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isuckatwritingsobenice · 5 months

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Infernal Shadows 03

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it. Carmilla and Velvet feud because I also live for that. I also really favor Zestial for some reason as a calm mediator.

Song for this chapter: Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61

A/N: Thank you all so much for your positive feedback & feedback in general on the last two posts!! I really didn’t think this would catch so much attention but I’m so glad people like it. For some reason Tumblr’s being weird and doesn’t want to let me tag certain people, I don’t know why but if anyone does please let me know because I really don’t like that ;/ But I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Please note that some blogs cannot be tagged, so I recommend checking this post and to check your settings to make sure I can tag you! If anything I can always just message you when the next chapter comes out, and yes I am making this series longer :) it’ll also be posted on my Wattpad soon!

Word count: 3890

Taglist: @dollops-of-delusion @nebusokuxp @scrunchss @rosedasy @valluvz @chesstras @pishybowl @iaaeav @forgotten-blues @22carolina08 @roboticsuccubus83 @doflamingadonquixote @froggyferrets @frompeach @absurd-ash @sillysillyxinnabun @urdariingdoll @delectableworm @immahuman @justaproudslytherpuff @local-mr-frog @angeli-fucking-cat @coldsweetsenthusiast @jadekomaeda @iaaeav @coffeethoughtsandanxiety @lunalixya @pretty-puppy-stuffies @lemonrolls @asimplikeallyall @lunalixya

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part One. // Part two. // Part four.

Engaging with guests throughout the night had become an exhausting endeavor, and a part of you yearned for the solace of your absence. Nevertheless, you maintained the façade, acknowledging every sinner whose smile dripped with crimson mischief. Having greeted each guest, you discreetly slipped into a shadowed corner, your shadows enveloping your figure quickly, seamlessly disappearing from the expansive room in mere seconds and emerging into an intimate gazebo outside, meticulously arranged beneath the sweeping branches of a weeping willow, you marveled at its unique ambiance. Unlike the earthly counterparts that stood white, the willow in your realm bore a deep crimson hue, its leaves adorned with a subtle, luminous sheen. A gentle smile graced your lips as you leaned against the sturdy black iron railing, delicately cradling a piece of the weeping willow between your fingertips. In the distance, the grand mansion hosting the gala loomed, its opulence contrasting with the simplicity of your secluded retreat. Despite the awareness of etiquette dictating against leaving guests unattended, the need for a mental break led you to this haven, a safe space for you. Reflecting, you acknowledged a desire for better preparation and rehearsal with the shadows, realizing the repetitiveness of conversations with the familiar sinners had rendered the night somewhat lackluster. It almost felt like you had come out of hiding for nothing. Quite the disappointment.

You sigh, massaging your temples, the lace fabric on your fingertips only slightly soothing the growing headache. However, not too far behind, you hear the sound of soft grass. You straighten up and turn around, seeing none other than your long time friend Zestial, who just smiled, nodding at you.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial inquired, standing by your side with his back against the railing. You resumed your original position, taking a moment to appreciate his father. Mentally noting how much of your grandfather Zestial reminded you of, you kept the sentiment unspoken.

Tonight, Zestial adorned himself in an outfit resonant with his time period, preserving his distinctive color scheme. A dark, meticulously tailored coat with lime green accents draped over his slender frame, capturing the essence of his demonic class. The cloak, adorned with lime green spider webs, unveiled a mesmerizing display when unfurled—his lime green eyes radiating, the upper pair embellished with vivid red irises. Instead of the customary big top hat, Zestial selected a smaller, more appropriate hat with a touch of flair. Dark as the shadows you command, it featured a light grey patch at the front and was finished with a grey-colored skull and a lime green and red-striped feather on the right side, adding a distinctive touch that mirrored his nature.

“Why art thou out here all alone on this crimson night?” Zestial repeated, shifting toward you a bit. Yet you resumed your original position, savoring the quiet ambiance before finally answering him. “What shall we discourse upon during our repast this eventide?” Zestial asked. Though his wording occasionally posed a challenge for others, having grown up in a family of eloquent speakers, you easily deciphered his intent. Something he truly appreciated. Though he was learning to speak more ‘modern’, or as modern as he could be.

“Quite unsure of that. Everything is changing, and I fear I might be left behind,” you expressed bluntly. Zestial sighed in response, a mix of understanding and concern evident in his lime green eyes.

“Madame, thou art timeless,” Zestial said with a bow, his cup proofing into smoke. “I pray thee, vex not thyself o’er so trivial a matter,” he added, his words resonating with both reassurance and genuine care.

You nodded, handing him a card. His surprised expression upon finding two cards instead of one didn’t escape you. “What manner of thing is this?” Zestial inquired, prompting you to summon a shadow for yourself, knowing he would find his own means back to the Gala.

“Carmilla. I am no fool to the both of you,” you said, amusement coloring your words as Zestial shook his head.

“Thou dost astonish me on every occasion,” Zestial remarked, standing by your side as you walked into your portal. Two seats vanished, leaving four empty seats at your table and six occupied.

In your study, you floated scripts in front of you, checking off names on the table list for tonight. With a few overlords left to choose from, Alastor and Charlotte secured seats based on trust and connections. Vox, Zestial, and Carmilla, an unspoken but potent couple, promised intrigue. Reconsidering Velvet for her potential devolution, you weighed each decision with strategic acumen.

Valentino, the Von Eldritch twins, and other weaker options were dismissed, maintaining a careful balance of power and influence. As you weigh the option of inviting Rosie to the gathering, her unpredictable nature adds a layer of excitement and potential surprise to the upcoming discussions. However, this unpredictability could also introduce challenges, creating an air of uncertainty around her contributions. Hopefully with Alastor around, she’d feel more inclined to behave. You check her name off the list.

In considering Stolas, the Goetia prince, his personal issues and tarnished reputation pose significant hurdles. Divorcing from his wife, sleeping with an imp for fun, as well as losing control of his daughter on Earth, it all seemed too risky to get involved with. While his wisdom and influence could contribute positively, the shadows of his struggles may complicate the dynamics, stirring potential conflicts and requiring delicate handling. Someone might get out of line with a comment towards him. His power was incredibly useful, but not worth the risk.

Husk’s transformation from a former overlord to a bartender signals a decline in power and status. While his laid-back demeanor might bring a sense of unpredictability, his diminished influence raises questions about the relevance of his involvement in the current political landscape of hell. Though he was your friend, you needed to keep your reputation pristine.

As the you contemplate the overlords assets, a mix of excitement, caution, and uncertainty envelops the decision-making process. Each overlord’s potential positive contributions are balanced by the looming negatives.

“Madame?” One of your shadows materialized, prompting a nod for them to proceed. “There seems to be some trouble in the lobby between the guests. What would you like us to do?” it inquired. A grimace crossed your face, hoping the disturbance wouldn’t mar your night. “Let me handle it,” you declared, snapping your fingers, causing the script to vanish. The shadow nodded, blending back into a wall for you to step through.

Upon reappearing, you assumed the form of a taller shadow. The room surrounded by guests revealed Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla standing in the middle. Zestial, seemingly composed, stood close behind Carmilla, observing the situation. Carmilla appeared visibly upset, with Velvet in proximity, a pointed finger dropping as soon as she noticed your arrival. Alastor maintained his usual wide smile, though it bordered on the eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The scene unfolded, presenting a potential challenge to the serene atmosphere you aimed to maintain during the gala.

Everyone seemed to stop, slowly turning toward you to see your face. Except there was no expression, just the large shadow you had taken form of. In seconds the shadow disappeared, leaving you in the fog, the expression on your face anything but calm.

"Madame I-" Velvet began, but her words were halted by the sight of your lace glove, your hand rising to silence her. Approaching the overlords, you spoke with an air of cold authority.

"My quarters. Now," you commanded, and with a snap of your fingers, smoke enveloped your spot as you vanished. Shadows materialized around the overlords, guiding them to your quarters, leaving the stunned guests in the lobby.

"Well, that was interesting," Valentino remarked.

In your study, the overlords found you seated in your tall, black chair. Its ebony surface featured intricate carvings of black glass, elegant swirls, and patterns tailored to your essence, creating an atmosphere of undeniable authority and refinement.

"I hope you all had fun acting like children," you chided sternly. The overlords lined up, forming a unified front. Leaning against the right side of your chair, you crossed your legs, elbow on the armrest, pinching the bridge of your nose with a sigh. Annoyance laced your words as you questioned, "What did you feel the need to argue about now?" Before Velvet, Vox, and Carmilla could respond simultaneously, you halted them. "One at a time. I'd assume you all handle this like adults, if you even can." The tension in the room hung thick as the overlords awaited their turn to address your inquiry.

“She wants me at her table Vaggie! Me!” Charlotte said excitedly. Vagatha just smiled.

“That’s good! Now you can tell them about the hotel, and maybe someone will be interested.” Vagatha said, and Charlotte just nodded.

“Maybe they-“ Charlotte stopped, observing as people began to crowd around the center of the lobby. Charlotte and Vagatha stood from their spots at the bar to walk toward the center, where the overlords stood. Velvet and Vox were next to each other, while Carmilla, Alastor and Zestial were across. Carmilla and Velvet were face to face. “What’s going on?” Charlotte asked as Vagatha and her pushed their way through the crowds of people.

“Come on, Carmilla, always the mood-killer,” Velvet scoffed, a disrespectful tone tainting her words. Carmilla shot her a stern look, ready to assert her authority.

“Watch that tongue, Velvet. I will not let your insolence slide,” Carmilla retorted, attempting to rein in the escalating tension.

Vox, ever the smooth talker, chimed in, “Ladies, ladies, let’s not turn this into a drama fest. We’re all here for a reason.” Vox said, sternly giving a tight lipped smile to Velvet, silently telling her to keep her shit together.

Carmilla shot a glare at Velvet, who replied with a defiant smirk, “Drama or not, Vox, some of us aren’t here for the ballroom charm.”

Alastor, drawn to the brewing chaos, couldn’t resist adding his flair, “Well, well, a bit of spice never hurt a party, does it?”

Carmilla, unfazed by the chaos, spoke with a calm authority, “Velvet, your insolence is unnecessary. This is not a playground; it’s a gathering of overlords. Act accordingly.”

Velvet, seemingly undeterred, shot back with a dismissive laugh, “Poor Grandma, always trying to play the responsible one. Maybe loosen up a bit? Have a drink will you?”

Vox, ever the smooth talker, added with a slick comment, “Perhaps we can focus on the matters at hand. Save the theatrics for later ladies.”

Alastor, intrigued by the unfolding drama, simply grinned, “Oh the picture box has spoken! Quite intriguing.” The room continued to buzz with tension as each overlord, except Rosie, added their own flavor to the brewing turmoil. As the tension thickened, Vox, with a sly grin, couldn't resist adding his own slick comment to the mix.

"Ah, Alastor, the radio days were quaint, but it seems you're a bit outdated. Television is the future, perhaps you should tune in sometime," he quipped with a wink, the words delivered with a calculated smoothness. The room momentarily hung in a charged silence before the verbal sparring resumed, adding another layer to the complex interplay of personalities at the gala.

With Vox's comment about Alastor being outdated sinking in, the radio demon responded with a sly grin, sharp teeth on display, his eyes displays dials, as the rooms lights began to deepen, "Ah, Vox, your television endeavors are impressive, but remember, I'm not just audible; I'm unforgettable. A little screen time won't change that," he retorted, “This face was made for radio.” He said with a grin, tilting his head to the side, a sharp snap in his neck, his words carrying a mix of amusement and confidence. The verbal exchange between the two overlords added another layer to the already charged atmosphere, each comment becoming a piece in the intricate puzzle of conflicts and egos at the gala.

“See what you did grandma, now you’ve got the two of them fighting.” Velvet said, pointing a finger into Carmella’s chest. She scoffed, shoving her away.

“Don’t you dare get disrespectful on me you brat.” Carmilla said, beginning to heat up with anger.

That's when Madame stepped in, reappearing in the form of a taller shadow, casting a lengthened silhouette in the room brimming with guests. Vox, Velvet, Alastor, and Carmilla found themselves at the center of the unfolding tableau, and Zestial, seemingly composed, lingered just behind Carmilla, quietly observing the escalating drama. Carmilla's visage betrayed a hint of distress, her pointed finger lowering as she registered your reappearance. Alastor, with his trademark grin, bordered on eerie, revealing a glimpse of his gums. The unfolding scene disrupted the serene atmosphere you had meticulously aimed to maintain during the gala, presenting an unexpected challenge.

A hush fell over the room as everyone turned their gaze toward you, anticipating your reaction. However, your face remained expressionless, concealed within the depths of the large shadow you had taken form of. In mere seconds, the shadow dissipated, leaving you in a misty veil. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, a storm brewed, ready to challenge the delicate balance of the evening.

Now, here you all were, sitting in the study after Carmilla had explained the situation.

“Madame, with all due respect,” Carmilla spoke, looking down. “I truly do not believe Velvet is mature enough to be at our table tonight.” Carmilla said.

“Are you questioning my judgment?” You asked sharply, to which Carmilla stiffened quickly, shaking her head then.

”No Madame, I would never-“

“Then do not say foolish things.” You said. Sighing, you shut your eyes, feeling the weight of the situation. Tonight sensitive information would be revealed and Carmilla did have some point here. Velvet clearly could not hold her tongue.

”Vox, control your associate please, or you both will be cut from the dinner tonight.” You said finally, to which he nodded nervously.

“Of course Madame.” He said, nodding to you.

“I wasn’t finished.” You said, looking to Alastor.

“I want none of this technology talk either.” You spoke, staring at Alastor who just smiled with lidded eyes. You knew he was very much upset, but you had forbidden anyone to fight in your home, anyone but you of course. “You all will act like mature adults wether you like it or not. I am not your guardian, I should not be having this conversation with overlords who should know better.” You said, standing. ”Now, all of you, out.” You said, snapping your fingers. Quickly the shadows began to move, ushering everyone out of your study. Everyone except Carmilla. “Not you.” You said to her, Zestial nodding to you and her as he stepped out, giving you both privacy.

“Madame, I didn’t mean what I said-“ Carmilla said quickly. You waved her off, straightening yourself out.

“Nonsense Carmilla, I know you meant well.” You said with a stoic expression. You sit back down, crossing your legs and snapping your fingers to form a chair in front of your desk, ushering her to sit. “I wanted to speak to you about your weapons.” You stated. At this her eyes went wide, before dropping again.

“Oh, very well then. What would you like to know?” She asked. You grinned, before standing again.

“Well, how much would I need to give you for you to make me a personal bayonet?” You asked. She went silent for a moment, before answering.

“Nothing at all Madame.” She said, standing to look at you. “May I ask what for?” She questioned. You shook your head.

“No, just to have on display. I want a new one, the old one I have is quite out of style for me.” You replied. She just nodded, before you waved to her, sitting back down and summoning a script again. “You may go now, and please, do not argue with children.” You commented. She just smiled and nodded, leaving you to your own vices.

It was half-past eleven, five minutes till the midnight bells chime. Everyone in the lobby was beginning to get excited for the entertainment you had planned for the night. Oh, you knew you would not disappoint.

“Madame would like everyone to accompany her on a journey tonight. She has sent me to retrieve you all. She would like to formally welcome you to tonight’s entertainment.” The large shadow said, standing from the topic of the stairs. Behind it was a large portal. It stepped backwards, into the portal, and nodded for the guests to start coming through.

The custom-built coliseum stands as a testament to Madame's vision, a grand fusion of opulence and dark elegance. The circular structure boasts towering columns, but instead of conventional pillars, thick chains rise, intricately linked and serving as both ornamental decor and structural support. The arches, molded in black, curve gracefully around the circumference, evoking a Victorian Gothic aesthetic that permeates the entire venue.

Two larger-than-life statues of Madame herself flank the entrance, capturing her regal poise and adding a touch of imposing authority. The statues serve not only as decorative elements but as a representation of the gala's hostess, a constant presence overseeing the proceedings, she is always watching, all seeing, perfection.

The overall ambiance is one of grandeur and mystery, with the black molding on the arches casting shadows that play into the darker undertones. Every intricate detail, from the chains to the statues, contributes to the unique Victorian Gothic feel of the coliseum, matching Madame’s home perfectly, matching her perfectly. The venue, finally being unveiled to the guests, now welcomes them who are treated to an appetizer course, surrounded by the striking architecture and entertained within the darkly enchanting atmosphere Madame has meticulously crafted.

Numerous shadows, dark and formless, line the entrance walls, extending silent greetings to the arriving guests. Their presence adds an air of mystique and intrigue as they blend seamlessly with the Gothic architecture. As attendees make their way into the coliseum, these shadowy figures create an ethereal welcome, embodying the unique atmosphere of Madame's custom-built venue.

At a separate entrance reserved for the handpicked members of Madame's esteemed dinner table, a solitary shadow stands guard. This entrance, reserved for a select few, hints at the exclusivity and importance of those who will partake in the upcoming dinner. The shadowy sentinels serve not only as silent greeters but also as guardians of the event's secrets, casting an enigmatic allure over the gala.

A singular shadows escorts Charlotte, Alastor, and the rest of the overlords to the exclusive section, leading them to an elevator to bring them to the best seats in the coliseum. The elevator’s interior is a striking display of elegance, with white and black checkered flooring lending a timeless touch. The walls, enveloped in darkness, exude an air of mystery, while black, smokey glass engravings on the ceiling add intricate detailing that dances in the ambient light. Each number on the elevator, indicating the ascending levels, glows a vibrant red, creating a vivid contrast against the monochrome palette.

“Oh I’m so excited! What do you think we’re gonna see? Gladiators? Sinners fight? Oh actually I hope not, I don’t want people to die.” Charlotte said to Alastor. Carmilla just chuckled at her antics while Zestial eyed her with curiosity. Where did Alastor find such a girl and why the princess of all people?

The elevator stops at the top floor, revealing the opening in the middle, which was surprisingly covered with water.

“What is Madame playing at?” Carmilla questioned as the overlords sat in a row at the top. From there they could see everything and everyone.

“I am quite uncertain, yet my anticipation is stirred nonetheless.” Zestial said. The lights around began to dim, and shadows began to pour glasses of water in front of all the guests. Down in the middle of the coliseum was the tallest shadow, the one that seemed to be Madame’s favorite, since it always spoke for her.

“Greetings all. It is Madame’s pleasure to invite you all to the special entertainment tonight. Madame has put together some of hell’s finest performers for your entertainment tonight. I would like to present, preforming here tonight, The Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra preforming Ludwig van Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 61.” The shadow said with a bow, before it vanished just as quick as it came. Then, other shadows appeared, but this time they were different. They were people, performers, with clear outlined silhouettes, faces and expressions, even clothes.

“Hey, Al?” Charlotte asked, leaning over in her seat to Alastor. He let out a ‘hm?’ In response.

“Does Madame own those souls down there?” Charlotte whispered, but before Alastor could answer, a shadow had already cut in.

“Yes. All the shadows here, even yours, Madame owns.” The shadow said quietly, filling Charlotte’s glass cup with water. Charlotte nervously, perked up, but said nothing as she shadow carried on with it’s catering.

