispers against his lips, his heart fluttering in his chest at the words he has heard before, but it never fails to stun him.

“I love you too. Now go, finish it so we can cuddle,” he smiles, smacking her bum gently before they let go of each other.

“Ja, pappa. Dat klinkt fantastisch. Ik zal het hem vragen. Ja.” Yes, dad. That sounds fantastic. I’ll ask him. Yes.

Harry listens to Flora talk to her father on the phone as she applies her lip balm, the one she uses every night before going to bed. He loves it when she talks in Dutch, many tend to criticize the language, but not Harry. Or maybe it’s just because he only hears Flora talk it and he loves everything she does.

“Ja, dat is goed. Dank je. Tot ziens, pappa, ik hou van je!” Yes, that’s great. Thank you. See you soon, dad, love you!

She ends the call and switches the light off in the bathroom that’s been not just Harry’s but hers since she officially moved in with him just last week. Harry finally built up the courage to ask her opinion about the possibility of living together in the near future once she was free from the worries of her research and thesis. For his biggest surprise, she was on the exact same page as him, definitely a fan of the idea. So three weeks later they started slowly moving all her stuff over to his until her apartment completely emptied out. Now all her belongings are splattered across Harry’s home, they haven’t found the perfect place for everything just yet, but it’s slowly starting to feel like home for the both of them.

“Dad called, asked if we would go over for dinner this weekend,” she tells him, moving around the bedroom as she takes her little hoop earrings off, placing them in the shell she uses as a jewelry holder on top of the dresser. She is wearing a pair of yellow sweatpants with one of Harry’s shirts, nothing underneath them, just how Harry loves it.

“It’s cute how you always tell me it was your dad, but he is the only one you speak Dutch with,” he chuckles lowly as she climbs to bed, pulling the covers over the both of them.

“It comes so naturally, I don’t even realize I’m switching languages,” she admits smiling.

“Dinner sounds lovely,” he nods, getting back to what she was talking about before.

“Arnold is bringing his girlfriend too,” she smirks, her eyes sparkling from excitement.

“Your brother has a girlfriend now?” he hums, eyebrows rising at the new information.

“It’s the girl I saw him with at his basketball game last month. They made it official like two weeks ago.”

“And he is already bringing her home? He is not beating around the bush,” he chuckles. “Is it going to be the first time the girl meets your parents?”

“Yeah, so it’s gonna be exciting,” she nods, cuddling to his side.

Flora is playing with the little cross pendant on Harry’s chest and he is watching her delicate fingers flipping it over, her fingertips tickling his chest a little in the process.

“When we have kids, will you also teach them Dutch?” he suddenly questions, the words just blurting out of his mouth. Flora lifts her head, resting her chin on his chest as she looks into his curious eyes. She stays silent, but a small smile is tugging on her lips for sure.

“What?” he asks, feeling a little nervous. It’s the first time he is bringing having kids up, but he definitely has been thinking about it, especially since she has moved in. They haven’t been dating for that long, but Harry is one hundred percent sure he is in the long run with her.

“I just… love how you said when and not if.”

“Well, it’s a question of when for me. What about you?”

“Same goes for me,” she smiles warmly. “And yes, I do want my children to speak Dutch. It’s important to my family and me as well. How does that sit with you?”

“Totally fine. In fact, I always envied kids growing up who were taught another language so early in their childhood. Would love that for my kids as well.”

“Dan is het geregeld,” she smiles widely at him.

“What’s that mean?” He furrows his eyebrows.

“I said that, then it’s settled. We’ll have some cute, bilingual babies,” she chuckles, half jokingly, half seriously.

Today has just been one of those days that were doomed from the moment Harry opened his eyes. He has been overwhelmed with stress lately, working on new music, but his studio sessions haven’t been as successful as he wanted them. He is also flying out to LA for two weeks in just a couple of days and he has to miss Flora’s mom’s birthday this weekend, which has been torturing him with guilt ever since he found out he can’t push his trip back.

This morning it felt like the universe just plotted against him. He slipped in the shower, broke a glass in the kitchen and successfully ripped one of his favorite jeans when he was getting dressed. He had a one way ticket cranky city, turning Harry into a moody little child. It didn’t take him long until he started a fight with Flora over the smallest, most ridiculous thing. It started with how Flora misplaced a bowl in the cabinet and took him two moments longer to find it than usual, then they ended up disputing about every little thing about each other they’ve been finding annoying, but neither of them voiced their feelings about them.

Flora, on the other hand, was not in the mood to argue with Harry so early on a Tuesday morning and she chose to just walk away and let him stew in his own anger. Harry knew the moment he heard the front door shut that she was mad at him: she didn’t kiss him goodbye like she does every day before she leaves.

He took a cold shower to cool him down and clear his head, get his thoughts straight so he can apologize like she deserves. Getting into his car he drives to the florist he usually goes to when he needs flowers for whatever occasions. The old lady greets him with a warm smile and upon describing what he envisioned, she immediately knows what to create for him this time. The result is a giant, colorful bouquet that reminds him of Flora in every possible means.

Driving down to her school he is met with an extreme amount of nostalgia even though it’s not even the school he went to as a kid, but it still brings back some memories.

The security guard immediately stops him when he walks into the building, but once he has explained him the situation, the old guy gladly tells him which classroom is hers so he can go and surprise her. His footsteps echo in the empty hallways as it is the middle of the second period, all students are locked up in their classrooms, lucky for Harry, because he surely can’t deal with teenage girls recognizing him right now. Holding the flowers in one hand he stops when he finds room 414 and he can hear Flora’s voice coming from inside, enthusiastically explaining something about penguins and it makes Harry smile.

Even with such a horrible morning behind her, she is still giving one hundred for her students. He brings up his hand and softly knocks on the door, interrupting her speech.

“Come in!” she calls out and Harry opens the door, popping his head inside first, then holding up the bouquet of flowers, making the kids start chattering in excitement at his arrival while Flora is staring at him shocked.

“Miss Hoven, do you have a moment for me, please?” he asks with a shy but charming smile. She quickly gains back control over her features before turning to her class.

“Please start working on task two and five, I’ll be right back,” she orders, but the chatter doesn’t die down so she raises her voice at them. “This is not how we act when we have guests, guys!”

The kids are quick to quiet themselves, eyes curiously switching between their teacher and the intruder at the door.

“Miss Hoven, is this your husband?” one of the kids, a little blond boy asks.

“No, Michael, he is not. Harry is my boyfriend,” she answers calmly, heading towards the door.

“Wait, I know him!” a girl exclaims gasping. “He sings the watermelon song!”

“Lilian, no discussion now. Do the tasks!” Flora tells her before walking out, but keeping the door open so she can hear what’s happening inside. Her cheeks are flushed and eyes wide when she finally looks at Harry again. “What’s—What’s this?”

“These are for you,” he clears his throat, handing her the bouquet. “And I came here to apologize for being such an arsehole this morning. It wasn’t your fault, I’ve just been crankier lately and I took it all out on you. I’m very sorry.”

Flora’s eyes soften on him as she takes one of his hands with her free one, giving it a squeeze.

“I said some nasty stuff too, so I guess I’m sorry too,” she sighs, her anger and frustration from earlier now long gone.