The ethereal notes of the music filled the air as the performance unfolded. Around the musicians stood ballet dancers, their movements a delicate poetry in motion. Clad in all black, the performers created a stark contrast to the dancers, who emerged with an otherworldly grace akin to figures rising from the depths of water. The dancers moved with an angelic fluidity, their forms intertwining seamlessly with the haunting melody, creating a mesmerizing tableau that captivated the audience. The visual symphony of black-clad musicians and the whisky-hued ballet dancers painted a scene of enchantment and mystery within the grand coliseum. Even down to the dancers, this had Madame written all over it.

Velvet's keen eye captured the essence of the dancers' ethereal movements on paper. With each stroke of her sketch, she depicted the dancers as if emerging from a watery abyss, the fog enveloping their feet creating an illusion of water flowing upward. The intricate details on her sketch paper brought to life the dancers' graceful forms, their figures seemingly intertwined with the rising mist, evoking the enchantment of a waterspout captured in a moment of sublime artistry. Velvet's artistic interpretation added a layer of depth to the performance, transforming the ephemeral dance into a tangible and captivating visual narrative.

Water had begun to swirl, the dancers moving around it, the water getting taller and taller, similar to the way it had when you had first made your entrance at the beginning of the Gala. Now, it was water, and from Charlotte’s seat, she had struggled to make out what was going on. She turned to Alastor to see him holding a pair of opera glasses in his hand. Without you having to ask, he tapped the armrest of her seat. Charlotte turned to the side to see a pair tucked neatly against the front of the armrest. She grabbed them quickly, before looking through them and at the waterspout now forming in the middle. Her jaw flew open, as well as the loud screech of Alastor’s track playing. Vox had short circuited, and Carmilla gasped loudly. Velvet stood silent, but there was evident confusion on her face, while Zestial sunk into his seat, conflicting emotions flowing through him.

“Madame- she’s-“ Charlotte stuttered, and Alastor nodded, swallowing thickly.

“With an exorcist. I know.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor #zestial hazbin hotel #yandere alastor x reader #yandere alastor #yandere vox #yandere vox x reader #hellaverse #isuckatwritingsobenice infernal shadows #isuckatwritingsobenice

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rickie-the-storyteller · 1 year

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Get To Know My OC Tag!

This'll probably be the first of many since this was sooo much fun to do lol.

I was going to do this with Steph… but I felt more drawn towards El today for some reason. Probably because I've been editing a lot more of her scenes/chapters lately. So Elise, I choose you!

Thank you for tagging me, @gummybugg!

Let's begin!

__________

The door opens, and 18-year-old Elise Kennedy enters the room. She walks with graceful strides that indicates the quiet confidence she holds within her. She is a pretty girl - long wavy blonde hair styled in a messy bun, crystal clear blue eyes sparkling with joy and curiosity (despite being baggy from that high school stress and sleep deprivation), and a bright beaming smile that honestly does a better job of lighting up the room than my terrible cheap lamp does. She appears to be about 5'6, if I'm not wrong.

She extends a hand in greeting, radiating an immediate sense of warmth and sincerity. Her voice, I notice straight away is soft warm and gentle. It carries an undertone enough to put you at ease in an instant. Then she takes her seat.

I know I've only just met her, but she seems nice.

1) Are you named after anyone?

Elise: Uh, no. Not after a person, I don't think. Although, I do know how I got my name. My late grandmother was really into classical music, and she came up with the suggestion of "Elise" for me when I was born because one of her favourite pieces of music was "Für Elise" by Beethoven. When I was little, she actually taught me how to play it on the piano, too! That was a fun time… yeah. But to answer your question, no. Not that I know of.

2) When was the last time you cried?

Elise: I don't know… hmm, let me think. This is actually a deep question when you think about it.

Me: It is??

Elise: Wait! Do you mean, like proper crying? Bawling like a baby? Or do you mean like welling up, but not actually making a sound?

Me: Uh…

Elise: If you mean the first one, then probably last week. I was watching a really sad movie with my brother, and I just couldn't help it. If you mean the second one, then… I don't know. To be honest, it happens on a regular basis. So probably yesterday or something. I try not to be overly emotional all the time, but I'm a sensitive soul, what can I say? (pause) OH! I remember now!

Me: You do?

Elise: It was two weeks ago! Ok, let me explain - I have this friend who really loves music. His name is Bret, and something he likes to do as a hobby is write and produce his own songs, right? And two weeks ago, he sent me an email with a link to his SoundCloud. He posts all his songs there now, its amazing! Anyway, he asked me for feedback on the first song he uploaded on there. So I listened to it, and it made me cry. It was very deep and moving. I loved it… (laughs awkwardly) I feel like my answers are way too long, ha-ha! Sorry about that.

Me: Don't be sorry. This is good!

Elise: I'll send you a link to Bret's SoundCloud! You need to listen to it yourself, so you know what I'm talking about.

Me: Would your friend mind?

Elise: Uh… (pauses for a while to wonder whether or not Bret would actually mind) Probably not?

3) Do you have kids?

Elise: Uh, no. Nor do I want any - at least not right now. I'm still a school kid! (pause) I know I'm 18, so legally I count as an adult, but I still feel like a kid, honestly. And I think that just as a general rule, if you feel like a kid or act like a kid, you probably shouldn't raise a kid.

4) Do you use sarcasm?

Elise: (thinks for a moment, then nods) Yeah. Not as often as some people do, but sometimes it's just necessary, especially when you're dealing with difficult or incompetent people.

5) What's the first thing you notice about people?

Elise: I feel like I'm naturally quite good at reading people, you know? Like, even with people I don't know all that well, I can just look at them and have a good idea of how they're feeling, what their thinking, what they're like. And it's usually pretty accurate, as well. I'm quite intuitive in that sense. I think this is also the reason I connect well with others even if they're very different from me. Like, I'm an introvert, and I'm generally rather quiet and mind my own business most of the time, but quite a lot of my friends are super energetic extroverted people. I think its fun to be curious, you know? Like, taking the time to understand and empathise with a person. You form closer bonds with people that way.

6) What's your eye colour?

Elise: Blue! You see? (opens eyes wide so that I can see their colour)

7) Any special talents?

Elise: Hmm. I don't know if any of my talents count as "special" or anything. I have talents… like, back when I used to perform in my old choir, I was known for being able to hold notes for really, really long. My record back then was like 47 seconds. But it's been years since then, and I probably can't do it anymore. Anything else? (pauses to think for a second) Don't know whether this counts, but I'm really good at memorising things. My brother says I have a memory sharper than a katana… which I think says everything you need to know about him. (laughs) But like, to give an example, I can read a book and basically be able to quote it word for word afterwards. Or watch a show, and be able to recite every line in a given scene. It's quite helpful as a student, actually. Makes the studying process a bit smoother. Not that I don't work hard for my grades, because I do. I don't consider myself to be a mega-super-genius or anything.

8) Scary movies or happy endings?

Elise: Are you kidding me?! Happy ending all the way! I can't sit through a horror movie for the life of me. I hate scary stuff, I just don't like the feeling of terror. I don't get why some people actually like it. I mean some people have to like it, right? There has to be a reason that the horror genre has a market.

9) Where were you born?

Elise: Born and raised in London, baby!

10) What are your hobbies?

Elise: Reading, first of all. I love to read so much. I always have.

Me: What is the book you're reading currently?

Elise: Right now, I'm re-reading "Normal People" by Sally Rooney. It's so good, I highly recommend it. But aside from reading, I like music a lot. Not as much as Bret, but I love to play a bit of piano whenever I have the time, and I also love to sing still. Even though I'm not in my old choir anymore.

Me: Why did you stop if you clearly loved doing it?

Elise: (sighs) It was a toxic environment for me… I needed a break from some of those people. I don't really want to get into it.

Me: Ooookay… (slightly concerned)

11) Do you have any pets?

Elise: No, and I've always wanted one! (pouts) It didn't even matter what it was! My parents aren't about that, though. Ugh! (pause) Maybe in the future, I'll get a puppy. I love dogs so much!

12) What sports do you play/have played?

Elise: None. (laughs) I've never been a sporty person.

13) How tall are you?

Elise: Five foot five. And a bit, depending on what shoes I'm wearing.

14) Favourite subject in school?

Elise: These questions are getting harder… (laughs) I don't know what my favourite subject is. I like all my subjects… I chose four subjects I really enjoy for A level. English Lit, Politics, History and Textiles. I like all of them for different reasons. Even when I struggle with one of them, and it is my least favourite one day, I can't bring myself to hate it… and it ends up being my favourite subject the next day.

Me: Well, tell me why you like all of your subjects.

Elise: Ok! So English Lit is because I love literature, as you may have inferred before from what I said about reading… Politics is because I just find that aspect of the world interesting, you know? I mean, I never used to, but once I started taking this class, I just found it fascinating. Just seeing how that stuff works. History was my strongest subject back when I did my GCSEs, so I was like "I have to do it again next year!" And Textiles… I don't know, I just find it peaceful. It's a chill subject to balance out the crazy intense ones. (laughs again)

15) Dream job?

Elise: In my dreams, I have all kinds of different jobs. Just last night I had a dream that I was this therapist, right, and all of my friends from work were coming into my office to ask for help with their love lives, despite the fact that I literally have no dating experience and am therefore the least qualified person to ask for help in that department. Man… why would you even go to your therapist just to ask about your love life anyway? Is that the only thing in your life that's bothering you?! The ONLY thing?!

Me: …That's not what I meant.

Elise: Yeah, I know. I just wanted to talk about my weird dream for a second. I don't know what my dream job is. As a child, my dream job was to be an author, like Cressida Cowell. I used to love her books growing up. I wanted to write just like her… create this huge epic fantasy series… have that series get turned into movies… but I couldn't come up with any original ideas. So I gave up.

Me: Awww…

Elise: Oh, it's okay. I still write a bit sometimes for fun. But in terms of an actual career, I'm stuck between two things - a lawyer, and a journalist.

Me: Two completely different things.

Elise: Yep. Lawyer because it's something I've been working towards all my life, pretty much. I mainly did it because my parents always said that it's a promising career to have. But journalism is just so fascinating to me. It's like being a writer, except you don't need to come up with original ideas. Plus, you get to explore the world, discover exciting new people and places and cultures and events… and tell stories that don't often get heard. It's like the career was made for me!

Me: It does, doesn't it? Well, I'm sure you'll make the right choice for yourself. Thanks for coming, Elise. This has been fun.

Elise: Of course! Thank you for having me.

END OF INTERVIEW.

__________

This was so much fun! I want to make this an open tag, but I'll just tag these three people to give it a go as well:

@rubywrite

@soph1333

@winterandwords

#rickie-the-storyteller #writerblr #writing #tag game #writeblr tag games #get to know my oc #oc interview #Elise #steph's crew #stephanie smith and her friends #I'm really fond of this character from Steph's Crew lol #while I put a bit of myself into all my characters #I think El is the one that I gave most of my personality to

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radiant-reid · 3 years

Text

Perfection

It was the first time Y/n had slept in weeks. Thankfully, her job conditioned her to sleep an inadequate amount. But having a newborn was a whole new, difficult challenge.

Maisie Pippa Reid was proving difficult. Somehow Y/n and Spencer had managed to apprehend the most dangerous criminals in the United States but, they could not get their daughter to sleep.

She was only a few days old and proving a challenge for the new parents.

Much to Y/n's delight, Spencer had agreed to take the night shift so she could get some rest. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out, sleep taking over.

When she woke up, it was 6 in the morning. Probably the first 7 hour night she'd gotten since her second trimester. She did think it was odd the apartment wasn't filled with baby screams.

Spencer and Y/n had been married for 5 years, and she trusted him with her life. She was also fully confident in his fathering abilities. But, she did assume she'd be waking up to screams.

So it was odd when she didn't. She got out of bed, straightening it out before taking a walk to the nursery.

Spencer had painted the whole thing, insisting on Y/n not smelling the paint fumes, despite knowing it was highly unlikely to hurt their baby. It was no surprise he was going to be protective, knowing all the facts about how babies could get hurt.

He had already read all the books he could get his hands on when JJ was pregnant. But he was extra protective with Y/n.

The room was lavender. He maintained it wasn't because of his own personal fondness for the colour. Y/n did believe the study that showed it relaxed children, but so did several other colours.

Still, it was perfect. The ideal nursey with the most well-built crib in the world. Built by Maisie's godfather, Derek Morgan, with her father's help to make sure it was safe.

Y/n could hear the soft Beethoven as she neared the room, careful to keep her movements quiet. While it was Spencer's favourite, he assured her Maisie needed to listen to it to promote the connection of her neurological pathways.

When she peered around the open door, there was a shirtless Spencer. He lay on the couch in the nursery. On his chest, a sleeping Maisie. Despite how slim he looked, he was quite muscular.

Still unaware of her presence, Spencer continued to caress the little girls face. His soft fingertips trailing from her forehead down to her nose and across her cheek.

"Hey, what's happening in here?" Y/n made her proximity known. Spencer looked up at her, the happiest smile on his face. Even on their wedding day, she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him so happy. Notably, because of how tired she presumed he was.

"Hi, love. We're doing some skin to skin contact." His voice was thick from not using it. "Look at her."

Y/n walked close to the father-daughter duo, admiring their little girls face. She knew every parent thought it, but Maisie really was the cutest baby she'd ever seen.

She couldn't help let Spencer know how she felt. "She's so beautiful."

He nodded quickly, looking up at his wife. "I just can't believe any of this is real."

"I know," She agreed. "I feel the exact same." They both fell silent as they admired the perfect little girl, who came from two imperfect parents.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Spencer asked, breaking the silence and looking up at Y/n.

She was sure she was. They had been together for 8 years there was no way she wouldn't be. "She's the most perfect baby in the world."

"Oh, good. I thought it was just me thinking it." Spencer said with a light chuckle. His chest moving up and down made the little girl fuss. "I know every parent thinks their baby is perfect, but she actually is flawless." That made Y/n let out a little giggle.

"She gets better every time I look at her, I think." Y/n mentioned, still not understanding how something so small could have her so whipped.

Spencer nodded, taking hold of Maisie's fingers. Y/n would never stop thinking about how good his hands looked, slender and veiny. "Look how small they are. They're just the most adorable thing ever." Y/n hadn't ever seen him this soft. Ready to give Maisie whatever she wanted.

"I think I like her nose," Y/n mentioned, leaning down to trace her finger over it. "'S just like yours. I hope it stays like that." She continued before running her finger over Spencer's perfect nose. He scrunched it under her fingertips, causing laughter to coarse through her.

Spencer's smile never came off his face, dimpling his cheeks as his wife traced over them. "Do you think she'll get my dimples as well?" He asked hopefully, moving his finger to her cheeks.

"I'm seriously hoping she does," Y/n confirmed. "Honestly, I hope she's 100% you." She couldn't help admire her husband. From the wrinkle in the middle of his eyebrow to his barely-there moustache and his sharp cheekbones, he was the definition of perfection.

"I'm not sure how I'm ever going to repay you," Spencer spoke honestly, his attention now on Y/n. "You've given me the best gift I've ever received, and I don't think... No, I know, there isn't anything I can ever do that will be as good as this." His words melted her heart, turning her to mush. Maybe two people had Y/n wrapped around their fingers.

"Spence." Y/n cooed, running her fingers through his coffee-coloured curls. "She's 50% you, well maybe more." She giggled.

Spencer shook his head, his smile fading. "I didn't do any of the hard work." He retaliated.

"Baby." Y/n sat down, so she was at Spencer's eye level. "You painted this whole room, read every single book you could find- I think you knew more than some of the doctors in there- found all the OBGYNs and have been there every step of the way. I don't think there's anyone else in the world that would go that far." That wasn't even 1/100th of the ways Spencer had helped Y/n throughout her pregnancy.

A soft smile lit up his face again, and she had never been more pleased to see it. "Still." He reached out to grab her hand. "Thank you."

Y/n smiled back at him and their perfect daughter. "I could just watch her forever."

Spencer agreed. "But, she is going to grow up." He reminded her somberly. If he had one wish, it would that they stayed in the moment forever. After all the bad he had witnessed, he never wanted the innocent child to see anything horrific.

"Don't remind me." Y/n playfully glared at him. "'Just always want to have a baby."

"I can do that for you, love." Spencer reminded her, a cheeky smirk now on his face.

"That is exactly the hard work I need you for," Y/n told him before she realised her mistaken words. "That's not what I meant." It didn't matter, Spencer was already laughing at the sexual innuendo.

Unfortunately, it woke up Maisie. She immediately started screaming. Spencer knew how it was possible, but he didn't understand how such a long sound could come from such small lunges.

Y/n picked her baby up off Spencer, walking her over to the chair to breastfeed.

"Can I stay?" Spencer asked hopefully. He enjoyed having his own skin-to-skin contact with the baby, but Maisie's connection with her mother would always be unique.

Y/n nodded. "As long as you're not cheeky." She sent him a pointed look which he just laughed off.

Both of them were still amazed about how perfect the moment was.

Tag list

@la-vie-en-amour1 @bingereid @measure-in-pain @archer561

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

Ivy

➣ Pairing: apprentice!Jungkook x reader, art curator!Hoseok x reader

➣ Premise: You’ve been promised to Jung Hoseok for twelve years. You’ve never wanted anything else. Until now. (inspired by the song “Ivy” by Taylor Swift)

➣ Genre: arranged marriage au, angsty with some fluff, SFW

➣ warnings/tags: it’s a bit angsty, the reader is technically promised to someone else so it’s a little messy, general EmOTioNS, a bit intense/stalkerish but not too bad?? some fun fluff and banter as well, but Hoseok might kill a man and Jungkook will go down fighting

➣ word count: 12.2k *yeah, I know. this sucker is like 3 times longer than it was meant to be*

➣ a/n: this was a commission by @delacyrose224 for Army for AAPI! Thank you so much for requesting this awesome prompt, I literally had too much fun writing this. I swear, I could’ve made a whole series out of this. You guys, check out ways to get involved in this awesome cause by clicking the link!

The person staring back at you in the mirror is not you. Of that, you are certain. There’s no way you could ever pull this off – the silken layers, ivory making your skin glow with a dew-like complexion…

You voice as much. “I don’t even recognize myself.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?”

Whirling around in a flurry of skirts and soft-to-the-touch fabric, you spot your betrothed lingering in the doorway.

“Hoseok!”

He chuckles, the sound making the corners of your lips tug upward. Taking in the sight before him, you can’t help but notice the way he chews on the inside of his cheek. Hoseok takes one hesitant step forward, crossing his arms.

“You should’ve seen me earlier,” he croons, voice always sounding like he’s a breath away from laughter. “I thought my dad had somehow teleported into the mirror.”

You wince. “Does this mean we’ve grown up?”

“Unfortunately.”

Twelve years of waiting for this. How have they already passed?

“You know,” Hoseok begins, dropping your gaze in favor of stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I haven’t even properly proposed to you, yet.”

“You should probably get on it.”

“Mmm.”

“Aren’t we getting married in April?”

He frowns. “Yeah, mid-April I think. It’s barely November, though. So there’s no pressure, right?”

You almost burst out laughing at his simple question. No pressure? Pressure has been your constant companion these past twelve years.

What else were you supposed to feel? Trying telling a thirteen year old that they’re already promised to somebody and then tell them “Oh, but no pressure.” Of course, they made sure to drop that little piece of pointless comfort after they mentioned who you had been promised to.

Jung Hoseok.

Three years your senior, he had seemed larger-than-life when you first met less than a year after learning of your pre-determined commitment to him. He’d been kind, that was your first thought. A little strange, a little loud at times. For your teenage self, that was fine.

Then things began to change. It was a rare occasion that you ever saw Hoseok; the two of you lived in different cities. However you distinctly remember one occasion in which you had unintentionally bumped into him while in search of your parents at their giant headquarters located in Busan.

It was easy to get lost in that building – you still can picture all the different nooks and crannies where different works of art were stored. The more valuable ones were of course under lock and key, however there were plenty of show rooms that you managed to get lost in.

You had done just that, taking a detour through the preservation room where several workers could be seen on the other side of the glass cleaning a timeless piece that had just been flown in from Austria. Once you realized where you were, you turned to leave. However, something caught your eye that made you hesitate.

There was Hoseok, perched on the edge of a stool as he leaned over the artwork. There was nothing particularly flashy about him that day, something you weren’t used to. In all your time of knowing him (four years at that point), you had never seen him in something other than formal wear. If it wasn’t some sort of suit or dress shirt, it was a sweater vest that he somehow managed to pull off.

This time, he was disguised in a white lab coat, holding a Loup to his eye in an effort to analyze the fine details of the painting. His brown hair was a little mussed, his knee bouncing up and down in the only outward show of excitement he portrayed.

One of the workers began speaking, the details of their conversation muted to your ears due to the glass separating you from them. However, you watched as Hoseok listened with almost terrifying focus before turning back to the painting and delicately taking a brush to the frame. No doubt dusting off some invisible smudge.

You had been frozen for a long moment, completely unfamiliar with this man. The Hoseok you knew was jovial and quick to laughter. He made you smile and roll your eyes. He put you at ease.

This man, with his precise flicks of the wrist and unwavering focus, was a force of nature.

You realized then, at the age of seventeen that while you were promised to this man, you did not know him at all. There was so much more hiding behind that heart-shaped smile.

And now, at twenty-five, you are no closer to knowing him than you were before. You’ve never known anyone else quite so talented at wielding smiles with the same deftness as a sniper hiding on a rooftop.

“No pressure?” You scoff, wiggling an eyebrow at your intended sniper. “That means I can’t gain any weight from here to April! That’s impossible with the holidays coming up!”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, clapping at your comment as though you’ve just completed a stand-up routine. “That’s a good point,” he sighs, making a contented sound. “I’ll have to ask my tailor to let out my suit a bit in the spring.”

You fidget on the pedestal, glancing back at the mirror over your shoulder. Your gown is breathtaking, there’s no denying it. It’s just…overwhelming.

“Well,” Hoseok begins to back out of the room, “You look beautiful. Sorry for snooping around, but I couldn’t resist.”

You straighten up at his comment, preening a bit. Over the years, you’ve come to realize that Hoseok’s compliments are not given lightly.

“Thank you.”

He shrugs. “It’s true.” He turns on his heel and strides out the door, calling over his shoulder, “We’ll fly out first thing in the morning.”

Piano Concerto No. 4 in G, from Beethoven’s Opera 58 echoes off the domed ceiling, bouncing through the air and enveloping you in a cocoon of music. Without your realizing, your right foot bounces out the rhythm as you crane your neck to get a better look at your work.

“C’mon, David,” you groan, sparing the renowned sculpture a glare. “You’re not making this easy on me.”

“I wasn’t aware that sculptures got vasectomies.”

You jolt, nearly tipping off of your step stool before two warm hands grasp your shoulders. Sputtering and spewing, you spin around to see just who you need to direct your cursing at.

“Who are you?” You fume as the person in question removes their hands from you and takes a timid step back.

“Jeon Jungkook, m-ma’am.”

“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even more, something you didn’t think he was capable of doing. Chowing down on his bottom lip, he gives you a small shake of his head.

“Then tell me who you are to me, not your name.” You inwardly grimace at your snappy tone, but you’ll apologize later.

“Oh, I…uh, I’m the apprentice?” When you don’t immediately get a look of understanding on your face, Jungkook presses on. “Mr. Jung’s apprentice, ma’am.”

Ah, that checks out.

Hoseok’s father would be stepping down as the East-Asia representative on the international board of Art and Artifacts (basically the equivalent of the U.N. in art terms), leaving a spot open for Hoseok to ascend the ranks.

“Why haven’t I met you before? Haven’t you been around for a while?”

In order to complete the apprenticeship, Jungkook would need at least three years of working alongside Hoseok. Learning the ins and outs of being the curator of some of the biggest art collections and galleries in the world.

“Yes ma’am, I have.”

“Ok, Jungkook,” you stand up and stretch, gaining some sort of sick satisfaction from the way he scampers back a bit more to give you space. “Two things. First, I’m not ‘ma’am’. Just speak to me casually, ok?”

There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes, but he nods. “And the second thing?”

Turning point to the David in all his glory, you smirk over your shoulder. “Don’t sneak up on me when I’m working. David here nearly lost his balls because you startled me.”

Cheeks flushed pink, Jungkook sputters out something resembling a “y-yes, I won’t do it again” before dropping his gaze to the floor. Chuckling to yourself, you resume your position before the sculpture, meticulously layering on a protective substance to the David’s nether regions.

You and Hoseok had been called over to Italy in order to make preparations for the upcoming art show. It was to be the first of its kind --- never before had these timeless artworks been on display like this. Royalty, presidents, dignitaries of every kind mixed with world-class celebrities would be present.

As a precaution you were going through and applying a protective but clear substance to more fragile parts of the artworks. Today, the David was the lucky one.

“So, Jungkook,” you hum, completely undeterred by the strange position you were in at the moment. “What brings you over to my side of the museum today? Shouldn’t you be off with Hoseok, planning for the event?”

“Ah, well…Mr. Jung said you might need a hand. I volunteered to assist you with whatever you need.”

You blink. Hoseok had always been completely content to leave you to your work. It was a silent agreement you have: you let him do his thing, and he doesn’t interfere with your stuff.

“Huh.” You smooth out the final touches, leaning back a bit. “Interesting. So what, you’re just hanging out with me for the rest of the day?”

“Yep. For the rest of the week, actually.”

David stares off into the distance, ever stoic. You swear you can see a bit of a confused glint in his eye as the sculpture listens in on your conversation. It’s always just been you and the artwork. So what’s this with Hoseok sending Jungkook over? Is he just trying to be kind and help you out?

Probably. There’s no need to assume anything else. You just think…

Well, despite trusting you, you would think he’d send someone less attractive to help you with your work. Is this some sort of trust exercise he’s pulling on you before he proposes? Or does he just not care enough to think about the possible repercussions of his actions?

“Doesn’t he care at least a little bit?” You think aloud, frowning up at David.

“What was that?”

“Oh,” you swivel around to give Jungkook an apologetic smile. “Nothing. Do me a favor?” Jungkook nods. “Take a look at this for me, see if the extra layer is noticeable at all.”

Getting up to move out of his way, you can’t help the grin that breaks out as Jungkook flushes a bit when he gets up close and personal with the David. Despite his obvious embarrassment though, he meticulously checks ever angle.

“I can’t tell at all,” he finally responds, straightening up. “You’re amazing.”

You blink. “Oh. Er…thanks.”

“So, where to next?”

“We look like those ancient plague doctors,” Jungkook jokes, hanging you a bottle of clear liquid before you can even ask for it. “You know, like with the big beaks and stuff?”

You snort, which in turn fogs up the inside of your suit. Waiting a moment for it to clear up, you glance back at Hoseok’s apprentice.

He has a point. The two of you look slightly ridiculous, in your full body Hazmat suits that are necessary to inspect these ancient papyrus scrolls. They’re falling apart already, no need for you to contaminate them with something as feeble as a sigh. Once you’re finished working on them, they’ll be placed in thick Plexiglas cases which will keep them safe from the outside world.

“We’re missing the beaks, though.”

Jungkook hums, watching you carefully as you smooth out the scroll. “I bet we could roll these up and use them as beaks.”

“Not funny.”

“Worth a shot.”

Rolling your eyes again; something you’ve become prone to doing in the past 24 hours you’ve known Jungkook, you set to work.

It’s only quiet for so long before Jungkook speaks up again. He does so quietly, making good on his promise not to startle you anymore. “No Beethoven today?”

You give a slight shake of your head, hardly daring to blink while applying the syrupy liquid to the bottom corner of the document. The slightest mess up would result in having to scrape it off before it dries, which is something you don’t want to have to try. Not when a single nick to the papyrus equals game over.

Letting out a sigh of relief once you’ve completed that section, you sit back and stretch. “No,” you groan out mid-yawn. “It felt like a Tchaikovsky kind of day. Don’t know why.”

“Hmm.”

“Ok, we need to wait…” you glance at the clock on the wall. “About an hour to let that completely set in before flipping it and working on the other side.”

“Great, let’s grab some lunch.”

You blink, watching Jungkook as he shoots to his feet and heads toward the door. “I was going to suggest we get started on the next exhibit-”

“Food first,” Jungkook chimes, leaving no room for argument as your stomach rumbles at the thought of lunch. “We’re literally in Italy, food always comes first.”

Well, he has a point.

You make a point of locating Hoseok before heading out for food, eventually finding him in a grand corridor surrounded by staff. Wherever Hoseok is, there’s constant motion. People flitting about, running errands and trying to keep everything moving in a timely fashion.

As the two of you became closer work partners over the past few years, it’s become a familiar sight. It helps, finding Hoseok is usually fairly easy. Today proves no different.

“Hoseok!” You wave him down, offering a smile to the surrounding staff that recognize you. The man in question is nudged by his assistant, Joshua.

“Hey!” Hoseok breaks away from the group and jogs over to where you stand beside a column. He nods at Jungkook, smiling warmly. “What’re you two up to? I thought you were working the papyrus today.”

“We have an hour before we can move on to the next thing, so we’re grabbing lunch. Wanna come?”

“Oh,” the look of surprise on his face gives you cause to wonder when the last time you invited him to do something with you was. “That sounds…really nice, actually. Give me a minute?”

Your heart stumbles as it pick up in speed, something you weren’t anticipating. “Yeah, sure. We’ll wait right here.”

“Great, thanks.”

With that, he scurries back over to the throng. Jungkook leans over to you, elbow nudging your arm.

“What?”

“How long do you think they’ll last before calling him?” Jungkook muses, an amused smile on his face.

You can’t help but laugh, knowing full well that it won’t be long. “I’d say…thirty minutes?”

“Really? I’ll give them forty.”

“You’re too generous.”

“Aren’t you being too hard on them?”

Your eyes slide over to Jungkook, arching a brow. “No. So what are we betting?”

Jungkook breathes through his teeth, taking in your determined expression. “Hmmm…money or something else?”

“Not money, that’s too boring.”

“Ok, ok.” Crossing his arms, Jungkook sways from side to side as he thinks. Slowly, his eyes drag across your face, trying to see something that’s beneath the surface. “If you lose, you have to be my date to the gala.”

“W-what?!” You choke on your spit, staring up at Jungkook like he just grew a second head. “I can’t- why would you-”

He tilts his head to one side, clearly enjoying your shock. “Hurry, make your bet. What happens if you win?”

“Jungkook, I’m literally marrying Hoseok in a few months, I can’t just go as someone else’s date!”

“Don’t worry,” he winks, only furthering your embarrassment, “I’ve it all planned out. Now, hurry up. He’s heading back.”

Indeed, Hoseok is clapping Joshua on the shoulder and turning this way. Chewing furiously on the inside of your cheek, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Ok, well if I win then you have to leave me alone for the rest of the week!”

There’s a hint of worry that streaks across Jungkook’s features, but it’s covered up a few seconds later as he thrusts out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

With the way he grins down at you, you can’t help but feel like this was a stupid thing to bet on.

You’re wedged into a booth not long after, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Hoseok. Jungkook takes the spot across from you two, never missing a beat in his conversation with your betrothed.

“The guest list has been finalized,” Hoseok is saying, smiling warmly at the server that drops off some menus. You don’t miss the way she ogles your companions, shrugging it off. It’s become a common occurrence. You’re not blind to their looks.

“It wasn’t finished before?” You ask, frowning. Hoseok passes a menu to you, leaning in a bit closer. It’s unnecessary, but the way he lets his leg rest against yours has a rush shooting through you.

So…this is a new development.

“No,” Jungkook answers for him. “Well, we thought it was, but then the curator here wanted to invite some more political officials. Has it been a mess trying to rearrange?”

“Yeah, but everyone pulled their weight.”

“That’s good to hear.”

It’s relatively quiet as you all look over your menus, bouncing ideas off of each other for what they should get. After you’ve placed your orders, Hoseok nudges you.

“Your mother called me last night.”

Your eyes widen. “She did?”

Both men chuckle at your obvious worry. “Yes, she did. We had a nice chat. Why do you look so concerned?”

Perhaps it has something to do with the last conversation you had with your mother. It took place about three weeks ago, when she’d come up to Seoul for a visit. The visit had been pleasant enough; you’d gone to dinner and talked about things back home. She’d actually approved of your apartment, despite the eclectic feel to it.

It has almost been too normal. You should’ve known that it was only a matter of time before something happened.

You were busy putting your leftovers from the restaurant in the fridge, your mother hovering in the doorway to the kitchen with a pensive look on her face.

“Have you ever had…doubts?”

“Doubts?” Your voice was muffled from the odd angle, but you peeked out around the door of the fridge with a questioning look. “About what?”

Your mother shrugged, keeping her eyes trained on the door of the fridge and its decorative magnets. “About Hoseok.”

You immediately stood, closing the door with a dull thud. “What?”

“I just…your wedding is coming up, he’s probably going to propose within the next couple of months – for heaven’s sake, you have your dress fitting coming up in just a couple of weeks, isn’t that right?”

“Mom,” you voice was stern. “What is this about? You’re scaring me.”

At your confession your mother finally met your eyes. “Oh, sweetie, I didn’t mean to worry you so much. But I can’t help but wonder, you know? We’ve never really talked about it-”

“There was never anything to talk about!” You sigh, exasperated. “All I’ve known is that I’m going to end up with Hoseok, and that’s that! He’s a nice man, hardworking, and we make a good team.”

“I know, darling. I know.” She hesitated before stepping forward, coming to place a loving hand on your cheek. “I just want you to know that you get to make this decision. Even though it may not have always felt like it. There is…more. Out there, for you.”

More?

“Just, uh…” you shake your head, trying to clear your mind of those thoughts rolling around your head. “Wanted to make sure she didn’t share any embarrassing information about me.”

This makes both men chuckle, Jungkook leaning forward with eager eyes. “Like what? Do tell.”

You blush at his undivided attention, groaning and slipping down further in your seat. Hopefully neither of them notice your pink cheeks, something tells you that Jungkook would never let you live it down.

The fact that you don’t know how Hoseok would react has you even more on edge.

Hoseok grins at you as you sit up again, reaching around your shoulders to pull you close. “Aw, you probably don’t have any embarrassing stories. We all already know that you’re perfect.”

You blink, staring up at your betrothed as his smile softens. He’s never spoken to you like this. First sending extra help in the form of Jungkook, then dropping everything to go to lunch, now this?

Before your mind can run with the idea blooming in your chest, your server appears with your food. Her eyes instantly zone in on you and Hoseok, something registering in her eyes as she offers you a warm smile. Then, she turns her full attention on Jungkook. Practically eating him alive as she sets his food down in front of him.

“Your hair is so long,” she muses. “I’ve never seen anyone able to pull off hair like that…what’s your secret?”

Jungkook, who you assumed would preen in the attention, hardly glances the girl’s way. His eyes rest on where Hoseok’s hand ghosts over your shoulder, slow in its retreat. Jungkook keeps a neutral expression, although his eyes shoot up to yours in a way that has you pinned to the back of the booth.

It’s over just as quickly as it began, Jungkook grinning down at his food and mumbling, “No secret. Just good genes.” He doesn’t wait another second before diving into his food. You snort at his reply, Hoseok just shaking his head before beginning to eat in a more meticulous manner. If he noticed the strange exchange that just passed between you and Jungkook, he doesn’t say anything.

Or maybe it was all in your head. Maybe that protective coating you applied to the papyrus earlier today has gone straight to your head, addling your brain.

The food is delicious, as expected. The three of you fall into an easy conversation, revolving mainly around work. You notice that Jungkook keeps checking his phone, but you ignore it.

That is, until he offers you a smug smile before focusing his attention on Hoseok.

“So, for this gala…we’re meant to bring a plus one, right?”

Hoseok nods. “Yep.”

“Who’re you taking?”

Hoseok laughs, taking a long sip of his drink. “Who? I don’t know, I feel like I should maybe take the woman I’m marrying in a few months.” He shoots you a friendly wink, but you can’t completely return his light-hearted nature. Has it already been forty minutes? But still, there’s been no call…

“Oh,” a familiar ringtone cuts through the air, and Hoseok grabs his phone from his pocket, frowning at the screen. “It’s Joshua. I’ll just step outside for a moment.”

Hoseok is too busy sliding out of the booth to notice the way your jaw drops. The second he’s out of sight, you turn an accusatory glare toward Jungkook. “What was that? Did you seriously tell them to call-”

“Before you castrate me, I’d like to defend myself. Can I do that?”

“And then I can castrate you?”

Jungkook visibly swallows. “I only meant it hypothetically, but…just listen.” When you angrily wave for him to continue, the smug smile from earlier reappears on his face. “I have this all under control. But, from where I’m sitting, I won our little bet. So I have a question for you.”

“I’m not going with you, Hoseok is taking me!”

Pushing his tongue against his cheek, Jungkook sits back and observes you for a moment. “Don’t be so sure about that, sweetheart. Now, what color of dress are you wearing to this thing?”

You do your best to ignore Jungkook for the rest of the day. Hoseok chats happily with you on the walk back to the museum, occasionally finding a way to let his hand graze yours. It’s enough to keep you distracted from Jungkook’s complacent expression which is usually directed in your direction.

Parting from Hoseok is like parting with a security blanket, and he looks to be particularly pleased with the way you run your hand down his arm before bidding him goodbye. Jungkook huffs a breath, which goes unnoticed by your betrothed as he heads into the building where countless workers wait for him.

“I’m still waiting on an answer,” Jungkook chides a few moments later. You’re desperately trying to outpace him, annoyed when he easily keeps up.

“You’re not getting one and we’re not going together.”

“Didn’t I tell you that I’d take care of it? Everything. Even Hoseok.” You stop in your tracks when Jungkook jumps in front of the doors, opening one up with a flourish.

“Jungkook.”

“Yes, darling?” It’s infuriating how much you react to the pet name, your reddening cheeks giving you away instantly.

“Stop.”

Jungkook blinks, straightening up a bit as you sweep past him and head inside. When he’s silent the entire walk to the papyrus lab, you let out a sigh of relief. Never mind the fact that there’s a dull disappointment blooming in your chest. For a moment, it was nice to think of what a night at Jungkook’s side could be like.

It would certainly be different than what you’re used to with Hoseok. Not that you two often spend occasions like this together, it’s more of a formality than anything. The first few minutes are always a dream: Hoseok can’t take his eyes off of you and gets flustered. He’s a perfect gentleman, and even goes so far as to hold you close to him when entering the event.

However, it only takes a few minutes before he’s swept off in one direction and you the other. Collogues, board members, and possible buyers of the rare artwork on display keep you two busy and apart for the entirety of the night.