“I brought that out of you, so I’ll take the blame,” Harry chuckles softly. “But the point is that I’m sorry.”

“Well, you are forgiven. You were even before you came here,” she assures him smiling warmly. “Why don’t we order something tonight and just get lazy on the couch?”

“You said you have some tests to go through.”

“That can wait. You’re leaving in two days so I want to spend time with you.”

“So we won’t get our tests back tomorrow?” they both hear a muffled voice coming from inside and Flora chuckles shaking her head as she opens the door wider and steps inside. A small group of kids run back to their seats, but not fast enough to not get caught.

“Lilian, would you mind telling me why you left your seat without permission?” Flora questions the girl who just rolls her lips into her mouth, pretending like she hasn’t even moved all along. Flora sighs stepping outside once again. “I gotta go now, but thank you for this. They look beautiful,” she tells Harry.

“I love you,” he murmurs and leaning down he kisses her quickly, feeling like he is breaking rules even though he is not a student or a teacher here.

“I love you too,” she smiles back before walking back inside and shutting the door. Harry stays for a minute, just out of curiosity to hear if the kids ask her some more questions about him.

“Miss Hoven?” a girl calls out and Harry bets it’s the same nosy girl who recognized him.

“Yes, Lilian?”

“You have a nice boyfriend,” she exclaims, earning a soft chuckle from Flora.

“Well thank you, Lilian, but let’s get back to our new unit. Let’s see the tasks you had to solve!”

The splashing sound of vomit arriving to the toilet hits Harry’s ears once again as he is rushing up the stairs with a glass of water and the Emetrol his hands that he dug the kitchen cabinets through for. Arriving to the master bathroom he finds Flora just where he left a few minutes ago, kneeling in front of the toilet, arms on the rim as she is taking a deep breath, hoping to calm her stomach and stop throwing up finally.

“Oh baby, here. Found you some Emetrol, this should help,” he coos gently, sitting down to the marble floor next to her he places the water beside him as he pours some of the liquid medicine into the cap for her. She lifts her head, skin pale as the wall, the dark circles under her eyes make his stomach churn, he hates to see her in this condition and wishes he could just help her.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, her shaking hand takes the cup and she downs the medicine before taking a few sips from the water. “Harry, I’m so sorry for ruining our date,” she sighs in defeat.

“Oh shush. Don’t you dare apologize for being sick,” he shakes his head, putting the Emetrol aside before he towers above her to redo her hair so it doesn’t fall to her face. Today marks their one year anniversary and though they only planned to go out for a nice dinner, nothing extra, Flora still feels bad they had to cancel on their reservation when she started throwing up this afternoon. She’s been feeling nauseous ever since she ate that leftover casserole for lunch. She had a feeling she should have just gotten rid of it, but she hated wasting food so ate it. Big mistake.

Harry’s fingers delicately work on her curls, piling them on the top of her heat before he secures the bun with professional movements using the elastic he tends to wear on his wrists, just because Flora always loses hers. He likes to keep one on him as well. His long haired days trained him well, her hair is neatly kept out of her face as she frowns, feeling her stomach churning again.

“Can I do anything else for you, baby?” he gently asks, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead to make sure she doesn’t have a fever, but she feels alright. She probably just has to get rid of the bad food.

“Can you please get me a wet washcloth?” she asks faintly. Sitting to her butt she leans against the wall beside her with her eyes closed.

Harry nods and he is on his feet in a blink of an eye, grabbing a washcloth from the cabinet and wetting it in some cool water. He kneels in front of her and starts gently tapping it against her cheeks, forehead and neck, wiping off the thin layer of sweat.

“This is not how I planned to spend our anniversary,” she groans with a frown, making him chuckle.

“We agreed, the anniversary is postponed. Don’t even think about it.”

“But I wanted to look nice for you, even bought a new dress.” She pouts her lips at him, eyes opening narrowly, glistening from the tears that watered them while she was throwing up.

“You always look nice, baby,” he softly tells her, letting her take the washcloth before she places it over her forehead.

“Even now? After you saw me throw up four times? We have very different versions for the word nice, H,” she jokes with a soft chuckle and Harry is thankful to see her smile, even if it’s still very faint and tired.

“Even now, baby,” he nods smirking and he is not lying. Though the situation is saddening, Harry still enjoys taking care of her, being the one she can rely on even on her worst days.

They sit on the bathroom floor as the medicine slowly works and she finally gets rid of the urge to throw up. Then Harry scoops her up and undressing the both of them, he helps her take a nice shower before dressing her in clean clothes, tossing their dirty ones into the laundry basket, noting to do them sometime in the morning.

When Flora is settled under the cover, head comfortably sinking into the pillow, she immediately feels her eyes closing, the strenuous afternoon has successfully sucked all her energy right out of her body. Harry brings her another big glass of water for the night and just to be sure, puts a trashcan next to her side, if things go south again. When he gets under the covers she is already half asleep, but she hums when his fingertips dance down the side of her face.

He allows himself to shamelessly admire her as she finally falls completely asleep, her lips parted as she slightly snores, but she looks so peaceful, the painful frown he saw on her face all afternoon is now gone from her beautiful face. He hasn’t fully wrapped his mind around how an entire year has passed with such a wonderful creature by his side. As their anniversary was coming up, he caught himself thinking about what the future is holding for them more often. There were so many things they needed to experience together, so much to see and do as partners and Harry couldn’t wait for it all to come.

As he lies in the bed next to her, a smile tugs on his pink lips at the thought of the possibility of spending the rest of his life with Flora. His future has never seemed brighter than in that moment.

“This is harder than I thought,” Flora admits, focusing on the instrument on her lap, trying to figure out if she is holding down the accords the right way, but a moment later Harry’s hand covers hers on the neck of the guitar and he fixes her fingers on the strings until they are in the right position.

“Like this. Try it now,” he murmurs, his chin resting on her shoulders as she is standing between his legs, back leant against his chest. Flora has been begging him to teach him a few accords on the guitar and today finally brought the moment Harry would turn into her master.

The two of them are sitting on the bed, Harry only in his underwear while Flora is in one of his hoodies with only her panties covering the lower parts of her body. Harry came back from a week-long trip to New York and they haven’t left the bed too much since he set his feet inside the house, only emerging from the bedroom to fulfill their other physical needs.

Flora’s fingers strum against the strings and the instrument comes to life, giving her a clear accord finally, bringing a triumphant smile to her lips.

“You are a natural talent, baby,” he smirks, giving her hips a gentle squeeze before kissing into her neck.

“Don’t tease me, I’m trying!” she warns her playfully, playing the chord again, loving how she can create such a beautiful sound with the instrument.

“Mm, you’re coming for my career?”

“Oh, surely. I think I would make an excellent rockstar,” she nods confidently, making him laugh.

“You are so not the rockstar type. More like the chill indie singer who dances barefoot on stage.”

“Yeah, but I could spice it up a little and make it rockstar-y,” she explains and glances back at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you think I would look hot in one of your stage costumes? Sparkly suit and all?”

“Oh I know you’d look amazing,” he nods eagerly. He has spent quite some time imagining her girl in one of his suits and he quite liked the thought. Flora chuckles as he puts the guitar aside before she turns around and straddles him, her knees on each of his sides.

“Yeah? I would need a better name, mine is not too fitting for a star,” she explains. “Easy for you, your name is basically the most perfect name for a rockstar.”

“You think so?” he cocks an eyebrow at her, his palms coming to cup her bum as he tilts his head backwards since this position makes her the taller one for a change.

“Harry Styles? Oh please, it’s like Anne knew she would give birth to a legend,” she scoffs making him laugh.

“I’ve been told it’s a nice one,” he shrugs smugly. “I think it’s the surname.”

“It’s pretty cool, yeah.”

“What if you had the same? Flora Styles? Sounds pretty badass,” he suggests and at first, she doesn’t even realize the hidden meaning behind his words, tasting the name so obliviously.

“Flora Styles? You might be right, the surname sounds very cool,” she agrees and it amazes him how easily it went over her head.

“You like it?”

“Mhm,” she nods, her hand reaching for the guitar once again, but Harry stops her, taking it between his as he blindly finds her ring finger that is now ringless.

“Do you like it enough to actually take it?” he questions, hoping she would get the hint now where this is heading. She blinks at him a little puzzled but it’s until she realizes that his fingers are fidgeting with her ring finger, more specifically where a ring would sit on it, his fingertips gently caressing the skin around it.

“Harry?” she gasps with wide eyes as she just watches his grin grow wider. “This is not… Are you--?”

“What?” he chuckles, feeling entertained how she lost all her smug confidence all of a sudden. “What’s it that you’re trying to say?”

“No, what is it that you are trying to say?!” she snaps back, still in shock about what he just implied. “Was this your sneaky way of… proposing?” she asks, whispering the last word as if it was a curse word.

“Why do you act like we have a forbidden love and marriage cannot be even mentioned?” he chuckles at her.

“Because I was shocked! Not that bad now though, you haven’t pulled out a ring so I guess it was just a cruel joke.” She narrows her eyes at him, kissing his smug grin shortly, but Harry is definitely not done with her just yet.

“I wouldn’t be that sure about it, baby,” he warns her before gently pushing her off her lap to get off the bed. Flora’s eyes widen as she follows him walk to his suitcase that’s still lying on the floor next to his dresser, waiting to be unpacked. He digs under his clothes before pulling out a small velvety box, making her gasp immediately. Harry gets back on bed as he holds out the box in front of her on his palm, not opening it just yet.

“Did you buy that in New York just this week?” she asks with her mouth hung open.

“I didn’t. I’ve had it for about a month, I just took it with myself because I was afraid you’d find it,” he chuckles as he plays around with it between his fingers. “Have been planning on it for a while, but I couldn’t come up with anything so then I just decided to wait for the right moment and go with the flow,” he explains.

“And this is the right moment?” she questions, her heart beating in her throat as her gaze is switching between Harry’s green eyes and the box in his hand.

“Felt like it, yeah,” he nods, the corners of his mouth curling up.

Silence settles between them as they both just wrap their heads around the weight of the moment. Harry’s heart flutters in his chest, a little afraid it’s too early. They’ve been dating a little over two years now, marriages have been tied way earlier in a relationship before, but Harry feared Flora would feel it too rushed just yet, however the question is out there now. Or is it?

“Well, are you gonna ask it?” she questions and as Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet her gaze, he is met with that playful challenge in them that he adores so much.

“I just asked,” he mutters.

“No, you asked if I would take your name. That’s not a proposal,” she reminds him and he realizes she is right. He never actually asked the big question.

So he finally pops the lid open revealing the vintage diamond ring he bought a month ago when he was just out and about. The moment his eyes laid on the jewelry, he knew it’s the one he’d like to see on your finger and bought it right away.

“Floortje Hoven, will you marry me?” he simply asks, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks as he smiles widely at his lover.

“I will,” she nods, her heart hammering in her chest as she watches him take the ring out of the box and carefully put it on her once empty ring finger. Still holding her hand, he brings it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the ring before leaning in he connects his lips with hers.

Thank you for reading! Please like and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot

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pcvensies · 3 years ago

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*.• Si vis amari.

II. The Sun.

in which 18 year old gojo satoru is left in charge of 6 year old fushiguro megumi and 8 year old tsumiki fushiguro, with the help of 17 year old nanami suki (oc).

word count: 3280

I. The Moon.

Soft light crept through the curtains, and Suki turned around to protect her sleepy eyes, stretching her whole body as she groaned, legs shaking as she did. She scratched her head, hair falling on her eyes, and the blonde sat up, eyes getting used to the new light of the room before a voice interrupted her awakening.

“Gojo I told you you’d sleep on the floor, get the fu-”.

Kento opened his eyes, hair messy and an angry expression plastered in his face. But his sight found only his twin, instead of the white haired boy.

The blonde was as confused, looking around and finding herself in a room different to the one she had fallen asleep into.

They both got up, Suki opening the windows and Kento making the bed.

“Though you were taking the couch”.

“I did”, she answered, looking through the window, rolling her eyes at the thought of Satoru changing places with her.

The blonde walked to her bedroom, opening the door to a sleeping Fushiguro on her bed, the kid snorting peacefully. She closed the door again, and this time walked to the living room.

It was empty, and so was the kitchen, and Suki felt her stomach sink. Had Gojo simply left them with the kid? It didn’t sound like him, but neither did this whole situation. He was acting very strangely, honestly, maybe…

She shook her head, shaking the thought away, and walking to the kitchen to make breakfast.

“Any idea where Gojo is?”, she asked out loud, making coffee.

“Nope”, her brother replied, rubbing his eyes as he sat at the kitchen table, “But he better be back to get the kid”.

Suki poured two coffees, one with milk and the other black, and sat in front of her brother, as he opened a bag of croissants that rested on the table.

“Can you get the juice from the fridge?”, Kento asked, earning a groan from his twin.

“Could have said before I sat down, couldn’t you Ken?”, she complained, as her hand found the fridge door.

Stuck with a magnet, a note caught her attention: “Call me when u wake up, we have something to pick up. Bring hedgehog kid! -Toru xx”. The girl sighed, throwing the note to her brother’s head as she sat back down with the juice box.

Kento read it and didn’t bother asking, he simply poured two glasses of juice, croissant hanging from his mouth as he did so.

The twins had breakfast in silence, still waking up, throwing glances at each other that they understood like words.

“This is crazy”.

“I mean, it’s Gojo we’re talking about. Of course it’s crazy”.

Kento snorted softly.

“You sure it’s a good idea? You can handle it, Sue?”.

The girl looked away, rolling her eyes in the process, and got up to prepare a cup of chocolate milk, ignoring her brother’s worried glances.

But Kento couldn’t ignore his worry. His sister and himself had been through enough, and the past months had been very rough on Suki. He didn’t want her to put any more pressure on herself, with all the missions they were giving her.

He couldn’t ask her again before Suki had already left the room, opening the door of her bedroom again, and walking to open the blinds slightly.

The sun filled the room with small squares of light, just enough to allow the blonde to locate everything around her.

She crouched next to the bed, gently shaking the kid, calling him softly as he started to open his eyes, covered by his messy raven hair.

“Good morning, Fushiguro… Breakfast is ready, and I’ll run you a bath. We’ll meet up Gojo later”.