You make to step into the prep room, ready to get back into your hazmat suit and start on the other side of the papyrus scrolls. The moment you step in, however, the thought of being stuck in such a small space with Jungkook nearly makes your lightheaded. Focus is paramount in your line of work, and Jungkook counts as a distraction.

“Would you go around to the sculptures we worked on yesterday and make sure they’re doing ok?” You glance over your shoulder to see Jungkook freeze in the doorway. “I, uh…I never know how they’re going to respond to the added layer.”

Jungkook has lost all of his previous swagger, simply giving you a curt nod before turning to walk away. You can’t help but watch as he briskly heads down the hallways, running his hands through his hair before fisting them at the nape.

You jump a little as the door closes, lost in your thoughts. Rushing back to you are your mother’s words.

“There is…more. Out there, for you.”

The words settle for a moment before you snort, chuckling to yourself before putting one leg in the hazmat suit. “They’re both hot. So what?”

Two more days pass in a similar fashion. Jungkook is always waiting for you at the entrance to the museum, resembling an eager puppy before you shut him down with a stern look.

Last night you spent a ridiculous amount of time coming up with errands you could send him on that wouldn’t seem too suspicious. For the most part it’s worked; you’ve been working alone for most of the day, and Jungkook hasn’t seemed too keen to intrude.

A part of you feels a bit bad for shutting him out so much, but you really have no reason to let him in. Especially not when he was so set on taking you to the gala when you’re very clearly promised to another.

“Does he have something against Hoseok?”

Your question is directed to your current project, The Incoronation of the Virgin, by Jacopo di Cione. Of course, the virgin humbly sitting with a crown on her head pays you no mind, but you carry on anyway.

“But then again, why would he? He’s getting his job, isn’t he?” You sit back, lightly dusting at the finer details of the mural. “Oh, maybe he’s angry at me.”

“Why would I be angry at you?”

You gasp as you stumble back, losing your footing from where you were on a stepping stool. You gasp louder (if that’s possible) when two sturdy hands grab your waist, firmly keeping you in place.

“Steady?”

“Why do you keep sneaking up on me?” You seethe, stepping down and out of Jungkook’s grasp. “Did I ask you to finish cleaning the bottles we used yesterday?”

“I finished that.”

“And what about sweeping the work area?”

“Done.”

“What about-”

“Done,” Jungkook looks like he’s considering taking another step, but stays put. “I finished everything. Now would you quit sending me away?”

You give him a long look, noting the way his cheeks burn under your gaze. After a moment you sigh. “Yeah, fine.”

Jungkook perks up instantly, and a second later you find him glued to your side. He gazes up at the panel you’ve been working on, his mouth dropping of its own accord.

“Wow, it’s beautiful.”

“Mmhm.” You head back up the step stool, getting back to work while Jungkook holds it steady. He admires the artwork, leaving you in relative peace.

“How did you get into this stuff?” He asks from the other end of the painting. You arch a brow before furrowing it, trying to come up with a reasonable answer.

“I…well, this is what my family does.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I guess they tend to lean more toward the buying and selling of artwork. From my teen years I’ve always gravitated more toward the conservation of artwork.”

“Why’s that?” The fact that he sounds genuinely interested throws you off, making you pause as you meet his curious gaze. There’s no malice in his eyes, not a hint of the annoying pride from two days prior. Just genuine interest.

It gives you a falling sensation, which has you clinging to the stool until it passes.

“It’s quiet. Peaceful, for the most part.”

“But it’s stressful, too?”

The beginnings of a smile curl at your lips. “Yes, that too.”

A companionable silence falls between the two of you after that, allowing for you to work quickly and efficiently. Once you’re satisfied with the panel, you find Jungkook ready to hold the stool steady while you get down.

“What about you?” The question falls from your lips before you really understand what you’re asking.

“Me?”

“Yeah. Why did you decide to become an apprentice? It’s a long apprenticeship. And last I checked, curating isn’t exactly a hot trend.”

Jungkook scrunches his nose in a way that has you wondering if what you just said was somehow absolutely adorable. He certainly thinks it was.

“Well, there are a number of reasons.” He glances sidelong at you as you gather your things to head back to the storage space. “But mainly because it felt right.”

You frown. “That’s your reason?” Jungkook nods, amusement glittering in his eyes. “What happens when you wake up and it doesn’t feel right anymore?”

“Why? Do you know the feeling?”

Suddenly you know that you’re no longer talking about career choices. It’s only confirmed when Jungkook slows to a stop, hoisting up the bucket of supplies and facing you.

“I- no, I love my job-”

“Haven’t you ever wondered, though?” Now it’s practically impossible to decipher what exactly is going on behind Jungkook’s bright eyes, his long brown hair falling into his face. “There’s more out there, you know. Why do you stay?”

For some reason, you’re frozen in place. A deer in the headlights, probably reading way too much into this conversation.

“S-stay?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook takes a small step forward, as though afraid of scaring you off. “After all this time, you’re still here. Why?”

Your breath is caught in your throat. “I…” The world stops spinning as Jungkook tilts his head to one side, eyes swallowing you whole as they trace the outline of your lips. Despite not laying a single finger on you, your skin blazes as though he were physically reaching out.

With a step back, you glare at the floor before taking a steeling breath. “The retirement plan’s great. Hard to pass up on.”

The sound of your footsteps echo off the walls, listening for Jungkook to follow after you.

He doesn’t.

“So, about the gala.” Hoseok stands in the doorway to your hotel room, tie long gone and top button loosed. It’s a rare sight, and yet it never fails to be one of your favorites. “I have a weird proposition for you.”

You kick off your shoes, not bothering with decency as you fall back on your bed with a groan. “Shoot.”

“Jungkook has this really prestigious cousin that’s connected to the royal family-”

“Royal family?” You sit up, frowning at Hoseok.

“Yeah, like the British one? I think so, at least. Anyway, I don’t remember how she’s connected but it’s a big deal. And apparently she asked for me to escort her at the gala.”

If blood could run cold, yours is pushing freezing. “Huh. Is that so.”

Hoseok gives you an apologetic smile. “I know it’s weird and that’s why I came to you, I don’t want to hurt you-”

“I’ll just go by myself, it’s fine.”

“No, no. You’re not going alone. Jungkook already offered to take you.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, resolve withering at the sight of Hoseok’s tentative hope. You wonder if he would really back down if you asked to go with him. To let Jungkook’s schmoozing cousin find a different date.

“Just say the word,” Hoseok offers with a fading smile. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

For some reason, your ears expect to hear the word darling at the end of that sentence. But they don’t, and you know exactly where you can go for that.

More, huh?

“That’s fine, Hoseok. Really. What’s one night?”

Hoseok rushes forward with glee, wrapping you in his arms for a second before backing away and heading toward the door. “You’re amazing, you know that? Absolutely amazing. The guests are going to be in awe of your work.”

The guests are, unsurprisingly, oblivious to your meticulous work.

You’re not complaining, they’re not meant to notice it. Your work is behind the scenes, whereas Hoseok’s work is visible everywhere.

His handywork acts as a constant reminder of him, keeping you on edge as you trail up the flower-studded stairs that are already overflowing with guests. A few give you odd looks as you walk alone, but most are too preoccupied with their own problems to care much for yours.

You don’t know how he did it, but Jungkook managed to get you all to himself after all. The thought had left an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach all day yesterday at work, hardly bothering to exchange more than a few words with the man in question. It seemed like he had almost anticipated this, content to leave you be. It was when he asked what time he should pick you up that you looked at him, angry at the fact that you immediately admired his outfit of choice. It suited him, which shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.

“I’ll meet you there,” you had responded firmly, hopefully leaving no room for argument. “Wait for me beside the entrance.”

It was bad enough that you were going without your betrothed; that another woman was going to be hanging off his arm all night. The last thing you wanted was to create an equally flashy arrival with his apprentice. You were by no means the most popular guests in attendance tonight, but the guarantee of countless cameras had you refraining from taking any chances.

Now, as you make your way to the entrance, you try to not look too eager. Jungkook is nowhere to be found yet, making you frown, but movement catches your attention in the corner of your eye.

Stepping from the shadows is Jungkook, looking like he was made for this event. The first thing you notice about him is the wistful smile he gives you, which you return before your mind catches up with what’s going on.

He looks…immaculate. Not over-the-top, he’s wearing a fairly standard black suit with a thin black tie. Nothing too flashy, but it might as well be an original piece with the way he wears it. His hair has been carefully styled, so unlike the careless mop you’ve seen throughout this week.

Jungkook moves toward you like a man on a mission while you remain at the top of the stairs, hardly daring to breathe.

“Hello,” he mutters, coming to a stop before you. “You look…stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, perhaps already knowing that your tongue has turned leaden in his presence. Jungkook offers you his arm, which you graciously take. Hopefully he doesn’t pay too much attention to the way you’re gripping his forearm for dear life.

The two of you sweep inside, gaining easy access as you’re well acquainted with the staff. As you pass a long, tall mirror that’s flanked by sphinxes, you can’t help but glance over.

You do look stunning.

The red gown you wear isn’t too revealing, not too flashy, but calls attention to you just the same. No matter where you are tonight, Hoseok will be able to find you with ease. The thought fills you with a sick sort of satisfaction. He’ll see you, but he’ll see who’s arm you’re on, as well.

With Jungkook by your side, you’re a force of nature. The two of you are no longer walking, rather prowling the premises as you make your way toward the ballroom. A few stragglers that are trying to get a peek at the closed off exhibits notice your keen eye and scamper off.

It’s a new sensation to you, watching those people flee from before you as though you were an enemy soldier on a mission. Perhaps it has something to do with the way Jungkook appears to be smoldering beside you, emitting a dangerous aura that you never realized he could give off. For a brief moment, the silly boy you’ve been actively avoiding this week has vanished. In his wake stands a man with a purpose, the successor to the famed Jung Hoseok, and a legitimate contender amongst art dealers.

“I’m not used to this,” you mutter as Jungkook continues in his path. His steps are timed perfectly to your own, and you wonder if that’s a mere coincidence or if he’s currently keeping count in his head.

“Used to what?” Even his voice has turned to a dangerous rasp, smoky eyes sliding over to observe you.

“People respecting personal space. Usual they all flock to Hoseok the second he walks in the door.”

The corner of his lips pull up in a smirk. “And which do you prefer?”

You sigh. “Are you seriously turning this into a competition?”

You’re almost to the ballroom, but you let out a surprised sound when you veer off course into a deserted corridor just above the stairs that lead down into the ballroom. You realize that he’s taking you across a small overlook which shows the ballroom, a flurry of suits and dresses writhing before you on the level below. It’s a mesmerizing sight, and upon instinct you seek out Hoseok.

Jungkook notices your search, pausing to allow you to look around a bit more. He studies your side profile carefully. “Is that such a bad thing?” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s referring to the competition.

There’s Hoseok, sure enough he’s weaving in and out of the crowd. People smile and clap him on the back, making space for him and his companion to get through.

Jungkook’s cousin, Margaret, stays close behind your betrothed. She even goes so far as to hold onto his hand, offering him a shy smile when he looks back at her questioningly. However, he does nothing to shake her off.

“Yes,” you answer. Then, “He never took me along with him.”

“You mean at events like these?” Jungkook stands beside you at the railing, eyes instantly finding the “he” you’re referring to. “I know. You two usually go your separate ways.”

The nonchalant manner with which he comments this has you turning to face him, confusion clear on your face. “How could you know that?”

Jungkook frowns, popping his knuckles as he refuses to look at you. “Isn’t it pretty common knowledge? You two are both prominent members of the art community that hardly have time for each other. The rest is fairly simple to figure out.”

You step to the side, granting yourself enough space to glare up at the man.

“Fairly simple? Jungkook, I don’t know why you think you can make assumptions about my relationship with Hoseok, but there’s no need to do so. You’re right, we’re both busy. But we’re happy. Why do you seem so intent on making me second guess that? Why is everything a competition with you?”

You’re surprised when Jungkook doesn’t step down like he usually does. Instead he straightens up, leaning in a bit closer while his eyes bore into your own. You swallow, pressing your nails into the palm of your hand when his gaze tracks the movement of your throat.

“Calling it a competition might be a bit crass,” Jungkook mutters, voice coming out much softer than you anticipated. “But I guess you can say that. Sure, it’s a competition. As of right now, there are no clear winners.”

“But what are you two competing for?” You ask, exasperated. “There’s no need to go after Hoseok, Jungkook. You’re getting his position in just a few months, you’ll have the same influence he does now. I don’t understand. Why go to such great lengths? Are you trying to usurp him or something?”

Jungkook finds a way to step impossibly closer, one hand gripping the railing while the other finds your hand. “Which would you deem more valuable: your hand in marriage or your heart?”

Dangerous, this is dangerous, your heart chides. Despite the warning, you can’t help but sneer and step impossibly closer. There’s a spark of anger deep within you, and if it wasn’t for your current predicament you would stop for a moment and wonder when the last time you felt such an intense emotion was, but you press on.

“I wasn’t aware that I had to choose,” you seethe. You swallow a gasp as Jungkook leans in, nose nearly bumping against yours.

You can see whole galaxies in those eyes of his. Glinting and shining under the light of the chandelier, stars begging for you to come dance. What would happen if you danced under his stars? Something tells you that you don’t want to find out.

“That’s not an answer,” Jungkook breathes out.

“I’m sorry, what that not good enough for you?”

He blinks, an amused smirk painting his features. “You’re angry. Good.”

“Good?” You sputter out, taking a small step back and finding it infinitely easier to breathe now that there’s some distance between you two. “You wanted me to be angry?”

Shrugging, Jungkook rolls his neck from side to side, looking casual as ever. As though you weren’t just about to bite his nose off if he were to say one more stupid thing.

“Anger is an emotion. I count that as a win. Now,” he extends his hand out with a flourish, “shall we dance?”

“No.”

“I’d rethink that answer if I were you, darling.” Jungkook makes a point of looking out over the railing, and your eyes unwillingly follow his line of sight.

There’s Hoseok, spinning Margaret around and around. His smile is wide, and you can hear his laughter from up here.

He has no idea that you’re up here fighting for your marriage, does he?

Again, that anger is stoked until it’s steadily consuming you. With a huff that sounds more akin to a grown, you take Jungkook’s hand.

“One. Dance.”

One turns into two, and two turns to four. The music lilts and does almost all the work, Jungkook picking up the slack as he moves your through the songs. You can hardly tell where one ends and another begins, all you know is two things.

1. You’re still angry, however it’s being steadily replaced by confusion.

2. Hoseok and Margaret stopped dancing a while ago, and they currently stand off to the side trying to make it look like they’re not watching you.

“Your cousin appears to be very concerned about you,” you pant, the dancing finally taking its toll. Jungkook glances sidelong, chuckling darkly.

“That’s probably because she’s not my cousin and I told her she would only have to stay for an hour or so.”

If Jungkook’s hand at your back wasn’t propelling you forward, you’re sure you would’ve stopped dead in your tracks.

“What?”

There’s a twinkle of amusement in those galaxy-filled eyes of his. “She is connected to the royal family; I’ll give her that much. But she’s not my cousin. Just an old friend helping out with a favor.”

You’re not sure if you should laugh or cry.

After a moment, you settle for easing out of Jungkook’s grasp with the excuse to use the restroom. The sound of your heels on the marble floor is drowned out as the live band pick up a lively tune, causing a new rush of people to the dance floor. Somehow you manage to weave your way toward the hallway where you think you remember seeing a restroom sign, unaware of someone hot on your heels.

You’re reaching out for the door when you feel a hand at your elbow. It stops you mid-step, pulling you in an entirely different direction. Gasping, you whirl about to see Hoseok with a grim expression. He doesn’t utter a word, marching the two of you toward a dark corner.

“Hoseok, you scared me!” You whisper-shout, entirely unsure of why you’re whispering in the first place. Perhaps it has something to do with the secluded area he’s led you to, not a single soul in sight.

Once you’ve turned the corner, Hoseok presses your back against the wall, peeking around the corner toward the faint light of the festivities. The sound of trombones and cellos echo around the corridor, making you feel like you’re experiencing a memory rather than living this moment in real time.

When Hoseok turns back to face you, you note the way his hair is mussed. You immediately begin to smooth it out with a frown. He’s usually so meticulous about his hair during events like this.

His eyes soften a bit at your ministrations, but his face is still flushed. “Are you enjoying yourself tonight?”

“I- no…?”

“That’s odd,” Hoseok tilts his head to one side, eyes pinning you to the wall better than his hands. “You certainly look like you are.”

You blink. “I do?”

He lets out a choked laugh, the sound seeming so at odds with his typical demeanor. “Are you that oblivious? The way you’ve been staring at him all night certainly makes it seem like you’re drinking in every moment.”

“S-staring? At who?”

“Jungkook!” You flinch a little when Hoseok raises his voice, but he doesn’t notice as he pinches his eyes shut. “Just…be a little more cautious, ok?”

“I…”

When you’re silent, Hoseok opens his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, head bobbing to one side in a habit which you’d always found endearing. Now, though, it’s as good as a death sentence as he steps a little closer. Slowly, so slowly you want to scream, his eyes dip down to your lips.

“No,” he mutters to himself, so quietly that you wonder if he doesn’t realize that he’s speaking his thoughts aloud. “Not here.”

Pushing back from the wall, Hoseok steps away and leaves you with a lingering stare before he’s disappearing around the corner. Your ears strain to listen to his retreating steps, but they’re quickly overtaken by the music and chatter of the crowd.

“What just happened?” You whisper to yourself. After a moment, you ease out of the corridor, scurrying toward the bathroom. Flinging open the stall, you stare down at the toilet wondering if you’re about to retch. With the way your stomach is churning, it’s definitely a possibility.

You emerge from the stall a moment later, feeling no better than when you went in. If only you could splash some water on your face, that would probably help clear up your head. However, you’ve still got a few hours ahead of you. The event is nowhere near ending.

The door swings open as you brace yourself against the sink, and you look up in the mirror to see who just walked in behind you. Margaret pauses for a second as she meets your eyes, the door drifting shut at her back.

“I was hoping you were still in here,” she drawls, her posh accent instantly making you want to stand up straight.

“Well, here I am.”

You wince; your voice sounds horrible. Like you’ve been screaming for hours, when you haven’t hardly said a word in the past hour. No, according to Hoseok you’ve been too busy staring.

Margaret chuckles, coming to the sink beside you and running the faucet. “Look, I’ll make this quick. Jungkook has been waiting around for you for long enough, and to be frank I’m sick of hearing about it. If I were you, I’d make up my mind sooner rather than later.”

You’re sick of asking questions, but it appears that that’s all you have for tonight. “What?” You stare at Margaret, who looks almost other-worldly in her deep blue gown. “I just met Jungkook this week, I think you’re mistaken.”

“You just- what?”

It’s nice to see that someone else looks a little confused for once. You thought you were the only one out of the loop, but judging by the look on Margaret’s face, she’s just joined the club.

“Like I said,” you say, leaning one hip against the sink. “I just met Jungkook a few days ago. Hoseok sent him over to assist me in getting everything ready for the gala.”

“But he said…” Margaret shakes her head, focusing in on you once again. “Don’t tell him I said anything to you, alright?”