The kid rubbed his eyes as he sat up, looking at his surroundings in an initial post-sleep confusion, but soon nodding at her words.

Suki noticed he had one of her old plushies next to him, a fluffy panda whose left ear had been lost to a dog in the park, but she didn’t say anything, simply getting up again and fully opening blinds and windows this time.

She made the bed as the kid left, and closed the door to put on some clothes. She then did her make up (there’s no reason why a strong sorcerer shouldn’t look good, if death is always around the corner anyways), and braided her hair, before heading to the bathroom to prepare the bath for the kid, and brush her teeth.

It wasn’t that different from her usual morning routine, she realised, and it hadn’t even been that much work to get Megumi to get up. He maybe wasn’t the sweetest kid, but he was as well behaved as one could expect.

And, being honest with herself, as he walked in the bathroom with sleepy eyes, and chocolate milk all over his face, Suki didn’t even mind having him around that much.

She put some towels in the towel warmer, left the kid’s clothes in the sink, and exited the bathroom to pick up her car keys, and her phone from the couch, eyes opening wide at her new lockscreen: a selfie Gojo had taken with her sleeping figure that night.

She unlocked it, searching for his name on her contact list, while Kento washed the dishes in the kitchen, the sound of the water making the girl walk to the balcony.

“Oh good morning, Susu”, Satoru greeted her through the phone.

“Morning, Gojo. Fushiguro is taking a bath, once he’s finished and ready we’ll go… What’s all this about? You didn’t stay for breakfast”.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry about that. Needed to do something first thing in the morning”, he simply said, avoiding the main question, “I’ll send you an address, yeah? And we’ll meet there, let's say… in an hour?”.

“Mhm, sounds good to me. Want us to bring something? I’m taking the car”.

“Stop to get something sweet for breakfast… It’s very important- no, crucial, to the plan”.

Suki rolled her eyes, but agreed, and she hung up when the bathroom door opened. She chuckled softly at the kid, wet hair falling on his eyes, and put her phone in her back pocket to grab the towel from his hands.

The kid looked up at her through the wet strands, like a cat who’s been caught by the rain, and Suki threw it over his head, drying his hair gently.

“If you don’t dry your hair well, you'll catch a cold, kid. And it will look weird”.

“I don’t care how it looks… Are we going to get the big baby now?”, the boy said, referring to Satoru, and earning a laugh from Kento.

“Yeah, Gojo wants us to go to an address… Here”, the girl explained, showing the kid the message, “We’ll go in my car and-”.

The kid’s face had changed, and Suki stopped talking, confused. He looked away from her and the phone, his energy switching to a weary one.

Just then, the blonde girl looked back at the text message, clicking on the address. It was a primary school.

“Fushiguro… Do you know why Gojo is sending us to a school?”.

“It’s not my school, I was kicked out…”, even his voice was different, “But, uhm-...”

“It’s my sister’s”.

( . . . )

The white haired boy waited outside, back pressed against the wall of the school’s entrance.

Mothers and older sisters were starting to gather around, waiting for their kids and siblings outside, some of their eyes caught by the handsome boy that stood unbothered under the sun, scrolling down his phone.

He looked up, blue eyes shielded by his round sunglasses meeting a pair of brown ones. The girl blushed, looking away immediately, and Satoru smirked as he looked around, looking for Nanami’s car this time.

A black Citroen C3 took the corner, and Satoru waved at it, signaling Nanami to park in front of where he was.

He put his phone in his pocket, followed by his hands, and he started walking towards the car. But then he felt it, Six Eyes sending him a very clear message right there: Nanami was angry. Very angry.

“Gojo Satoru, how could you do this to us?!”, she yelled, followed by the younger Fushiguro.

Gojo opened his eyes in surprise, knowing exactly what she was doing. They wanted to embarrass him.

“I work TWO jobs just to keep us all going, I offered to help you with YOUR mistress’ kid after SHE left YOU, and you don’t even have the guts to tell me… there’s ANOTHER KID?!”.

All the girls that just minutes before eyed him up and down, now looked at him with disgust, and Gojo felt his cheeks grow redder by second.

“Nanami-san has done so much for us, and you still lied to her, you’re gross!”, Megumi added, pulling up his best distressed kid act.

At the entrance of the school, a teacher waited with the few kids that hadn’t left with their horrified parents already. Behind a tall, blonde boy, a small girl with a dark ponytail looked at Megumi with confusion.

Megumi ran to her, the teacher recognising the problematic child as her brother, and didn’t bother asking who the screaming teenagers were. She had heard about the Fushiguro sibling’s parents, so she wasn’t surprised nor doubted that everything the blonde was yelling was true.

It didn’t seem too strange for Tsumiki’s mother to have had an affair and fled, and it was known by everyone at the school that Megumi’s father had been out of the picture for almost a year now.

She did, however, feel bad about that poor girl. She looked truly hurt, and having to take care of a kid like Fushiguro…

“But Suki I-“, Gojo tried to get her to shut up, eyes apologising with urgency.

“Get in the car Satoru, I can’t even- I can’t even look at you right now. Let’s go kids”.

Megumi and his sister were soon sitting in the back of the car, followed by Suki, and lastly by Gojo.

The younger boy looked at Suki through the mirror, and the girl met his eyes, before they crashed into laughs, much to Gojo’s displeasure.

When they calmed down, and Suki apologised to Gojo with the cinnamon rolls she had bought, Megumi explained the situation to his sister. How their father wasn’t going to come back, and neither was their mother.

Tsumiki was very scared at the beginning, for the both of them, but when the pretty blonde senior pulled up at their apartment, and called Megumi by his name, she felt very relieved.

Megumi never let anyone call him by his first name, as he didn’t like it. Only she herself was allowed, as she didn’t really remember her mother or his father being around that much anyways. But if he let that girl do it too, then she was truly trustworthy.

“Megumi, why didn’t you tell me about Tsumiki, hm?”, she asked, and the little girl felt shy under her intimidating eyes.

“I dunno”, he shrugged a little, inexpressive eyes on hers, “I didn’t think I’d stay with you for too long, she’d have been okay with the neighbours until I got ba-”.

Tsumiki gasped when the blonde girl put her hand on Megumi’s head, messing his hair. But to her surprise, her brother didn’t do anything more than sighing and rolling his eyes, starting to walk towards the building, followed by the girl.

She looked at them with big eyes, then up at the white haired boy, who gave her a big smile.

“Did you know Toji?”, the little girl asked him, as they too started walking.

“Mhm. Before he decided to leave forever, he asked me to keep an eye on ‘Gumi. You know, ‘cause he can be kiiiinda problematic sometimes”.

The little girl laughed, nodding shyly, and the boy’s smile grew. At least this one liked him.

They walked to the apartment door, slightly open as Megumi was inside, while Suki stood in front of the door next to it, talking to an old woman.

She bent down, hands pressed together, as she thanked the lady who looked at her with a sweet, warm smile.

“Thank you so much for taking care of them these past months, Hosho-san. My husband and I will take on from here... We found out a few days ago about what happened to Fushiguro-san and his wife… and we came all the way from Kioto just yesterday. I hope they haven’t been too much work, and my husband is more than willing to help with any economic matter that they can have caused to your family”.