Before you even have a chance to answer, Margaret is sweeping out the door and leaving you behind in a stunned stupor. Slowly, you turn to face the mirror again. Then, to your eternal horror, a toilet flushes.

Out ambles Scarlett Johansson, who shoots you a grin before promptly washing her hands. “Trouble in paradise?”

You snort, in disbelief. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”

It takes a while to find Jungkook, but then again that may be because you aren’t actually looking for him. No, you’re just floating around the venue in a daze when you hear his voice coming from a parlor to your right. Only a couple of dim lamps illuminate the interior, but you don’t bother to get a closer look as you recognize the other voice.

Margaret.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Jungkook? You just met her this week? You made it sound like you’ve been pining over her for years-”

“That’s because I have!” Jungkook hisses, the sound slithering out into the hallway. “I have, but she’s always just out of reach…”

“And what, you thought tonight would do the trick? Kook…look, you know I love you, but this is idiocy. She’s practically engaged to Jung Hoseok-”

“Jung Hoseok doesn’t know what he has, he’s never understood! I am the only one that really gets it, Margaret.”

“Yeah, well just because you get it Jungkook doesn’t mean you get her.”

There’s shuffling inside the room, causing you to back away into a dark corner to remain unseen. After a moment, Jungkook’s voice rings out again. This time, it’s a bit ragged, almost letting you taste the desperation in his tone.

“Margaret, please. I just- I just need time. Please, just give me more time.”

A pause, followed by a heavy sigh. “Fine. I hate you.”

“Love you, too.”

You’ve just managed to scamper around the corner when the door open and a little light floods out into the dim hallway. The sound of heels walking in the opposite direction of your hiding spot alerts you to Margaret’s retreat, making you wonder what exactly she has planned in order to allot Jungkook more time.

Once a couple of minutes that feel like eternity pass, you sneak out around the corner. Heart pounding and palms sweaty, you stare up at the ceiling as though you’ll find an answer there.

What are you even doing?

Before the answer comes you’re schooling your features into cool indifference and walking slowly toward the open door. It’s easy enough to spot Jungkook in the parlor, sitting with his head in his hands on the chaise.

You rap on the door, leaning against the doorframe as Jungkook’s head shoots up. The panic at your appearance doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you pretend you haven’t noticed.

“I leave for two seconds and suddenly you’re sulking in an abandoned room?” You chide. “You much be more attached to me than I thought.”

Jungkook’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I was just taking a breather. We danced a lot, didn’t we?”

“True.” You stare at him from across the room, thinking back on Margaret’s words. Jungkook has been waiting around for you for long enough. “Tell me, Jungkook,” you stride inside, taking up the seat opposite him. “How come I never ran into you before this week? You’ve been around Hoseok for nearly three years at this point, haven’t you?”

Jungkook nods, his wide eyes completely disintegrating the dangerous persona he radiated earlier. “Yeah, almost three years. We’ve…crossed paths a few times, I think.”

You frown. “We have?”

“Only a handful of times,” Jungkook quickly reassures you, and the fact that he doesn’t want you to feel bad about not remembering him has you only growing more confused. Didn’t you just hate him half an hour ago? “We never spoke much.”

“Oh.”

Words – none of which amount to full sentences – rattle around your brain as you strive to come up with something more to say. Your brain is breaking down, information overload finally getting the best of you.

“Should we go back?” Jungkook asks in a small voice. Who even is the man, to change demeanors so quickly? “There’s still a lot of dancing left to do.” He adds a wink in at the end, regaining a bit of his swagger with every word.

Suddenly the memory of Hoseok’s conflicted face comes back to you, and you scramble to your feet. “No! Uh, I mean…” you look around the room but find nothing to help you. “I need to be more careful. I’ve been careless enough tonight.”

Jungkook frowns, almost getting on his feet. “What’s wrong? Did…did Hoseok say something to you?” When you don’t respond, Jungkook lets out a dry laugh. “Of course he did. Let me guess, he grabbed you as soon as you left my side, right? Jealous little-”

“Jungkook!” You gasp, stalking out of the room as he follows close behind. “He just wanted to protect our image, that’s all.”

“Ha! Really, that’s all? Sweetheart, has anyone ever told you just how oblivious you can be?”

“Ugh, just when I was starting to hate you less.”

“I’m serious! Sure, he might have said something about being careful, for your reputations. But that’s all just a cover-up! Can’t you see?”

The ballroom is just up ahead, and you make a beeline for it. “I see just fine, thank you very much. However, I wish I could’ve seen just how horrible tonight would be with you! I would have never agreed to that stupid bet!”

Speeding up, Jungkook jogs up in front of you to block your path. You step to your right, which he mimics. To the left, and again, he’s there to stop you.

“Let me through!”

Jungkook glares down at you, a fire blazing in his eyes. It reminds you of a dying star, some sort of supernova exploding in those galaxy irises. “No.”

“No?” You push against his chest, scowling when he doesn’t budge. “Jungkook, I’m too tired to play this game. Move aside.”

“Dance with me.”

He says it with such seriousness that you almost agree. “I already said that I can’t.”

“Please.” Bottom lip disappearing between his teeth, Jungkook’s shoulders slump. “C’mon, we’ll go where no one can see us.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

Chuckling half-heartedly, Jungkook extends a hand. “I have plenty of them, trust me.”

What started as one bad idea has turned into multiple.

Jungkook took you outside to some lonely balcony that wraps around the building. The doors are thrust open, allowing for some light as he takes you in his arms.

The music drifts up to where you sway, and you wonder how Jungkook even found this spot. It’s not far from the ballroom, but certainly not a common spot for people to wander off to. You ask him as much.

“I stumbled upon it when you sent me on all those dumb errands,” he explains, smiling lazily at you.

You chuckle, stifling a gasp as Jungkook spins you around. Once you’re nestled safely in his arms, you grin up at him. “I knew those would come in handy.”

It feels like whiplash, going through so many emotions tonight. You were set on loathing Jungkook for the rest of eternity until he managed to snag one of the chocolate fountains from the kitchens and bring it out here. A platter of strawberries sits off to the side, begging to be dipped and eaten.

“Strawberry?” Jungkook questions quietly, already reaching for one. You hum in confirmation.

A second later Jungkook is dipping it with an absurd amount of chocolate and bringing it to your lips. Your cheeks flush, but you tentatively open your mouth, awaiting the delicious-

“Hey!” You swat at Jungkook when he bops your nose with the strawberry, covering you in chocolate. He laughs merrily, throwing his head back at the stars before focusing on you.

“You look adorable,” he coos. “Here, eat.” Again he prods the strawberry at your lips, catching your hand in his as you go to clean off your nose. “Eat, I’ll get the chocolate off your nose in just a second. Patience.”

You roll your eyes, but allow him to feed the strawberry to you. At the first crunch and flood of sweet flavor, you close your eyes and ball up your fists into his suit jacket.

“Ah, so good.”

When you open your eyes again, Jungkook is frozen before you. His eyes alight on your lips, tongue wetting his own, following the way you lick up the extra chocolate. Then he looks at your nose, a forgotten smile on his face.

“Here,” he mumbles, reaching out to swipe the bit of chocolate from your nose. Without a second’s hesitation he brings it to his lips and devours it.

All is quiet. The music sounds more distant that ever, the dull chatter of tonight’s guests hardly registering in your brain as Jungkook’s eyes never leave your own.

Something stirs deep within you, something that goes much deeper than attraction or desire. Something stronger than the anger you felt earlier sparks in the pit of your chest, making you shiver.

The spot where Jungkook touched your nose tingles, and you wonder for a moment if it somehow looks different now. His touch lingers, the feeling sprouting something entirely new.

Jungkook continues to sway with you, the movement as singular as breathing. When he opens his mouth to whisper something to you, you can’t help but listen to every syllable that falls from his lips.

“I…I want you to feel when you’re with me,” he whispers. “I’m not picky. It can be any emotion. But I’ve seen you, how you are with him.” You flinch at the mention of Hoseok, but Jungkook holds you tighter and pushes through. “You’re empty around him. You play the game easily enough, but there’s nothing behind those words. I want you to feel.”

“Jungkook…”

“I know. I know how I sound. But this is all I have to give you, and I thought that if I could just get you to feel something again, it might be worth it.”

You find yourself drawing closer to him, some sort of unknown gravity pulling you together like a moon caught in his orbit. That’s what you are, aren’t you? Completely helpless, thrown into someone’s orbit and hoping that they notice you. Hasn’t that the way it’s always been, ever since you first laid eyes on Hoseok?

But Jungkook notices you. You know, just from the way his eyes widen as though trying to take more of you in, you know that you’re all he sees. He’s blinded, for some reason or another. Blinded by you, enthralled by your silent suffering and digging ceaselessly for a way out. There’s no doubt in your mind at this moment that he’d carry you far away from here if you just said the word.

How your hands wound up clinging to the nape of his neck, you’re not sure. Just as surprising is the painful tone of your voice as you cry out, "Jungkook, this is no way to live."

His hands are at your back, pressing you closer and closer. "I will live like this for as long as you want, darling.”

“Like what?” Are those tears rushing to your eyes? Too many emotions in such a short amount of time, you can’t keep up. It’s been so long since you’ve felt anything so intense. When was the last time? Perhaps there never was a time such as this. “Hiding away from everyone? Looking over your shoulder every second of every day, wondering when it’ll all fall apart?”

“I can live off of these stolen moments,” Jungkook whispers in awe, gently wiping away your tears. “I’ve been doing that for years. But I don’t know what you want, darling. Tell me what you want.”

“Jungkook,” you wriggle in his grasp, suddenly needing to get away, to breathe, “Jungkook, he’ll find out- we can’t do this. What even is this? I can’t…I don’t even know you!”

He lets you go, allowing you walk toward the edge of the balcony as you greedily gulp down air. After a moment, he speaks up.

“You’re feeling again, aren’t you?”

It’s a silly question. It sounds like he’s addressing a child, but it hits a little too close to home.

Feelings, thoughts, desperation and something deep and exciting courses through you. Yes. Yes, you’re feeling. “Yes. But who says I can’t feel with him?”

Jungkook is silent for a moment. “Who says it can’t be me, instead?” He strides toward you, your heart hammering as he gently cups your cheeks. Stars must cry because his eyes are shiny with tears. Gently, so gently your knees nearly buckle, he caresses your cheek with his thumb.

Smiling sadly, Jungkook whispers, “I love you.” He takes a shaky breath. “I always have. From afar, so I don’t know if that counts in your book. I loved you before we shared a conversation. I loved you the second I first overheard you talking to that unnamed painting on the third floor of the gallery back home. You know the one, don’t you?”

You’re not sure he fully expects an answer as he leans closer, which is all the better as you’re completely unable to provide him with one.

“I love you,” he repeats, wide eyes dropping to your lips. “I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I wake up to you every morning.”

As his lips first graze your own, you remember him.

Countless times, that how often you’ve seen him. Passed him in the hallway of the gallery, trailing behind a busy Hoseok. Offering you a shy, sweet smile which you immediately assumed was meant for someone else.

He seemed to good, too kind for you.

But here he is, lips pressed gently to yours with a promise hanging in the air.

He asks for nothing in return.

When he finally pulls away, you gaze up at him with teary eyes. “Why?”

He knows what you’re asking. Why would he bare his heart and soul to you when he knows you’re promised to another? When you’ve never acknowledged his existence before?

Jungkook shrugs, then leans in for a short peck. He pulls back, allowing you to see the stars in his eyes.

“You deserved to hear it, at least once.”

Two Months Later

You have not heard those three words since, and you wonder if you ever will again. Glancing at Hoseok who peers down into the glass case, you don’t think you will. Hoseok will never love you.

He has you. He always has, you’ve been a constant in his life. What’s there to love about convenience?

He’s saying something to the jeweler, but the words are muffled. That’s how it’s been recently. People talk so much, but you hardly hear a thing. They so rarely say anything that matters.

Jungkook has been gone, still working to replace Hoseok, but off on business trips that you know aren’t necessary. Last you heard, Hoseok had sent him off to Mongolia on a wild goose chase for some long-lost painting. Chances are he wouldn’t be back for months.

Staring at the rings below you, you know that by then, it’ll be too late.

Hoseok is planning on proposing soon. You’re not exactly sure when, but it’ll be within a few weeks now. Perhaps sooner, you can’t tell.

When you leave the jeweler’s, Hoseok’s hand finds yours. He gives it a soft squeeze, but you can’t find quite enough strength to reciprocate the feeling.

He doesn’t comment on it.

In fact, the two of you hardly exchange two words until much later that evening when you dine together. It’s in his parent’s mansion, one of several. This is the one you’re meant to inherit upon getting married. The dining room is a bit too dark for your liking, but under the current circumstances, you bask in the shadows.

Hoseok is late to dinner. An uncommon thing, but you brush it off, quietly greeting him as he takes up his place across from you. When he doesn’t respond, you look up.

He’s already staring at you, but that’s not what sends a chill through your bones.

He’s looking at you with that sniper-like concentration that you only saw once before. It’s terrifying to be on the other side of that gaze; something you had hoped to never encounter.

“What’s wrong?” You mean to sound more caring, but the question comes out flat. Hoseok chews on his lip before releasing it.

He’s kissed you since the gala. He did as soon as the two of you boarded the plane, away from prying eyes.

It had been rushed and desperate, and you’d been shocked into stepping back, breaking the kiss sooner than he intended.

You’d stepped back and bumped into Jungkook, who gently caught you. Hoseok merely smiled warmly and explained that he thought you two were alone. Jungkook didn’t say a word.

Hoseok holds up a letter, unfolding it. “You received a letter today,” he responds. “Would you like me to read it to you?”

You frown, reaching out a hand but he’s too far away. “No, I’ll read it later-”

“My darling, I only just now found a post office that sends international letters. I apologize from the bottom of my heart, I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten you.” Hoseok peeks at you from over the letter, arching an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me you enjoyed pet names. Let’s see what else my apprentice has to say, shall we?”

“Hoseok-”

“Hold that thought,” Hoseok pulls a candle that burns in the center of the table closer to him, hovering the letter just above the flame. “Let’s continue. Something tells me that we’re just getting to the good part.”

“I hope this letter finds you before the wedding, although I can’t be sure. This post office looks a little sketchy, but it’s my best bet. Love, I told you once that I could live off of stolen moments. I can, I do. But I’m tired of begged and borrowed time at your side. Once was not enough.”

“How sweet. I never realized he had such a way with words.” Hoseok sighs wistfully, making you shudder.

“Run away with me, darling. Meet me in Italy, at the gallery. Come up with any excuse you possibly can – just find me. I’ll try to do my best to find a way out of this place, and I’ll wait for you every day. From open to close, I’ll be there. If you don’t come by the end of April, I’ll know that you decided to go forward with the marriage and I wish you all the happiness in the world. Just don’t forget: I love you. Wow, that was beautiful, wasn’t it? Who knew Jungkook was such a poet?”

Hoseok sighs again, meeting your horrified gaze. In one swift movement, he lets the bottom corner of the letter catch the flame. Smoke curls into the air, and you scramble to your feet.

“Hoseok!” You lunge for the letter, knocking over the candle in the process. With a shriek, you watch as the candle drops to the rug and catches fire. Rushing over, you begin to stomp out the flames.

“Let it burn,” Hoseok mumbles, still staring at the burning letter in his hands. “I always wanted to burn this house to the ground. It seems fitting to do so now.”

“You’ve lost your mind!” You shout, turning toward him once the rug is extinguished and snapping the letter from his hands. The flames bite as your fingertips, the letter unsalvageable. Hissing, you throw it into the fireplace.

“You know what?” Hoseok rises to his feet. “I think I will burn it down. Maybe move into one of those cramped apartments in the city. What do you think?”

“Hoseok, you’re not thinking straight. Let’s talk about this.”

His smile is melancholy, but for a moment his eyes clear up and you catch a glimpse of the Hoseok you’ve known for twelve years.

“Don’t you have packing to do?” With a shrug he adds, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I-“ you stop mid-step. A series of choices flash before your eyes, but all you can see if Hoseok and the out he’s offering you.

Perhaps he wants to get out of this as much as you do.

As you pound up the stairs and begin to throw anything you can find into your bag, you realize that you may never know. You never did get to know the real Hoseok. His thoughts and inner feelings have remained a mystery to you.

When you rush out the door a few minutes later, Hoseok is already leaning against his car. There’s another car parked beside it, and he tosses you the keys. There are no parting words, no longing stares as he marches forward and strikes a match against the side of the house. Without fanfare, he tosses the flame inside the mansion. You watch with unabashed awe as he strides back to his car and hops in. There’s a small bag in the back, certainly not enough to hold his precious belongings.

Hoseok gives you a curt nod, tearing out of the driveway.

You’re gone before the sound of sirens cuts through the air.

The Accademia Gallery is packed today, more so than you’ve ever seen it before. Of course, the main attraction is The David. Tourists crowd around, trying to find the best angle to take a photo, grinning widely.

All of them except for one, who stares up at the sculpture with a keen eye. His dark brown hair is shorter than it was a few months ago when he stood in a similar position.

“Jungkook!”

Somehow, amidst the din of the crowd, he hears you. The stars in his eyes are bright as he turns around, acting as a beacon as you push through the crowd. They gleam and sparkle, rivaled only by the wide smile that overtakes his features. Those eyes, so dangerous yet so lovely. They invite you to get lost in them, to dance under Jungkook’s galaxy.

This time, you think you will.

main masterlist || Help support me? ko-fi

this was a wild ride, lemme tell ya

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi @knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797 @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall @miriamxsworld @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine @hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @limiworld @jeonyoongi-jimin @buttvi

#bts arranged marriage au #jungkook arranged marriage au #Hoseok arranged marriage au #jungkook x reader #hobi x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts oneshot #jungkook oneshot #hobi oneshot #hyunglinenetwork #armywriterssupport #armyadvocatesaapi #bts x y/n #jungkook x y/n #hobi x y/n

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whatgaviiformes · 3 years

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Interview with Fic Writer Meme

Thanks for the tag, @burningcowboyhoagietaco! Splitting off just because the post was getting a bit long.

1. Your favorite fic that you’ve written (or the one you want to give a shout out to)

Favorite is difficult because it’s like choosing children. I have ones that hold a special place, and other I love for completely different reasons, so for a fic I want to give a shout out to? Let’s do Oak & Ivory today - Privateers AU with some FishTank, Scott playing the cello, and John cooking. Also it’s Virgil’s birthday and he doesn’t remember

Oak and Ivory FF | Ao3 Summary: [Completed] It’s a Thursday in the summer of 1776, and the USS Thunderbird is docked in port in New England. For Virgil, it brings him the gift of inspiration, starting with a rare morning off and a warbler…

2. Your favorite fic title that you’ve come up with I’m quite fond of Firefly’s Glow (FF | Ao3) as far as titles go. It started with a scene of Scott and Gordon catching fireflies in chapter 1, and as I wrote it I started to weave in the major theme that I am continuing to explore in the story (or at least trying) - basically the same thing said two ways 1) there’s a value to all life no matter how small and 2) even the small can shine bright. Gordon may be pocket!sized in the fic, but he is still has the same brightness about him.

3. How do you get inspiration to write?

I don’t. I can’t force it, and writing needs to be an outlet of creative expression for me or I will burn out. I am pulled in many different directions at the moment, and so writing is actually a struggle. I am still doing my best because then if I feel if I am not posting, I’ll become irrelevant. It’s a constant struggle and I know that latter part is me making it up in my head. At the end of the day, it needs to be fun and not a job. Perfectionist Gavii is still trying to learn this.

When I do have inspiration, music helps me to build the tone and craft the visuals. The words start to come easier with the right background sounds. Lack of distraction helps, and that is also currently hard to come by in my world.

4. Your favorite genre/subgenre of fic to write

Angst. Make ‘em cry.

5. Do you have other hobbies? Crochet, Gaming. D&D.

6. A fun fact about you that a lot of people may not know I don’t eat any seafood because I don’t like the texture or taste. I’ve tried different things a few times as an adult to see if my tastes have changed, but nah. FIsh are friends not food :)

7. Pick one character to self project onto Hmm. It’s probably Virgil if I had to really thing about it, but there are aspects of the Tracys in general that I tend to gravitate towards. Scott, I can identify with his dedication to work and family, his being spread to thin between his many hats, and juggling IR, family, and TI. Anything space-related makes me happy, so John’s solitary joy speaks to me. I am an introvert so I find it incredibly romantic to think of him reading and studying among the stars, and he’s probably the brother that I am most like in my natural state. Alone does not mean lonely. And in comparison, Gordon is everything I think I need in a friend - someone who lives life to its absolute fullest, sees a light in everything, always there for a smile. And it’s why I love to write (and read) when Gordon is thrown at John for all the chaos and underlying support love there is there. Alan is a bit more difficult for me since he is the youngest and I’m definitely past where I would self-project on to him - but I can identify with his desire to be his own man amidst his brothers’ successes. And that age is hard. I feel for the kid.

So then Virgil - I can’t paint, I can’t really play music, but I gravitate towards the arts - always have in my studies. What I love about writing Virgil is that he helps me look at the world differently and makes me challenge my own perceptions. I intentionally take a moment to focus on what I hear and see when I write him, and it creates a different type of imagery that I think has become Virgil’s voice in my head. He feels, and I can sense his emotions the most organically when I write. He’s loyal, steadfast, and comforting. He’s my art heart, and often when I am writing it’s Virgil’s “support” that I can kind of feel helping me out. If that makes sense? So there’s my explanation for why I can’t choose. I pull from different brothers when I need to. This is absolutely the cheesiest, but they are like family to me and I’ll pull from who I need to based on how I am feeling.

FishTank still makes the world go round though. Those two. *heart eyes*

8. Favorite genre of music

I am going to steal this almost quote from @katblu42 who I will also tag, because it’s really the only answer: the genres I like are my favorite.

I listen to a lot of music. like A LOT. If going through likes, you’ll jump from Sinatra to Metallica to Beethoven’s 7th to swing to Linkin Park, and back. Musical whiplash aside, I have a lot of playlists for different things and would love to incorporate one day somehow for fic writing.

9. Your favorite singer/band

Band: I am really into Walk the Moon, fun fact - the first time I heard Shut Up and Dance was live before it was released

Singer: I like my crooners.

10. How have your experience in fandom been? This time? Amazing, I feel so lucky to be so supported in life and in creativity.

Tagging Kat, @godsliltippy, @womble1, and whoever may be interested :)

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Text

pragma

n. a mature, enduring love; focused on common interests, commitment, and dedication; a love that knows no bounds

Words: 3.5k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood Tags: Scottish Safehouse Period, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Kissing, Tenderness, Sex-Repulsed Jonathan Sims, Sex-Repulsed Martin Blackwood Warnings: none

|| Ao3 ||

They’ve been at the safehouse for a week and a half when Jon discovers the vinyl records, tucked away between the back of the couch and the wall and with a thick layer of dust coating the top of the box that makes Jon cough as he extracts it. There’s a record player in the spare bedroom, his mind supplies, and he hesitates only a moment before retrieving it.

To say that Daisy’s selection of records is eclectic would be putting it mildly. Jon picks up Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue and reveals underneath it Prince’s Purple Rain. There are two separate Beethoven records, Abbey Road sandwiched in between them, and Jon can’t hold back a surprised laugh when he unearths three Britney Spears albums in quick succession. He wonders how many times, when Daisy would start humming something while they worked or would tap her fingers against his desk to the rhythm of a song only she could hear, she was thinking of one of these records.

Maybe never. According to Basira, Daisy hasn’t been here for a very, very long time. A small voice in the back of Jon’s mind that he recognizes as not-quite-his whispers that it’s been exactly three years, eleven months, and twenty-two days since Daisy’s forgotten about the records in Jon’s hands.

He puts one on all the same, lining up the needle with careful precision and setting the record spinning before dropping it. The sound is warbled and raspy, little pops and clicks in the music highlighting the age and wear of the records. Jon leans back against the side of the couch, tucks his knees into his chest, and listens.

He’s still there when Martin gets back from the shop, having worked his way through Earth, Wind & Fire and The Rolling Stones. The sounds of warm piano, brassy trumpets, and vocals that push and pull like the tide cover the shuffling of Martin’s feet as he kicks off his shoes and the rustling of bags as they’re set on the counter and emptied. Then, the couch dips near where Jon’s sat on the floor, and Martin says softly, “What are those?”

Most of the records are out of the box now, spread out in front of Jon in an array of technicolor images. Jon picks one at random—Red Hot Chili Peppers—and holds it out to Martin. “Daisy’s record collection,” he says, feeling the gentle bump of Martin’s knee against his shoulder as Martin takes the record from him. “It’s… quite varied.”

“I can see that,” Martin says, amused. He sets the album down next to him and inclines his head toward the record player. “What’s playing now?”

“Our Love Is Here To Stay,” Jon says with a certainty that surprises him given that he’s fairly certain the record had been in a blank sleeve. “Er, it’s a- a compilation album of various Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong recordings, released in 1998—though the individual tracks were recorded before that. It’s funny, really, the- the pianist on track four was meant to be Bill Evans, but he—”

There’s a small chuckle, and Jon cuts off mid-sentence, twisting slightly so he can see Martin’s face; it’s split nearly in half by an amused smile. “What?” Jon says, and he doesn’t mean for it to sound so fond, but he supposes that’s rather par for the course lately.

“Sorry, sorry,” Martin says, waving a hand at him. Then: “It- it’s just, jazz? The Eye can’t tell us whether or not it’s going to rain tomorrow or- or what’s happening back in London, but it can help you recite the Wikipedia page about a jazz album from the 1990s?” Another giggle escapes Martin, and he clamps his hand over his mouth as if to pull it back in. “God, sorry, I- I don’t know why I think it’s so funny.”

Jon watches Martin for a moment more before the bubble of affection within him bursts and he laughs—a small, breathy sound. “Yes, I- I suppose it is a bit amusing,” he says, leaning his head gently against the side of Martin’s knee. “The music is nice, though. It’s lovely, the quiet we have here, but sometimes the silence can get a bit…”

He waves his hand absently. “Oppressive.”

Martin lets out a small exhalation. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

They sit for a moment, what would have been silence filled instead with the gentle hum of a jazz ballad. Then, the couch dips again as Martin stands and says, quietly, “Dance with me?”

It really shouldn’t be this easy to make Jon flustered, but he feels his face grow warmer as he takes the hand Martin’s extended toward him and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Jon hadn’t danced much with Georgie when they’d dated; she’d always said that he had two left feet, and their few attempts had resulted in crushed toes or helpless giggles when Jon inevitably tripped over a piece of furniture or his own feet (or, on one rather memorable occasion, the Admiral). He worries, for a brief moment, that he won’t remember how—that the right steps have been lost to the years, replaced with records of terror. Then, one of Martin’s hands closes around his, his other resting gently on Jon’s hip and guiding him closer until their bodies are almost flush, and Jon’s lost in the soft sounds of jazz and the feeling of Martin’s breath across his cheek as they begin to sway.

When they’d first gotten to the safehouse, Martin’s hand had been clasped firmly in Jon’s, a grounding presence that had begun in cold, choking fog and that Jon was quietly terrified to relinquish lest that fog seep back into the gaps between Martin’s fingers without anything there to chase it away. Standing in the entryway and staring at dust-covered couches and hazy yellow light filtering in through the windows, Jon suddenly became very aware of the feeling of Martin’s hand in his, of the shattering of the space between them that had been carefully cultivated over the span of so many months.

The thought came to him unbidden, insistent, and anxious: how much of that space was he allowed to occupy? How much of Martin would he be allowed to touch?

The answer had come during their fourth night in the safehouse, when Jon had awoken sometime in the early morning hours to find himself pressed into Martin’s side, one arm slung over Martin’s chest and his head tucked in the space between Martin’s shoulder and jaw.

Jon felt a flush begin to crawl up the back of his neck, and he made to move away.

“Jon,” Martin said, voice soft and husky from sleep. “You- you don’t have to go.”

And so Jon stayed. His hand tentatively curled in the loose fabric of Martin’s shirt, his nose brushing against the line of Martin’s jaw. He felt more than he heard Martin’s sharp intake of breath, the way that Martin shifted ever so slightly so that Jon fit more comfortably against his side. Hesitantly, like a child dipping their toes into the ocean to see how sharp the cold would be, Jon let his hand wander further up, tracing the lines of Martin’s chest, shoulder blade, and collarbone. His palm came to rest feather-light against Martin’s cheek, his fingers brushing against the whisps of ginger hair (now streaked with white) that curled just past the shell of Martin’s ear. Martin stiffened under his touch, but before Jon could pull his hand away, Martin said, in a voice cracked through with something aching and tender, “Jon.”

Then, Martin’s hand was on Jon’s jaw, tilting his head up with the gentleness one would use when handling a priceless, fragile thing, and Martin’s eyes were so close that Jon nearly drowned in the blue of them, a blue that once might have reminded Jon of swirling fog and stolen moments but that now seemed like wide-open sky and the ocean just before dawn. Jon could barely breathe; he’d spent so long not giving those eyes any consideration at all and had then spent what seemed like an eternity wanting nothing more than for those eyes to look at him with something other than remorse and regret. Now, they were inches away and Jon found himself lost in them, consumed by an endless expanse of blue yet anchored to the man who was now brushing his thumb against the line of Jon’s cheek, leaving a burning heat in its wake that elicited a shiver from Jon.

He almost didn’t hear it when Martin said, softly, like a prayer, “Can… can I kiss you?”

Jon couldn’t find the words within him to answer. So, he slid his hand back into the mess of curls at the nape of Martin’s neck, leaned forward, and kissed him.

Jon could touch Martin’s lips, he found, and so he did. He could touch Martin’s jaw and cheek and neck, and so he did, peppering feather-light kisses along the line of Martin’s jaw and down his collarbone, smiling into the hollow of Martin’s neck when Martin let out a keening laugh and said, “Hey, th- that tickles!” He could touch Martin’s fingers and palm and knuckles, and so he found Martin’s hand with his and held it tightly, finding that his fingers fit in the gaps between Martin’s with ease. He could run his fingers through Martin’s hair and along the inside of Martin’s arms and down the gentle swell of Martin’s stomach, trying to learn in a moment what he’d been wanting to know for what felt like decades.

His hand met the hem of Martin’s shirt, and he hesitated. His eyes found Martin’s again, briefly lost in swirling blue before he came back to himself enough to say, “Is this… can I…?”

Martin nodded, so small it was almost imperceptible. Then, he worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before saying, haltingly, “I… just- just the shirt, though?” He paused, clearly considering his next words, before continuing, “I- I don’t know if, um. I don’t want to imply that… that you, er, were…”

“Martin,” Jon said, kind but firm. “Please, just—whatever you want to say, you can say it. I promise, I… I want to listen.” A pause, then: “I want to know you. The- the old-fashioned way, that is.”

Martin drew in a shaky breath; Jon wasn’t sure if it was born of nerves or of something else. “Right.” There was another pause, and Jon waited, letting his hand rest lightly against Martin’s hip and taking the time to begin the process of memorizing every single inch of Martin’s face. There was a trio of moles under his left eye, almost hidden by the spattering of freckles across his nose and cheekbones, and the smile lines at the corners of his eyes were not quite so deeply etched as the horizontal lines of worry across his brow. Jon was considering closing the distance and pressing a kiss to those lines in an effort to smooth them when Martin said quietly, “I don’t… I don’t really like anything that involves…”

He made a vague gesture with his hand, and Jon was starting to think that he understood. Still, he said, meaningfully, “Martin.”

“Sex, Jon,” Martin said, all in a rush, like the words had been expelled from his lungs by force. “I don’t like sex.” A pink flush was spreading over his cheeks, a color that Jon found rather lovely on Martin. “I’ve never really been comfortable being touched, er. Below the waist? So, the- the shirt is fine—more than fine, actually, but just… not… you know.”

“Your genitals,” Jon said helpfully.

Martin made a sputtering, choking noise, looking at Jon like he’d just told a lewd joke. “Jon!”

Jon let out a small, breathy laugh. “It’s what they’re called, Martin.”

“Yes, but you don’t need to—”

Martin cut off with an aborted noise, something akin to frustration but with infinitely more fondness. “Eugh, I just hate that word. It sounds so- so clinical.”

“I mean, I can use other words if you’d like—”

“No, no,” Martin said quickly, pink quickly overtaking the rest of his face. Jon found that he quite liked making Martin blush, and he tucked that information away for later. “That’s quite all right. Let’s just- just go back to the kissing. The kissing was nice.”

Jon hummed in agreement, leaning forward and pressing a soft, closed-mouth kiss against Martin’s lips. Then, almost like an afterthought, he pulled back slightly and said, “While we’re on the subject, I… I also would prefer to keep all touching… above the waist.”

Martin’s breath was soft against Jon’s lips when he said, “Oh.” Then, after a small exhalation that might have been a laugh or might have been a sigh of relief: “G- good. Great. That makes it easy then, I suppose.”

Jon made a noise of agreement. Then, with a small smirk: “We’ll keep genitals out of the equation entirely, then.”

“Jon!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Jon pressed another soft kiss to Martin’s mouth, feeling Martin’s lips fold into a smile against his after a moment, and all was forgiven.

It’s been nearly a week since then. Now, Martin’s touch is almost second nature as he presses his hand against Jon’s hip and guides him into an imitation of a waltz, the music having shifted without Jon noticing into a lilting three pattern. Jon’s long-since memorized the details of Martin’s face and has moved on to his hands; he catalogs the way that Martin’s right hand feels folded around his in this way, fingers slightly rough from a childhood spent doing household chores and, for the span of a few years, working as a house painter between semesters. Martin’s left hand fits neatly against the bone of Jon’s hip, his fingers creating gentle points of pressure against Jon’s skin that Jon recognizes from the dozens of times Martin’s placed his hand against Jon’s back, only the tips of his fingers touching Jon’s spine as he looks over his shoulder at the pot he’s stirring on the hob or the book he’s reading at the kitchen table, hunched over it in a way that can’t be good for his spine. Jon tucks both sensations neatly away in his mind in the folder labeled Martin’s hands and focuses on the music, on the way that Martin seems to know all the right steps, the way he carries Jon through them effortlessly and doesn’t flinch when Jon inevitably misses a step and lands, instead, on Martin’s left foot.

The up-tempo swing track that comes on after the waltz is a different story. Jon pulls back slightly, suddenly unsure. He’d tried swing dancing exactly once with Georgie—had gone through the trouble of watching videos to learn the steps and practicing awkwardly by himself before hesitantly bringing the idea up to Georgie. It had gone predictably terribly, with the added downside of knocking a vase of flowers off Georgie’s kitchen table where it had shattered against the tile floor into a million tiny shards that took ages to clean up. Needless to say, they’d stuck to slower songs after that.

Jon looks warily at the record player, then back at Martin. He’s about to apologize, to reluctantly put an end to the feeling of Martin’s hand on his waist and Martin’s body flush against his, when his mind strays idly back to the music, to the motions that should accompany it, and he realizes with a start that he Knows. It’s as clear in his mind as the name of the bass player for the track (Ray Brown) and the exact tempo of the music (100 beats per minute to the half note, a song more easily felt in two than in four).

It might be the one and only time the Beholding has ever given him knowledge that’s been useful. He decides not to look too closely at it and simply pulls Martin in close once again.

Soon, they’re spinning around the living room, having several near-misses with the couch and various tables but never quite losing their balance. Martin’s steps are a bit clumsy—”I took a class back when I worked in the Library,” Martin had said with a sheepish smile, “but between not knowing anybody there and it being a good thirty minutes from my flat, I ended up dropping it”—so they keep it simple, just the basic steps with an added turn. Occasionally, they’ll break out of closed position and Martin will spin Jon, sending Jon’s skirt haloing around him in a whirlwind of yellows and blacks and whites. Once, Jon’s heel hits the edge of the couch and it’s only the quick press of Martin’s hand against the small of his back that keeps him upright. The smile Martin gives him at that is breathtaking, and the rest of the room blurs around him until all he can see is Martin’s face as they dance, smile lines prominent around his eyes and cheeks flushed red with exertion.

Jon’s told Martin that he loves him, in words but also in a million different ways as they’ve lived their lives in the safehouse, through feather-light brushes of fingers and sleepy morning kisses and quiet moments shared over tea and toast. Now, as he holds Martin’s hand tightly and steps in time with him around and around and around, he can’t help but feel that same love in the brassy singing of trumpets and in the way that Martin anchors him as they spin, his hand in Jon’s like a lifeline.

The song ends—as all things do—and as the last few lingering piano notes die down into clicking static, Jon finds himself quite literally swept off his feet. He makes a noise of surprise as Martin spins him once more and uses the momentum to guide Jon into a low dip, a steadying hand on Jon’s lower back keeping him from falling to the floor. Martin’s eyes, endless oceans of blue, are inches from Jon’s, and his breath ghosts across Jon’s lips as he says, softly, “And you said you were a terrible dancer.”

Jon blinks for a moment before saying stiffly, “Yes, well, I can’t always have the eldritch equivalent of YouTube in my mind showing me the correct steps.”

Martin hums. “Perhaps we should learn the old-fashioned way, then?”

Jon’s heart, already thrumming from exertion, stutters a bit in his chest. A bit more breathlessly than he’d like, he says, “Yes, I- I think that would do just fine.”

Martin hums again. Then, he closes the distance, capturing Jon’s lips in a kiss as sweet as honey and just as dizzying as Jon had felt when they’d been dancing. Jon lets his arms wind around Martin’s neck, fingers tangling in the coppery curls there and keeping him steady as Martin uses the gravity of the dip to deepen the kiss in a way that Jon very, very much likes.

When Martin finally pulls back, Jon feels like all the breath has been drawn out of his lungs, leaving him light-headed and dizzy. Still, he finds enough air within him to say, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “I love you.”

Martin smiles like starlight and presses another closed-mouth kiss to Jon’s lips. “I love you too,” he murmurs against Jon’s mouth. Then, just as suddenly as he’d been dipped, Jon finds himself swept up entirely off the ground, one of Martin’s arms slotting underneath his knees and the other behind his shoulder blades.

“Martin!” Jon exclaims, face flushed red-hot with embarrassment and affection in equal measure, as Martin begins to carry him bridal-style into the bedroom, pausing only briefly on the way to lift the needle off the record. “Martin, what are you—”

He cuts off with a surprised noise that, if asked, he will maintain was certainly not a giggle as Martin deposits him onto the bed, his skirt bunching up under his knees. The sound he makes when Martin clambers onto the bed after him, straddles his waist, and kisses him soundly is embarrassingly close to a moan.