Gojo smirked at her words. Suki’s ability to create stories to get them out of trouble had been saving their asses for years now, and it never stopped amazing him. Plus, pretending that Fushiguro senior was a family friend, and they were a young marriage taking the kids, was the perfect story to keep away anyone suspicious of them.

“Oh, no, no, dear. They’re wonderful, please don’t worry about anything. It’s more than enough to know that someone will be taking proper care of them from now on”.

Suki nodded and gave the old woman a smile, before Gojo wrapped his arm around her, chin resting on top of her head.

“Megumi is already picking up his things, baby. Why don’t you go help him and Tsumiki while I thank Hosho-san here?”.

He also gave the lady a smile, a charming, sweet one, and the woman blushed softly with a chuckle. Suki smiled, rolling her eyes as she walked in, leaving the white haired boy to continue adding to their story so she could help the kids without any other neighbour coming around.

Tsumiki was sitting in the living room, a yellow bag with white flowers already prepared on the floor. It didn’t take too much for anyone to realise Megumi had prepared it for her, as he walked in first and was still starting his.

The blonde girl sighed softly, sitting on the couch next to the little girl, who put her hands on her own lap, holding them together to hide the way they were slightly shaking.

Suki wasn’t sure about Megumi’s plan, using his first name so Tsumiki would see her as someone of trust, but at least they had found her.

“Tsumiki-”.

“Thank you for taking us in, Nanami-san!”, the little girl almost yelled, head down.

Nanami looked at her with soft eyes, a little smile plastered on her face as she nodded.

“Would you like me to braid your hair like mine, while we wait? I think it’d look good on you, Tsumiki”.

Her hair was almost matted, knots making it impossible to even try to brush it. The little girl sobbed when the scissors started snapping, balls of blonde hair falling at her feet.

The also young boy sighed deeply as he continued to cut his sister's hair, both of them eight by the time.

“It’ll grow again, healthier”.

“I look like a boy!”, the little girl sobbed harder.

Her brother sighed, holding her in his arms, and shook his head.

“When it grows again, I’ll learn how to braid it okay? I promise. You won’t need mom to do it. I will do it”.

The little girl sniffed softly, rubbing her eyes with her little shaky hands, but nodded.

“Thank you, Ken”.

The little girl looked up at her with bright eyes, nodding her head fast and excitedly, and Suki signaled her to go get a hair brush and a ribbon, which the little girl ran to do.

Her hair was lighter than Megumi’s, not exactly black, but a dark shade of brown, very straight and shiny. She was too young to have any heat damage, and Suki brushed it carefully, as the younger girl looked at their reflection on the TV while sitting as still as she could.

From Megumi’s bedroom, Gojo stood against the door frame, moving his eyes from the kid to the girls. Suki had managed to calm down the little girl immediately, and she had gotten Megumi to collaborate with her all day.

She had a weird talent he didn’t have. He could make Tsumiki laugh, and could get Megumi to follow him, but he couldn’t get them to relax, to trust like Nanami had in a night and barely an hour.

Satoru opened his mouth to speak, just in time for Suki’s phone to start ringing. On top of the screen, a name popped up: Kitamura Nagisa.

Suki finished tying the ribbon to the little girl’s braid, and just then realised she had forgotten her plans for the day, a wave of anxiety hitting her like a truck.

“Your phone’s ringing, Suk- Oh”, Gojo spoke, watching her sit there, blocked, phone in hand, “What are you doing?”.

The blonde girl simply signaled him to shut up, taking a deep breath before picking up.

“Hey, Nanami”, the boy’s voice was raspy, and Suki sighed softly at it, ears turning red just by the sound, “Are you okay? I sent you like twelve messages, are we still meeting for lunch? I’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes now”.

Suki bit her lip, looking at the kids, both of them ready now as Megumi walked out of the room with his bag.

“I- Uh… I am so sorry, Kitamura, I should have called you but something important came up, and I… I forgot completely”.

The boy chuckled softly, Suki’s embarrassment noticeable in her voice.

“No worries, Nanami… Is everything okay? Anything I can help you with?”.

“Hm… actually just… a family friend passed away!”, she spit out, and in front of her, Gojo raised an eyebrow, not understanding why the Suki was so nervous.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Nanami, I had no idea”.

Suki sighed. She didn’t want to lie to Nagisa. But she definitely couldn’t tell him the truth.

“Thank you, it’s just… He had two kids, and he didn’t have any more family… So it was either Kento and I , or my parents taking them in…”, she almost whispered the last part, avoiding Satoru’s confused gaze, “So you know, we kind of had to do it. A friend and I are helping them with their stuff right now”.

All she got for a minute was a hum, and silence, her heart beating faster than ever before inside her ribcage.

“Why don’t we have dinner together then, yes? I’ll bring take out, and I’ll help you get everything ready”.

Gojo frowned at his words. He had heard Nanami and Shoko talk about that boy, Kitamura, before. But he didn’t know the blonde girl and him were close like that, to have secrets that he apparently didn’t know.

It’s not like it angered him, or anything, he’d explain, it just annoyed him that Suki hadn’t told him. Yeah, that was it, and that’s that.

“You don’t mind? Kento will be home…”.

“And so will I! Is it a problem, Kitamura, huh?”, Satoru’s voice rose over Suki’s, getting a death glare from the girl.

“Not a problem at all. Any friend of Nanami is of mine”, the boy replied, and one could feel the smirk in his voice, “See you tonight then, Suki. You too, dude”.

And with that, Nagisa hung up, leaving a cold ambience in the room between Suki and Satoru, that made even the kids shiver.

n/a: i did say slowburn and i intend on keeping my word thank u v much SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG ON UPDATING :( the ending was shit but im SO TIRED forgive me ily <3

taglist: @expectoscamander @tsun444mi @helvegen-s @theworldis-ahead @evans-dejong @crzyinluve

#sivisamari.lulu #gojo satoru x reader #dad gojo #megumi fushiguro #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru #son megumi #tsumiki fushiguro #nanami kento x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru x reader #dad satoru

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miracleonice87 · 4 years ago

Text

Cape Cod Confessions - Kevin Hayes

a/n: this one hit me outta nowhere and I blame my Philly loves @broadstbroskis and @princessphilly for enabling me 😉😘 (jk you know I adore you.) writing this one actually made writing feel fun again. I'm grateful for that. also hey, I'm writing for Kevin Hayes now! keep that in mind for the next prompt list lol.

warnings: I think just swearing. also heads up, this is an OC. I like them and I ain't sorry.

word count: 4.4K+

_____

The familiar scene in the yard of Kate’s parents’ summer home on Cape Cod would normally fill her with contentment and peace, as all her family and closest, lifelong friends were gathered together in celebration. Her brother was marrying his college sweetheart in twenty-four hours, and Kate had every reason to be happy.

Today, though, after not being part of such an occasion for many months due to work obligations back in Seattle, Kate felt strange pangs of guilt and discomfort. Days like today made her wonder why she had ever left Boston in the first place.

And seeing her childhood best friend Kevin manning the grill, his nieces and nephews hanging from his long limbs as he promised them he would play with them as soon as the food was finished, made her wonder why she had ever left him in the first place.

How she had ever left him in the first place.

Kate was still lost in her own thoughts when, from across the lawn, she heard a shrill scream, followed by an ecstatic, “Auntie Kate!”

Her goddaughter Neila’s voice was unmistakable, and Kate set her purse on the grass just in time to catch Neila on her running jump, all the way from her Uncle Kevin straight into Kate’s arms. Pure joy flooded Kate’s soul as she caught Neila, giggling, and held the little girl to her chest.

“My beautiful Nene!” Kate exclaimed, kissing her cheek. “I missed you!”

Neila pulled back, pushing her hair away from her face. “I missed you, too,” she said sincerely before throwing her arms around Kate’s neck again.

A moment later, Neila wriggled out of Kate’s hold and turned toward the crowd of family and friends on the patio.

“Auntie Kate is here!” Neila announced, eliciting chuckles from the adults. Except for one — Kevin, whose eyes had already been glued to Kate since his niece’s initial squeal upon discovering her arrival. He’d turned his back on the grill to find his niece holding onto Kate’s hands and hopping backwards in an effort to pull her to join the party on the patio.

Kevin looked on as Kate threw her head back in laughter, and he felt the sort of distinct happiness that he only found when Kate was near. He couldn’t stop staring, mesmerized by how radiant she looked in her lilac sundress, with her curls thrown over her shoulders… that is, he couldn’t stop staring until his brother clapped him hard on the shoulder.

“Steaks are gonna burn, Kev,” Jimmy said loudly in order to bring Kevin back down to earth. Kevin simply nodded and turned back to the grill. Jimmy’s eyes traveled to where Kate stood reuniting with her immediate family, and a soft smile found his lips.

“She looks beautiful, no?” Jimmy spoke into Kevin’s ear, more softly this time. He was always more than willing to publicly embarrass his little brother when it came to an array of subjects. But Kate wasn’t one of them. Jimmy wouldn’t dare.

Kevin only nodded, again. Jimmy squeezed his shoulder, then scooped up his little son in his arms and headed to see his old friend.

Kate’s parents, her older brother Patrick, and his fiancée Joelle had just finished taking turns greeting her with hugs when, over her brother’s shoulder, she spotted Jimmy carrying Beau.

“Baby Beau!” Kate gasped, holding out her hands as Beau smiled and reached out for her. “Who let you get this big?!” she questioned as she took him in her arms. He simply giggled and laid his head on her shoulder.

“Hello, Kathleen Paige,” Jimmy greeted, using her full name as he had for Kate’s entire life, no matter how much she had hated the Irish moniker as a young kid.

“Hi, J,” she replied fondly, leaning in so that he could wrap her in a hug and plant a kiss to her forehead. “Your boy is getting way too big,” she told him, tickling Beau’s belly and making him laugh.

“Tell me about it,” Jimmy said. “How are you? You look great.”

Kate glanced downward, tucking some hair behind her ear.

“Thanks. I’m okay,” she replied uncharacteristically dryly, switching Beau to her other arm. “It’s good to be home,” she added without elaboration.

Jimmy nodded in understanding.

“It’s good to have you home,” he agreed, then tilted his head toward the house. “Kristen’s inside. She can’t wait to see you.”

Kate beamed at the mention of Jimmy’s wife, one of her closest friends for years now.

“I can’t wait, either,” she said, just as Beau reached back toward his dad, making them both laugh. “Here, take your mini me. I’m gonna go finish my rounds,” she told him as her eyes flickered in search of the younger Hayes brother.

Jimmy retrieved his son and smirked down at her, his own eyes dancing.

“You do that,” he encouraged, teasing in his tone.

Kate rolled her eyes, but, just as Jimmy had anticipated, she headed straight toward the barbecue next, passing at least a dozen other people who had been waiting to see her.

“Hey, grill master,” she said, her hand gently coming to rest on Kevin’s back.

Her touch took him by surprise, and he nearly fumbled the tongs in his hands as he turned to greet her, his tall frame towering over hers.

“Hey, Katie girl,” he spoke, and Kate realized just how much she had missed that voice speaking those very words. She could only grin like an idiot.

Kevin pulled Kate in, his arms crushing her against his chest, and she hugged his waist as she felt his heartbeat against her ear.

“Missed you,” she said simply.

“Missed you, too, Kate,” Kevin said, his voice rumbling against her cheek. She pulled back to look up at him with a relieved sigh as he grinned at her.

And in that moment, she finally felt some of the contentment and peace she’d been searching for.

_____

Hours later, after the cookout lunch and the rehearsal dinner, when the attention-commanding nieces and nephews had long been put to bed, Kevin found Kate where he’d always found her on summer nights at the Cape — down at the boathouse, her feet dangling above the water, her short stature prohibiting them from actually being submerged.

“Fancy meetin’ you here,” he found himself saying — immediately followed by an internal monologue of, God, Kevin, why are you so fucking lame?

Despite his pathetic attempt at humor, Kate still smiled up at him.

“I knew you’d find me eventually,” she replied, letting her gaze drift back across the water.

Kevin hummed in response as he set down the pair of beers he’d brought and took a seat on the dock beside her.

“I’m surprised you’re not with the girls,” Kevin said. “They’re up there poppin’ bottles in the kitchen.”

She laughed softly at the thought. “Nah, just needed some time to think,” she told him.

Kevin nodded, knowing not to press any further if Kate wasn’t feeling forthcoming.

“Well, I come bearing beers,” he said, offering her one of the bottles.

With a grateful sigh, she murmured a “thank you,” and accepted the cold beverage. And that was just another item that fell somewhere in the middle of the long list of reasons why Kevin adored her — because she never needed champagne or an apple martini or a Mai Tai. A beer that matched his always suited her just fine.

Kevin was smiling at the thought, and when Kate caught him, he quickly saved face by lifting his bottle in the air.

“A toast,” he announced. “To Pat and Joelle.”

She nodded, lifting her beer toward his. “To Pat and Joelle,” she echoed, clinking the neck of her bottle against his. “Cheers.”

Kate took a long pull, looking back across the cape, and after a few silent moments, Kevin casually reached for her ankles and swept her legs atop his lap, his free hand resting on her shin. It certainly wasn’t anything unusual — anyone who knew Kate and Kevin and their relationship knew that they had always been affectionate with one another. (So much so, in fact, that on many occasions, Jimmy had muttered, “Jesus Christ, just fuck already.”) But it had been so long since he had initiated such a gesture that Kate would have been lying if she said her breath didn’t catch in her throat a little.

She sniffed and made work of picking at the label on her bottle, trying to act as cool and collected as possible.

“You look great, Katie,” Kevin eventually piped up, interrupting the silence and making Kate feel somehow more nervous and more at ease all at once. She tucked her chin to her chest with a breathy chuckle. “I mean it,” he added earnestly. “I should’ve said it before, but… anyway, just wanted to tell you now.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, and Kevin had to remind himself to breathe as she shot him her famous pursed-lipped smile, pushed to one side of her mouth.

“Thanks, Kev,” Kate said softly. “You do, too.”

“How’s work?” he asked, assuming that he’d be posing a simple, run-of-the-mill question, one that might lighten the mood and give his heart rate a chance to slow a bit.