“Martin,” Jon says breathlessly when Martin finally pulls back, the need to breathe overtaking them both. He searches for the right words, and finding none, he simply says, “What?”

Martin brushes his fingers across the curve of Jon’s cheek reverently. “While dancing has been lovely,” Martin says, “my legs are quite tired, and I’d very much like to keep kissing you if that’s all right.”

Jon’s cheeks are fully overtaken by flame; the warmth spreads to his chest, where it curls around his heart and heats Jon from the inside out with a love so potent he can barely breathe around it. “Yes,” Jon says, his voice cracking around the word. “That- that would be quite all right indeed.”

And when Martin dips down to meet Jon’s lips once again, it’s piano chords and spinning skirts and eyes the color of the sky, calling him home.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #aspecarchives #jonmartin #sex-repulsed jonathan sims #sex-repulsed martin blackwood #my fic #my writing #yes i finished this week with an incredibly self-indulgent safehouse fic and what about it

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fandom-puff · 4 years

Text

Severus Snape Fluff Alphabet

As requested by @epaige0914 - enjoy !! 💕💕

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Eyes. He loves being able to stare someone in the eye and be vulnerable, letting his emotions sleep into his normally expressionless eyes, and loves when you allow him to do the same to you. It truly connects you.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

You’re not actively trying for one, but there’s a mutual desire to have a family at some point. In his mind, if it happens sooner rather than later, then it happens, and whether or not you want to keep it, he will support you wholeheartedly.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

His favourite way to cuddle is with him on his back with you nestled into his side. Regardless of your position, however, he will have his arms around you protectively, or at the very least, your hand clasped in his

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Dates with Severus are quiet, private affairs. Even if he takes you out to a fancy restaurant, he’ll request a table in a cosy corner, or cast a few charms to muffle the noise around you. He loves when you dress up all fancy, incredibly happy to have you on his arm as you walk

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

You’re Severus’s everything.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

He is a very reserved man, and thought himself truly unable to love after lily. He knew he was in love with you when you snapped at him to cast a stasis charm on his potion and go to bed, because he looked absolutely shattered.

For once he did as he was told, slumping off to bed, dazed, while you put away his potions ingredients

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

He’s gentle but firm. If you’ve got your hand in the crook of his elbow, he’ll use his other hand to push yours down a little more, so you’re properly hold on to him. He speaks in his signature baritone rumble, yet with you it’s so very soft that even him asking for the salt seems incredibly personal and private

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

He’s not really a hand holder, not in public at least. In public he’d rather you have your hand in his elbow as you walk, close to his side

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

When he first met you he found you tiresome and impudent, but as you grew closer, his opinion changed- you were passionate about what you cared for, the same way he was.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

He doesn’t need to. You and him actually find it quite amusing when other try to charm you (emphasis on TRY). Neither of you need to get jealous because you have one another, and that’s all you need

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

I actually wrote some Severus kissing headcanons a while back!

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

You. You were rushing around like a headless chicken, trying to get ready for a meeting when you couldn’t find your shoe. He accioed it and handed it to you with a raised brow, and you blurted “god, I do love you,”

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Late one night he stumbled into your bedroom after being crucio’ed by Lord Voldemort. You ran him a hot bath and gently sponged at his wounds, rubbing dittany into them, before helping him to bed, holding him tight to you as he sobbed. It may not be a happy memory, but you made him feel safe for the first time in years

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

He will occasionally treat you with books and such, but neither of you feel the need to lavish one another with material goods

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Light, flickering yellow. You have some of your best conversations by candle light, and he loves the way your eyes sparkle in the light of the flames

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

My Love, my darling, dear

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

He loves listening to vinyl records with you as you go about your everyday tasks like reading, cleaning, cooking

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

He’ll get some brewing done, which he doesn’t mind you keeping him company for.

But sometimes though, he’ll unbutton that frock coat and lounge with you in his arms and a blanket over you both

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Severus distances himself, almost as if his mind isn’t connected to his body. You worry like mad when he does this, but know that he’s strong, he’ll come round. If it’s something relatively minor, he’ll get in a huff and hug you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head, deep in thought

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Severus is incredibly patient. He’s extremely well read, and a potions master to boot, so when you ask him questions about ingredients and how it all works, he’s more than happy to explain it to you. He’ll also confide in you, bitching about work and dumbledore and such, and loves that you (mostly) take his side- unless he’s in the wrong

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Brewing. The methodic rhythm of dicing ingredients into minute pieces, the smooth grind of the pestle and mortar... it really soothes his nerves as it’s something he knows he is good at and has done thousands of times before.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

He is proud of the fact that his sanity is still intact. Between dumbledore, Voldemort, and a thousand teenagers, it’s a wonder he hasn’t lost it completely.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

He proposes in his private rooms, with no prying eyes (although Minerva anc Albus knew exactly what was going on). He gets on one knee, holding the ring up to you. It’s a simple band, studded with a few diamonds and emeralds- nothing too gaudy, and he’s barely said what he needs to say before you’re nodding and pulling him up to kiss you

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Severus doesn’t really have a SONG. He doesn’t really like ones with cheesy lyrics. Lyric-less is more for him. He does rather like Beethoven’s sonatas.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Yes. Once he is sure you love him and will not toss him aside, he is willing to commit his heart and soul to you

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

I imagine Severus would get on extremely well with a grumpy Sphinx cat... something just tells me he’d make sarcastic comments to the cat, but he would never, EVER admit it.

Tag list:

@obsessedwithrandomthings @haphazardhufflepuff @diksy1112 @zodiyack @axriel @hiddensapphic @samnblack @tinylumpiaa @in-slytherin-we-trust

#harry potter #imagine #hp #request #fluff #severus snape x you #severus snape fluff #severus snape headcanons #severus snape x reader #fluff alphabet

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guksauce · 4 years

Text

~TickledPink!~

Part Seven

Pairing: Jjk x Reader Pregnant AU

Word Count: 4,367K

Rated: M

Book Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mild Smut, Adult Language, Fluff City.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: Thank you to those who show this story and myself love 💖 Thank you to everyone who’s been on this journey with me.

Tag List: @jamkookies @jk97luv @1-in-abillion

For weeks the question of whether or not you were brave enough to move forward with this pregnancy loomed like a storm cloud over your head. Beyond the crashing fear you felt, the thought of who you were with and where you were now in comparison to the life you’d lived before, you were swollen with confidence from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Still, the memory you try so hard to avoid thinking about climbs up the back of your throat like the rising sun through the windows in the kitchen, scratching and threatening to rip out a scream. The coffee cup in your hands shakes as you stare through the blinds; imagination turning the perfectly trimmed hedges into a dirty green dumpster. It overflows with the smell of rotten food, waste, and your now broken pride. The coffee inside the cup is scalding, and you're positive it is burning the prints right off the pads of your fingers, but you are too mentally exhausted to care. A branch of the tree in the yard, littered with forest colored leaves, sways in front of the sun and makes the rays shining through the gaps glint in your eyes. It turned what should be a beautiful golden glow into the dingy flicker of the broken sign at the diner that ugly rainy night.

The you that stands in the kitchen begs to close your eyes. They burn as the result of not being able to think clearly enough to even blink. But the you that called Namjoon in the wee hours of the morning that day was caught in the crazed eyes of your offender. You remembered him being wild, rabid even. You also remembered that you wouldn't have been surprised if he had been foaming from the mouth under the black mask covering his face.

Just as the sun breached the height of the highest trees, the kitchen exploded with a blinding light, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata playing softly from the speaker on the counter behind you almost forcefully dragging your emotions out further and further. Where the sunlight streaming in should have warmed your insides and shocked you out of your inner turmoil, it instead highlighted your pain and the drops of salty tears painting wet trails down your cheeks just as Jungkook stepped into the kitchen. Halting in his tracks, his eyebrows cinched together and his heart dropped to his stomach as he watched your pain shake your frame to its core. It took all of five long strides across the kitchen to reach you before he rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his comforting arms around you. You recoiled for a moment, so lost in your memories that the arms that intended to protect you blended with the ones that swore to harm you.

“Shhh. It’s alright y/n.” He cooed softly, coaxing you away from the demons that haunted you and into a new unfamiliar world of bliss. “It’s just me. Im sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper, tangled in the strands of your hair that had fallen in your face. The silence that followed was calming to say the least. The longer the two of you stood facing the warmth of the sun and the beginnings of summer's lush greenery beginning to bloom in the garden, the more you felt the weight of impending events to come wear off of you. Spinning you in his grasp, Jungkook guided your arms around his neck, pulled you closer, and easily lifted you off your feet in a dizzying twirl as the piano notes dramatically swirled around the morning lit kitchen, resulting in a fit of giggles from both of you. You let this feeling sink into your bones and will your muscles to relax and mentally ask politely for your heart to stop pounding in your chest in such a violent manner. It feels so good that you can't stand the thought of having to ruin it, but your thoughts won't stop attacking you.

“I have my first Ultrasound appointment today.” You share. He doesn't stop swaying but his familiar chocolate orbs gaze down at you with an emotion that not even he is sure fits the situation. It’s just a smile. One you don't expect to see, but it's littered with what you can only imagine being...excitement? But why? Unbeknownst to you, somewhere inside him...he is. However, he can see by the expression on your face, that despite his excitement, you are terrified.

“Whatever happens y/n, you are not alone. I know this is beyond cliche to say but, everything will be alright. There's no way in hell me, or Namjoon, or any of the others are going to let you go through this without support.” You don't mean to but, you watch the way his lips bounce off each other when he says words like “Me” and “be”. They glisten in ways that could make any woman weak, but the meaning spilling from them means so much more to you. It pains Jungkook to add what he's about to but he says it anyway in hopes that whatever worrying thoughts you might be having, sort themselves into the appropriate folders. “Whatever decision you choose to make, I will be right here with you.” Another comfortable silence falls over both of you as you lean closer into his embrace.

“This might be too much to ask but...would you come with me today?” You ask and hold your breath, waiting for his answer. You expect him to say ‘No’. You almost WANT him to say no when the weight of your question pulls your eyes from his lips down between where your bodies pressed together, just as Namjoon rounds the corner to the kitchen.

Namjoon had been gone all day. Caught his favorite coffee shop right at opening time where he ordered an iced americano and a raspberry scone. He had run eight miles to the park with the lake he liked to visit, and watched the reflection of the clouds in the water for an hour before running back home. When he’d arrived, instead of heading straight upstairs like he normally would have, the dryness scratching at the back of his throat begged to be squelched with cold water from the fridge. But upon hearing your question before he’d dared to peek around the wall, he watched. Watched the way Jungkook let his arms hang loosely at the small of your back. Watched the way the tips of your fingers absentmindedly played with the curls resting at the nape of his neck. The two of you looked so natural together that Namjoon almost felt the raspberry scone forcefully lurch its way up his throat. It isn't that he didn't want you or Jungkook to be happy, but he'd always imagined it would be him holding you like that someday. Namjoon closed his eyes and swallowed hard, willing the fluffy pastry contents of his stomach to go back down and stepped into the kitchen.

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to answer your question with an excited “Of course!”. He didn't know what it was about this situation, but he couldn't deny that even in his young age, helping you through this and being part of the experience was everything he wanted. There had been so many days and nights that he had admired his mother for becoming the strong woman she is today through being a mom. Jungkook could say the same for his father after watching how he had supported young kook’s mother in both big and small ways. Jungkook understood the importance of bringing a child into this world and thus the importance of assuring that the child that he or she would always have people in their life that love them unconditionally. The corners of his lips twitched up in a smile when your eyes flashed up to meet his. The surprise that widened them caught every glint of light streaming in through the window and in that moment, Jungkook saw you in a new and vivid way...but so had Namjoon.

“I promise i'll take care of you.” Koo whispered, his warm breath fluttering against your cheeks. Joon, after finally deciding that he couldn't take it anymore, burst through the room and ripped open the fridge, snatched out a bottle of water and knocked three more over in the process. You don't mean to but you find yourself taking a large leap away from Jungkook. The expression he wears is full of understanding but it doesn't keep him from grinning at the blush coloring your features.

“Good Morning Joonie.” You don't recognize the forced voice that flies from your mouth. It's too high and sounds distorted, making Jungkook smirk more and huff out a small breathy laugh. You glare at him and kick out your leg playfully in his direction but you could say the same for your vision as well when you finally scan the kitchen in its entirety; distorted and warped. “How was your run? I planned on catching you before you left but you were gone before I could get to the bottom of the stairs.”

If it weren't for the fact that you had grown up with this man, the very carefully placed facade Namjoon wore would have slipped right past you. But you noticed the way his shoulders were slumped and the lack of a whistle sang through his lips, breaking the silence in the kitchen. But above all, it was the “Uh…” he only does when he's especially nervous that he started his next sentence with that let you know something was up.

“Uh, morning. And sorry about that. I was trying to get to the bakery when they opened. You know how much i love scones.” What could you say to that? You knew he liked scones, but you were almost certain they’d never really been a favorite of his. Then again, he's been living a much different life than the one you knew his 16 year old past self to live. It's upsetting, you think, how time has gifted you with a lifelong friendship with this incredible man but somewhere along the way that same time has made you forget who he is...or only remember who he was and have no idea who he has become. Sparing a glance up at you, he shakes the bottle of water in his hand and smiles before exiting the kitchen.

“Hyung!” Jungkook calls after him and follows him out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts again. But this time doesn't feel so heavy. Your coffee has cooled to a comfortable temperature and your mind is full with how it feels to be wrapped in Jungkook's embrace. You think about how ridiculously school girlish you feel when you're with him and bounce on the balls of your heals in attempts to keep yourself from squealing until the coffee in your belly starts to make you feel queasy.

A glimpse of a single white butterfly catches your eye. Its tiny little wings flap tirelessly as it floats past the window. It looks oddly familiar. Or perhaps feels familiar. That feeling...That fluttering feeling. You rest a hand over your thickening torso and swallow hard as you take a seat at the kitchen table. How...familiar…

It's time. The clock on your phone strikes 12:00PM and an alarm follows promptly after, screaming obnoxiously in your face. It's time. It's time. You’ve just downed your third mug of coffee when Jimin enters the kitchen and waves at you with both of his happy little hands. It's time. You never once moved from your spot, glued to the chair ever since you saw the butterfly. Time had flown by you. You wonder if you ever even blinked. It's time. There's a spot on the table that holds your attention. The wood, though it's already dark, looks burnt in a particular place. It looks like a black hole and you treat it as such, staring aggressively at it and wishing for it to swallow you up whole until a set of ringed fingers enter your line of site and brush over the surface.

“One night we had a food fight and somehow someone's napkin got mixed up in the chaos and dropped onto a candle we had lit in the center.” Yoongi. His voice is low and comes out slow and smooth. You dare trail your eyes from his fingers to his face, much like the black abyss you'd imagined the spot to be, you find his gaze on the burnt table is farther away than you expected, reminiscing a moment in time when you didnt exist in their home. “Hoseok had to get the fire extinguisher and covered our dinner in white fluff.” A smile twitches on his dry lips. Regardless, it's nice to hear him speak to you again.

“We laughed forever.” Tae says as he rounds the table and takes a seat next to you. His presence alone makes you feel better, the goofy expression he wears when you look at him makes you laugh and shake your head.

“We had to throw it all away.” Jimin says and sets a bottle of water in front of you with a smile and nods at you as if to say ‘Drink up.’. So, you do.

“So many wasted noodles. I'd been looking forward to eating them so bad.” Jungkook says, pouty lips and rosy cheeks making his fair skin glow and his dark curls darker. The lot of them laugh together in agreement as Jungkook holds a hand out to you. “Ready?”

A nod of your head ‘yes’ feels more like a magical bewitched wiggle of your nose because you're already at the clinic before you can take your next breath. From the passenger's seat you watch Yoongi’s hands on the steering wheel glide effortlessly over the matte black finish. You wonder if asking him to come was too far fetched of an idea. He hasn't seemed bothered. In fact he had not seemed like anything. Not a single muscle in his face had twitched, not a single hint of emotion. He'd simply scooped his keys off the counter and held the door open for Jungkook, Namjoon, and myself.

When he puts the car in park, you dread the moment he takes his hands off the wheel. You stay seated, your body swaying to and fro as the weight of the car shifts while the guys all file out.

You can do this Y/n. You can. You got this.

Joon opens your car door for you and carefully helps you out one step at a time. From where you stand in the parking lot, you can see the giant letters on the front of the building that read (MEDICAL FACILITY). They Are daunting and make you shiver and lean into Joon’s side.

“It's alright y/n.” He whispers to you quietly and kisses comfortingly into your hair. “Joonies got you.”

Inside it's so much harder to exist in this life and coexist in the presence of others once you've found a spot in the waiting room. Namjoon promised to return with your bag from the car before you could blink, a panicked skip in his step when he ran back out the rotating door in the hospital lobby. Jungkook watched his back like a lost puppy after Namjoon all but shouted an order at him to get you signed in. Since this morning the tension between them had been high and clouded and you wondered where Jungkook had followed him to before leading you away to your current terror.

It's too white in here. The chairs look like they have not been updated since the 70’s. The plants in the corners of the room had begun to wilt, filling the space with stagnant water and rotting soil mixed with the pungent scent of sterilizer. The flickering fluorescent lights above you bring back memories you wish you could avoid forever but it only highlights exactly why you're here. There's a painting on the wall that looks like a really old silk painting. The material is worn and frayed at the edges but the dull grey strokes depict what looks to be a man in a carriage being pulled by the likes of a Dragon through a body of water. Your eyes scan the length of the dragon just as you hear the nurse call for the next patient as though your head was underwater, glancing down at the plaque that reads “Man Driving the Dragon.”

Worry settles in the pit of your stomach when you realize neither Jungkook nor Namjoon are back, and the mountain in the back of the painting starts to look intimidatingly large when a hand rests on your knee. Your chair had begun to squeak under the shaking of your leg, and Yoongi could tell that you were starting to panic when your eyes had latched on to the painting. He didn't say anything; rubbed his thumb over the fabric of your jeans just once and it was all you needed to crumble the mountain in the painting and relax all of your muscles. For a moment you worry you've bothered him, but when both boys come rushing back to your side, he gives your knee a small pat and stands just as your name is called. All at once your body shakes, your heart drops to your stomach pounding hard enough to keep your legs from moving, the message never reaching your brain. The nurses jacket flows behind her, softly brushing the back of her knees while she scribbles information on the clipboard in her hands.

“Breathe Y/n.” Namjoon whispers in your ear when he notices your eyes scan every room you pass, searching for something to distract you or to frighten you further, you aren't sure which one. He’s careful when he touches you, fingertips gripping your elbow to guide you back to the here and now. The overwhelming scent of steryl fries every hair in your nostrils and starts a storm in your head, the hallway closing in around you. Jungkook is there as you start to sway, a hand on your back to steady you and you catch a glimpse of Yoongi at your flank with his hands out in front of him. Suddenly the nurse is stopping in front of you, the door is opening and streaming out of the room through the dark is a very soft off white glow, followed by a smell that reminds you of the eucalyptus body wash setting on the shelf in the shower at home.