But Kate snorted, lowering her bottle from her lips after a swig. “What work?” she asked cynically.

Kevin’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

She cleared her throat, turning to face the full moon instead of him. “The magazine shut down,” she finally admitted. “It’s been almost a month now, I guess.”

And for once in his life, Kevin was speechless.

Kate had started working for the small, independently-owned Pacific Northwest tourism magazine five years ago — the publication was the whole reason she’d moved to Seattle in the first place. She was so proud of her photography that was featured in each issue, and so was Kevin — though Kate didn’t know it, he had subscribed to the magazine after her first photo was featured in an issue early in her time on staff. And since the monthly magazines were mailed to his place in Philly and not in Dorchester, he realized that he would have had no way of knowing about the shutdown if it weren’t for Kate directly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kevin asked gently, concern evident in his tone.

She shrugged. “Not something I really felt like talking about this weekend,” she replied, rubbing her hands along her upper arms to warm them from the cool ocean breeze. “Not necessarily something I was all that proud of.”

Kevin’s heart sank. “But it isn’t your fault, Kate,” he said, squeezing her calves. “You didn’t have any control over the magazine going under.”

She heaved a sigh. “I know, but…” she began, tipping her head back wearily, “it just feels like everything’s crashing down around me in Seattle. Half a dozen of my friends have moved away in the last year, my freelance clients are dwindling seemingly by the day because everybody and their mother think they can be their own photographer, and now the magazine’s gone. It just feels like I’m failing at everything, Kev. Failing at life.”

“Hey,” Kevin said firmly — immediately. He nudged her chin with his thumb so that she was looking straight at him, those sea blue eyes of his suddenly the only thing she could focus on, as all of her self-doubt was washed away, even before he continued to speak. “You are not failing. You’re 28 years old. This is just a part of growing up, Kate,” he assured. “This shit happens to everyone. Remember when I got shipped to Winnipeg and then to Philly so quick? I went through the same shit. I felt like nobody wanted me, like I couldn’t do anything right. But it got better. It always does, Katie. Especially for people with as good a heart as you.”

Kate sniffled, wiping at a lone stray tear with her knuckle.

“Thanks, Kev,” she said softly, followed by a few more quiet sniffles. “You’re the best. Reasons why I love you,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Kevin’s brows lifted and his eyes widened as he looked at her, wondering if he’d just heard her correctly.

As with the physical touch, it had always been this way with Kate and Kevin when it came to their long-simmering feelings for one another. One of them would slip up and say some shit like “I love you” or “you’re so hot” or “come home with me,” and then try to play it off or walk it back, while the other person was left reeling, unsure of whether or not the other had truly meant what they’d said.

“I mean, you know, like I—”

“I love you, too, Kate,” Kevin said without hesitation, not walking anything back, interrupting Kate’s hopeless stuttering.

She glanced at him, taking a few chugging sips of her beer, and shook her head.

“No, you don’t,” she asserted flatly. “You’ve had a lot to drink. So have I. It’s a wedding weekend and we’re—”

“No, Kate,” Kevin insisted. “I mean it. I-I love you.”

And Kate suddenly felt really dizzy, like, really dizzy, and not because of the alcohol or the day she’d spent in the sweltering July sun. Dizzy like her best friend since diapers had just fully admitted that he love loved her in a manner far more sincere and more convincing than all those other times before.

“I… I gotta go to bed, Kev. Big day tomorrow,” Kate said abruptly. She drew a deep breath, swung her legs out from beneath Kevin’s hold, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pushing herself up from the dock and heading for the steps. “‘Night.”

_____

“You did what?!” Jimmy asked on the golf course the next morning, coughing as he nearly choked, not because of his cigar smoke, but due to pure shock upon hearing his brother’s declaration.

“I told her I loved her,” Kevin said. “And she told me I was just drunk, and I told her I wasn’t, and then she went back to the house.”

“I think I need to lie down,” said Keith Yandle, Kate and Kevin’s mutual lifelong family friend, as he dramatically took a seat in the golf cart.

Jimmy stood slack-jawed in front of Kevin, waiting for more.

“And?!” he finally prompted.

Kevin shrugged. “And I haven’t talked to her all morning,” he said, earning groans from Jimmy, Keith, and Noel Acciari, another longtime member of the crew. “But I don’t regret it. And I’m bringing it up again tonight.”

“At her brother’s wedding? What, are you nuts?” Jimmy accused.

“No, that’s perfect,” Keith bellowed. “You know how girls get about weddings. All gooey and shit. Just get her a couple drinks at the reception. She’ll cop to loving your sorry ass, too. We all know she does. This has only been about three decades in the making.”

Kevin hated to admit it, but Keith was right, and he knew that Jimmy knew it, too, as Jimmy stood with his hands on his hips, sighing as he exhaled cigar smoke.

“Alright, fine,” Jimmy said, putting his hands up and rounding the golf cart to take the driver’s seat. “That’s not your worst idea ever, Yands. And you know what, Kev? I’m proud of ya. I wasn’t sure ya had it in ya.”

Kevin let out a singular chuckle and adjusted his golf hat.

“Neither was I.”

_____

“He said what?!” Kristen said loudly from the makeup chair as Kevin’s sister Justine squealed in the hair chair next to Kate’s.

“He told me he loved me,” Kate replied incredulously, still not convinced that last night was anything more than some fever dream. “Like, actually loved me. And I didn’t say it back. Because I’m an asshole.”

“No, you’re not,” Kristen assured firmly as Justine waved Kate off. “He caught you off guard, that’s all. You’ll have plenty of time this weekend to make it up to him,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

Justine flung out an arm and squeezed Kate’s elbow.

“Wait, are you gonna say it back?” she asked in a sharp whisper.

Kate just pursed her lips, smiling crookedly.

_____

“Jesus fuck,” Kevin muttered as Kate walked into the narthex of the church to be lined up for the walk down the aisle. Noel elbowed him in the ribs.

“We’re in a church, bud,” Noel muttered. “You’re gonna get struck down, and I’m gonna be standing next to you when it happens.”

Kevin barely heard him as he watched Kate approach her brother, who let out a “wow” at her appearance and pulled her in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Wow was putting it lightly. Her hair was left long and curled, save for a few pieces pinned back from her face, and she donned an elegant, v-neck, pale blue bridesmaid dress that appeared to have been designed just for her. Her makeup, though simple, was flawless, accentuating her strong features, making her hazel eyes, in particular, impossible not to notice.

Kevin had never seen Kate look more stunning in all his life. And that was saying something.

Kate turned toward the groomsmen next, her eyes immediately locking with Kevin’s, despite Jimmy’s wolf whistle and Noel’s “damn, Katie.”

She shot them both an eyeroll before refocusing on Kevin.

“Hi,” she said dumbly.

“Hi,” Kevin repeated. “You look beautiful, Kate. Perfect.”

There was that pushed-to-one-side, pouted-lip smile that made Kevin’s pulse race.

“Thanks, Kev,” she replied. “You look really handsome.”

Kevin gave her a grateful smile, then took a step closer to her.

“Can we talk later?” he asked, softly enough that he hoped no one else could hear and then subsequently give him shit for asking such a middle school question. His breath against her ear sent shivers through Kate, and his low tone made her mouth go dry.

She nodded, looking up at him doe-eyed and unable to form a single word. He nodded, too, and before she knew it, he was reaching for her hand, brushing a soft kiss against the top of it, and giving it a quick squeeze.

Kate didn’t have a chance to overanalyze his actions because the wedding planner quickly marched through the group, announcing that Patrick and his groomsmen needed to make their way to the altar for the start of the ceremony. Kate stepped forward to pull her older brother in for one last hug and a few whispered sentiments, then she smiled shyly at Kevin, smoothing her hand over his lapel as she passed, unaware of the knowing smile that Jimmy and Kristen shared watching the two of them.

_____

Back at her parents’ house for the reception, Kate was well on her way to a hangover for her flight back to Seattle tomorrow. Naturally, she’d been seated next to Kevin at the head table, and though the two of them hadn’t yet found time for an actual conversation, they each knew it was coming, which only increased the number of trips they’d both already made to the open bar.

After the meal, Pat and Joelle were invited to the dance floor in the middle of the yard, beneath twinkling string lights and the glow of the moon, and the strains of “Marry Me” by Train came over the sound system, filling the salty air with the peaceful guitar melody.

Kate’s jaw dropped just slightly, but enough for Kevin to take notice.

“That asshole,” she whispered.

Kevin held back a laugh at her reaction to this significant, romantic moment in her brother’s life.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“This is my wedding song,” she told Kevin incredulously, putting her hand to her chest. “I’ve said that since I was, like, in middle school. He knows that.”

Kevin wasn’t sure if it was the drinks or how breathtaking Kate looked or the feelings he’d long been pushing down finally bubbling over, now that he had let his little confession slip last night, but he suddenly heard himself say, “We can use it, too. Nobody’ll remember by then.”

Kate stiffened in her chair and snapped her head toward him.

“What?” it was her turn to whisper.

“Oh, come on, Kate,” Kevin said, sipping his whiskey casually. “Let’s not kid ourselves. That’ll be us up there someday.”

And there was that goddamn smile of hers again — Kevin knew she was trying so hard not to pull a full-on, megawatt grin, which was fine by him because he was perfectly happy with this version. Preferred it, actually.

She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“Don’t hold your breath, Kev,” Kate replied lightheartedly. But her tone was… less than convincing, some might say. Even less convincing was the way she almost imperceptibly leaned closer toward Kevin, whose arm rested loosely around the back of her chair.

And at that, Kevin smiled into his glass.

_____

Somehow, even in the midst of her own brother’s lively wedding reception, Kate still found her way to the boathouse. Kevin hadn’t even bothered to look for her elsewhere — once he noticed that she’d disappeared from the dance floor, he grabbed two Boston Lagers from the bar and headed for the dock.

She smirked when she heard his footsteps.

“Want some company?” he asked on his way down the wooden steps.

“Only if it’s you,” she replied, the flirtation evident in her tone.

Kevin smiled, pleased with that answer, and took his familiar spot next to her.

“Nice day, huh?” he asked, again pulling her legs across his lap before nudging the second beer into her hand.

“Really was,” Kate replied, clinking her bottle against Kevin’s for yet another toast.

They sat wordlessly for a few minutes, staring out at the water, listening to the laughs and chatter and music from the party up in the yard.

Eventually, Kevin cleared his throat, drawing Kate’s attention.

“Listen, Kate, about last night,” he began, but Kate’s anxiety spurred her to interrupt.

“No, it’s okay, Kev,” she said, shaking her head quickly. “You don’t have to explain—”

“No, I do,” Kevin insisted. “I-I don’t know if you’re getting it.”

She frowned. “Getting what?”

Kevin opened his mouth, looking into her eyes, then closed it again with a humorless chuckle.

“I meant it,” he finally said. “I said I loved you. And I meant it.”

Kate couldn’t break from his gaze despite the flipping sensation in her stomach, and despite the warmth creeping up her neck. The intensity of his stare was foreign to her — she was so used to happy, joking, jovial Kev, who never took anything too seriously. Even his earlier comment about their supposed future wedding reception had been tinged with sarcasm.

There was no ounce of him that was kidding now. That much Kate could see.

“You’re perfect for me, Kate,” Kevin continued. “You always have been.”

She blinked, tucking her loose waves behind her ear.

“Kev, I—”

“Wait, wait,” he laughed to himself, shaking his head before taking a long pull from his beer. “Listen, you gotta let me finish, because it took me this long to get this far. Okay?”

She nodded. He took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on hers.

“I love you, Kate,” Kevin said. “I love you in the worst way. The most real way. Not just some fleeting, fling-type shit. I mean, I want it all with you. Everything. The whole fuckin’ thing. Ring, wedding, babies in little ‘13’ jerseys. Nice house, a dog. Picket fuckin’ fence. I want what our parents have. And our siblings. You’re the only person I wanna share that with. Ever.”

Kate was crying now, blissfully unfazed that her mascara tears might stain her pretty makeup. Though, they didn’t, because before they could, Kevin’s thumbs had wiped them away, and after rubbing his fingers together, he smoothed his thumbs along her cheekbones.

“And I’ve always known it,” he continued. “But it took you going away and coming back for me to work up the balls to say it.”

Kate hadn’t flinched this whole time, Kevin noticed. In fact, her eyes grew brighter and her soft smile a bit more noticeable with each word he had spoken. But she had yet to utter a word. He studied her in anticipation.

“You gotta say something, Katie girl,” he said nervously. “I’m dyin’ here.”

But there was little left for her to say, she realized, and so instead, she leaned in, cupped Kevin’s neatly-bearded cheeks in her hands, and kissed him like she had never kissed a single soul before. And Kevin kissed her back, his relief evident in his tender touch, in the way he exhaled softly against her mouth.

As soon as Kate pulled her lips from his, hers curled into a breathless smile, and she leaned her forehead against his.

“I love you, too, Kevin Hayes,” she whispered, her fingers combing through the hair at the back of his head. “I’ve loved you since forever.”

“Be with me,” Kevin blurted, as if he actually needed to. “Like, officially. I wanna do this with you.”

She nuzzled her nose against his and circled her arms around his neck.

“Oh, we’re doin’ this,” Kate told him, beaming. She pressed a kiss between his brows and whispered, “Can’t get rid of me now.”

_____

Three summers later, in her parents’ yard on the Cape, Kate twirled around the dance floor to “Marry Me” by Train with a tall, reddish-brown-haired, blue-eyed boy from Dorchester, the very one she had loved since she was a little girl, long before she even fully understood what love was.

But now, Kate knew exactly what love was, because she knew Kevin.

Her newly dubbed husband leaned down to speak softly into her ear as her song continued to play.

“Remember that night we finally got together, when Pat and Joelle had their first dance here?” Kevin asked. “And I told you, ‘someday it’ll be us up there,’ and you told me not to hold my breath?”

Kate hid her face in his chest and felt her face warm, chuckling bashfully. Her recoiling only caused Kevin to hold her tighter and press a kiss to the top of her head. His thumb and forefinger found her chin and angled her face toward his.

“I’m glad I held my breath, Katie girl,” he said, his voice low.

Kate nodded, her eyes damp with unfallen tears. “I’m glad you did, too, Kev,” she said.

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