And that's what this feels like out of the blue, a sense of homeness. It's the pink orchids in full bloom on the counter, the jar of fluffy cotton balls and the assortment of blue tinted tissues next to the reclined leather chair in the center. It's also the bottom half of the walls painted sage green and the top a crisp white in a way that makes you think of decorative ideas for the nursery at home. But above all, it's the three men following behind you and the four others waiting for you at home that gives you the most comfort.

After a quick change of clothes and the prick of a finger for blood work, you're comfortably laid back in the chair just as the cold gel is squeezed onto your belly. The sonographer that replaced the nurse is bright eyed and almost overly hyper as she presses the device to your stomach and chirps happily in a way that somehow reminds you of Jimin.

“I'm excited to show you your baby today, miss Y/L/N!” You don't know where it stems from but the smile on your face spreads from ear to ear as a fuzzy black and white image appears on the screen. But then she's pointing at the screen to something small in the middle and your eyes are glued.

“This little spot right here...is your baby!” When the Sonographer turns back to make sure you've seen it, her smile turns from excited to warm. The men with you have crowded around you gazing with awe at the monitor. Namjoon behind you with his hands on your shoulders. Jungkook at your side, kneeling down so his face is inches from yours. And Yoongi at your knees leaning with his fingers pressed into the taut leather of the chair to get a closer look.

“Wow…” Jungkook breathes out, absentmindedly lacing your fingers together. You squeeze his fingers just as Joon squeezes your shoulders tenderly and Yoongi falls to his elbows at your thighs patting the same spot on your knee as he had before.

“Everything looks good too. It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.” The sonographer speaks quieter and separates her last couple of words like she knows it's exactly what you need to hear right now. A moment of anxiety makes you think she's saying it because she's judging you for what happened, but when you tear your eyes from the screen and catch her gaze, you know she's being genuine. “I'm going to give you all a couple minutes to look at this while i go grab your copies. I'll be back in a moment.” With a smile she bows softly and leaves the room to us. Yoongi watches the way Namjoon and Jungkook lovingly caress you and feels a pang of guilt in his stomach.

“Actually, could the two of you leave for a second? I'd like a moment with y/n.” He asks, standing straight and the boys share a worried look.

“Hyung…” Jungkook mumbles looking at you, to which you nod after squeezing his hand.

“It's alright. It's not like he's going to eat me or anything.” You assure him softly. Both boys obey their older brother and exit the room. Yoongi hold a hand out to you and you take it without hesitating. You'd been waiting for the opportunity to just sit down and talk with him since the moment you stepped foot into his home.

“I just wanted to apologize for…” His eyebrows sinch together, that forever deep in thought look on his face passes through complex stages of emotions and it's so endearing that you struggle to do everything in your power not to giggle. He starts again, this time with more confidence in his voice. “I wanted to apologize for doubting you. For not believing in Namjoon when he needed me most. For not realizing what you meant to him. To Jungkook. And in turn...Me.” It's not what you expect to hear from him.

“It feels like a dream to hear you say that. You’ve been right about all of it from the beginning. It was an unrealistic expectation to think all of you would just be completely okay with having to deal with the change of someone new in the comfort of your home.” Yoongi nods slowly, taking every word of your thoughts into consideration.

“Yes, they may have been true at the time but the change was good. Your presence shook up our world and gave our minds a new direction. You sparked a new inspiration in us. I wrote five songs yesterday. Namjoon wrote three. Even Taehyung had me look over some new lyrics. And Jimin a melody for a song we've been stuck on for a while now.” Again you're unsure of what to say but you feel at home all over again as though a line had never divided the two of you to begin with. A knock at the door breaks the bubble but a weight feels lifted from your shoulders and the future feels lighter.

Four printed copies of your ultrasound crinkle quietly as the boys all pass them around. The entire group is snuggled around you on the couch. You Are snuggled into Jungkook on your left, Jin leans close on your right with Namjoon cuddled up behind him. At your feet Jimin leans back against Yoongi’s chest between your knees with Hobi curled up between Jins knees, and Tae between Koo’s with one of his legs thrown over Tae’s shoulder as he fidgets with a rip in Koo’s jeans. The fireplace is roaring, fat raindrops pelt the windows, and Tae’s favorite jazz mix plays softly in the background. The long day of events runs through your mind like a roll of film, buzzing softly but you finally feel like it's okay to accept the love they just keep offering to you for nothing in return. It's exhilarating but your heart is at ease all the same.

In your hand you observe the child growing inside of you and you take a deep content breath and nuzzle further into Jungkook’s side. He’s been just as content if not more since seeing the baby for the first time. Since seeing your face light up in a way he had not experienced yet. Now you were glowing and warm and he swore to himself that he would do his damndest to keep it that way. With his cheek pressed into your hair he observed the photo with you over your shoulder, imagining teeny tiny hands that looked like yours and smiled, kissing your temple. He smiled more when your chest rose a little higher, your body shivering against his as you let out a shaky breath.

“Someone help. I can’t find it. Where is it?” Jin whines and everyone bickers at him for not being able to see it, laughter in their voices as they tease him. Namjoon attempts to point it out but you giggle when he’s too far over. Behind you, Koo chuckles and points at the baby in Jin’s picture.

“It's this little bug right here.” He says and you smile at the nickname.

“Little bug. That's so cute.” You say.

“Looks more like a peanut.” Tae says, looking up at you with a wide boxy smile. This moment feels precious, surrounded by real unconditional love. Welcome to your new beginning Y/n.

Part Six

Master List

Part Eight

#jungkook #BTSau #AU #Fanfiction #bts fanfic #pregnancy au #OT7 dads #single dad au #jungkook x reader #kookie #namjoon #joonie

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where-all-the-time-went · 4 years

Text

The Character-Based Reasons Why Sara Chidouin Has the Highest Win Likelihood

So, okay. We all know Nankidai is, first and foremost, a writer. Don’t get me wrong, the art and gameplay are nice, and the music is... there, but Your Turn to Die is fantastic because of the game’s thematic consistency and incredible characters. Which is why the idea that Sara wins so often because she is so trustworthy and is a great leader always seemed like a very barebones analysis to me. Sure, it makes sense, but what would Nankidai convey through that? There’s definitely a message about trust that is implied, that trusting makes a person stronger, but Sara does not initially trust everyone, and not everyone trusts her. Every single character has plenty of people who don’t trust them and who they don’t trust. If anyone is good at working with and trusting people, it’s Reko (even despite her conflict with Alice), who becomes the big sister to this cast of characters. (BTW: this is a really long post. If you don’t want to read it all, scroll to the end and there’s a TL;DR).

So then, for what thematic reason is Sara so likely to win?

Personally, I would attribute her survival rate to another common theme throughout the game: her balance between prioritizing her own survival and that of the rest of the players. While Sara would never truly give her Sacrifice card to someone else, it’s doubtful that she would take the Sacrifice card to save anyone either. No other character has a similar inner balance, except Kanna in the Kanna Lives route (to be perfectly honest, I have not played the Shin lives route because I’m terrified of killing Kanna, so my knowledge may be lacking). Anyway, I am going to go down the list of characters and talk about why they’re not Sara, which I know everyone is just really, really, excited to hear (please don’t fall asleep). (Also not including dolls since our information on them is very limited at the moment).

I’m starting with the absolute worst person to start with: Joe Tazuna. He may not be a candidate, but he is still a character who dies and is thus worthy of an explanation. While he may have procrasinated to reveal that he was the Sacrifice, it was never truly a battle with Joe on whether to sacrifice himself. In the end, he will always prioritize everyone else’s survival. If there was a battle, it was between whether to save Sara right then and there or let everyone else survive, and although his connection to Sara is personal, this is still not self-prioritization.

Then there’s Keiji Shinogi (yes, I’m going by the Wiki order and you can’t stop me). At first, it may seem that logical, levelheaded Keiji prioritizes himself, but in Chapter 3 1-A, he readily accepts the tag if it means saving Sara. Keiji is traumatized by his own guilt, and thus does not seem to consider himself worthy of survival, unless it means being the smart one and thinking where no one else does. He may not have traded for Sara’s Sacrifice card in the Second Main Game, but it’s unclear whether he was planning to before Kanna took it herself (or rather, tried to). I theorize now that Keiji will have a say about his own death in Chapter 3 1-B, and it will depend on whether he is able to balance his own needs with the needs of everyone else.

Which brings me to Kanna Kizuchi, who I think has the most interesting arc in this regard. When the game begins, Kanna is extremely frightened, and we don’t really get to know her priorities since she is most definitely not thinking straight. As Kanna matures and developed into her own character, in spite of Sou’s suggestions to her, we learn she prioritizes other people’s surival over her own when she attempts to take Sara’s Sacrifice card. Now, this is where the disclaimer of “I Have not Played the Shin Lives Route” comes in extra handy, because I expect criticism here. Anyway, given that Sara logically wants to survive, and there are even character reasons to vote for Kanna (her being more ready for death), it seems very likely Sara would vote for Kanna, which would explain her extremely low 2.7% survival rate. This is a reflection of Kanna’s unshaking will to prioritize others’ survival over her own. However, when Shin dies, Kanna realizes she should never again attempt to sacrifice herself (particularly because he became a role model for her), and she begins, just like Sara, to find a balance, wherein she puts herself in danger only when logically necessary, while also caring for everyone else. As a result, and this is very shaky ground, I am putting forth that there are either no routes, or very few routes, from here on out, where Kanna dies. (The one thing I will say about this theory is that it partially contradicts my theory that the game cannot be a simulation because they would not simulate Gashu’s betrayal. While my argument mainly revolves around the metanarrative of prioritization of lives other than one’s own, these themes are reflected within the non-meta of the game itself, wherein Asunaro specifically tailors who receives the Sacrifice, Keymaster, and Sage cards. As a result, Kanna’s character arc revolving around surviving the Second Main Game makes no sense if she would have been the Sacrifice in the first place if not for Gashu. Although, her low win rate could be tied to the high likelihood that she would take Sara’s Sacrifice card).

Well, now that I’m off my tangent, let’s focus on Q-Taro. At the beginning of the game, Q-Taro, while not the brightest, takes a cold and logical approach. He is willing to sacrifice literal children--Kanna and Gin--because he doesn’t think they’re useful enough. However, his character flips (pun intended) when he presses the button and takes the poison for Gin. Q-Taro realizes that trust and self-sacrifice are noble traits, and he comes to prioritize them over his own survival, as he put his life on the line when he took the poison, when a lower dosage earlier would have been the more logical way to keep him and Gin alive. Q-Taro’s arc is intersting, but unlike Kanna, who becomes a reasonable person, his values flip entirely, particularly because his change was likely planned by Asunaro.

Then you have Shin. I don’t know what he does when he lives, and I have a whole theory about Shin’s 0.0% win rate, which I will possibly write some day and link in later, but I do have some stuff to say about his own character balance. It’s obvious that because of his fear of the win rates, Shin comes to prioritize his own life, despite all irrationality therein. He manipulates and lies for his own survival, mainly out of fear. When Shin realizes that Sara killed him instead of killing Kanna, as she prioritizes emotion over logic, he realizes that maybe he could have trusted her after all, and to die with as few regrets as possible, he gives her the Joe AI. This character change sounds like it contradicts my theory, but given that, at this point, Shin was pretty much already dead, it’s simply an interesting change within him that is representative of the theme of Your Turn to Die. Furthermore, I subscribe to the theory that Shin’s low win rate is a direct result of knowing he has a low win rate (fun bootstrap paradox times (Beethoven’s Fifth plays on electric guitar)), because this causes his self-preservation.

I mentioned Reko earlier, but I think this only needs a brief explanation (important note: I have only played the Reko dies route). Prior to the Death Game, while Alice was in jail, Reko learned that the “weak” do not deserve what’s coming to them. This indirectly causes her own kindness to Nao and Kanna in the Death Game. (Come to think of it, I don’t think this one’s going to be as brief as I thought). Reko enters the death game a changed woman, who already prioritizes the lives of others, and thus is entirely imbalanced. The fact that her past self kills her is beautifaly symbolic of why she died: because she could not balance her priorities, where she only cares about others now (which is why Nao saved modern Reko), and only really cared about herself in the past (because she thought that the “weak” did not deserve her help). As a result, in an act of pure selfishness, the AI, which has Reko’s past personality, kills human Reko. If modern Reko had been more balanced, perhaps she could have explained to Nao why it would make more logical sense to save the Reko AI.

And it’s perfect that Nao should come next. In general, Nao does not think for herself. Not until her suggestion that Sara should run away with her at the end of the Second Main Game did she do anything other than follow earliers or force herself into certain situations. This, of course, relates to the juxtaposition between her and Sara, who is a natural leader. However, it explains why there is not much to say about Nao other than the fact that she is so far removed from the issue of self-sacrifice vs. self-preservation.

Everything Kai did, up until his death, was to protect Sara. His job was to be her bodyguard, and Sara is the person who saved Kai from a life of murder. Kai dies because his silence in his efforts to protect Sara prevented a proper discussion over whether it was worth it to kill the Sage simply because they were the Sage.

Gin Ibushi, much like Kanna, started the game by prioritiznig the lives of others. Unlike Kanna, he did not change, particularly because there was no narrative reason for his change. Even when Gin was about to die, it was up to Q-Taro to decide between self-sacrifice and self-preservation. However, when Gin and Q-Taro were up on the targets, this was a symbolic message to Sara: you must choose between the self-preserving tendencies of Q-Taro and the self-sacrificing tendencies of Gin, who gave out his tokens for free, unaware of the consequences. While Gin has yet to die, his steadfast hold on his self-sacrificing beliefs would explain why his win rate is lower even than Kanna’s.

Gin would often cling to father figures due to his dad’s alcohol addiction, and Mishima was the first to experience this treatment. Mishima cared for Gin, but he knew Nao best, and his instruction that she vote for him would cause his death, because Mishima sacrificed himself for Nao. Mishima is interesting, because his self-sacrifice is less a result of a hope for everyone’s survival, and more about his desire for people to improve as human beings. He tells Nao to give him up when he is an AI, and instructs Reko to break his screen. Although Mishima is perhaps more self-sacrificng than Gin, his understanding of teaching others how to care about themselves is likely why his win rate is higher than both Gin’s and Kanna’s. This may also be a result of the fact that he is older and more capable, but his strange quirks also make him less trustworthy than both Gin and Kanna, which cancels his capabilities out. Thus his self-sacrificing beliefs would kill him, even if his understanding of self-preservation decreases the likelihood of his death.

Last but not least of the non-Sara characters, we have Alice Yabusame. Now, on this one, I am probably missing the most information, since I have absolutely no idea how he dies in the route where Reko survives. However, I can say that in the route where he survives, despite his understanding at the beginning of Chapter 2 that Reko had changed, he was unable to accept that the unchanged Reko was not human. This implies that Alice wants a version of Reko who both cares for others and values strength, suggesting a need for balance. I also know this is a big change from his attitude towards the beginning, where he believes that everyone should be as self-preserving as possible, and not get in anyone else’s way. The fact that Alice has to die to accept Reko’s change (I think???), it makes sense that his self-preserving tendencies would place him in the bottom half of win rates. Again, this theory is weakened by my ignorance.

Joe’s likely inevitable death contributes to Sara’s fear of the Sacrifice card, which perfectly balances her lack of desire to manipulate others with her desire to preserve herself. Sara is also often given the choice between wanting to win or escape with everyone, and the fact that character moments often hinge on her response illustrates Nankidai’s thematic goals. The choice between Shin and Kanna’s deaths, while about emotion and logic, are also about choosing between preserving oneself (voting for Kanna, who cannot contribute to Sara’s survival) and preserving others (Kanna is TOO YOUNG TO DIE). I do not mean to suggest that saving Kanna was necessarilly the “correct route.” Quite the opposite, in fact. I mean to suggest that the fact that Sara is presented this choice and that she does not have an immediate answer is exactly why she is so likely to win.

TL;DR i drone on about how sara is special and not like other characters, and how she cares about people but also about herself, so that’s the theme and stuff. there’s also a long, pretentious rant about the symbolism of reko’s death. and a doctor who reference. there’s also a weird amount of parantheses.

(credit to @sip-of-depresso for having the conversation with me which sparked this theory)

#yttd #your turn to die #yttd theory #yttd spoilers #your turn to die theory #your turn to die spoilers #can't believe my first real post is a yttd theory #promise i'm not a weeb #i'm only cringe because of doctor who #oh and himym too i guess

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years

Text

Raincheck (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Set after chapter 8, Ethan and Naomi get a re-do on their dinner date.

Tags: @colourmeshy @fanmantrashcan @writinghereandthere @ao719 @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile

Enjoy!

~v~

The first thing Naomi notices when she crosses the threshold to Ethan’s apartment is that it smells amazing. A delicious aroma wafts from the kitchen and she has to stop herself from drooling at the scent.

This is the second time this week that she’s been at his apartment, though this time Ethan promises that there will be no surprise interruptions. And this makes Naomi anxious, because the last time she was here, Ethan kissed her, multiple times, and promised that they’d talk. And with a little over a year of knowing the older attending under her belt, Naomi knows that Ethan Ramsey is a puzzle and he’s constantly pulling the rug out from under her feet. So her guard is up, despite wanting to be able to relax in his presence.

Ethan greets her at the door, out of his formal work clothes and now in a simple t-shirt and blue jeans.

“Naomi, hi.” His eyes sweep over her form, and he tries not to get fixated on the way her dark blue sweater hugs every curve on her body. “You look great.”

“Thank you.”

“It smells amazing in here.” Once she’s inside and her shoes are at the door, Naomi stands on her tiptoes, peering into the kitchen. She sees a huge skillet and a pot on the stove, but it gives her no answers. “Can I know what you’re cooking, or are you going for an element of surprise?”

“Chicken, sautéed in peppers, yellow rice and roasted asparagus. Do you have any objections about the menu?”

“It sounds delicious.” She stops at his kitchen island and takes a seat at one of the barstools.

“Do you want something to drink? I have pretty much everything.”

“What’s the best wine in your collection?” Naomi asks. “I’d like a glass of that.”

Ethan turns around and goes to rummage in his pantry. “I have a very expensive bottle that a patient gifted Naveen a while back. Her rich “boyfriend” owns a vineyard in Napa, and after we solved her case, she had him send Naveen quite a few bottles. He gave me one.”

He rinses out two glasses and pours the expensive Chardonnay.

“Air quotes around the word boyfriend leads me to assume he was her sugar daddy.”

“Her very married sugar daddy,” Ethan adds. “Splitting his time between Napa and New England.”

“Scandalous.”

“His vineyard makes excellent wine, though.”

Naomi takes a sip and instantly agrees with Ethan. The smooth liquid is delicious. “Mhmm, I can taste the vanilla.”

“You have excellent taste for a 27 year old.”

“It’s a cross I have to bear,” Naomi teases with a giggle. “Do you need any help with dinner?”

“No. You’re my guest, you just sit there and relax.”

She leans across the counter and watches as Ethan expertly chops up jalapeño peppers.

“I’m not used to being in a kitchen and not helping,” Naomi says with a sigh. “I used to practically study my mom and grandma growing up.”

“Oh, so you like to cook too?”

“I love it. I love food. Every Sunday after church, we’d go to my grandparents’ house for football and dinner.”

“What’s your favorite thing to cook?” Ethan asks. Naomi doesn’t talk much about her life before Edenbrook, and he’s curious.

“My grandma has a recipe for pot roast and garlic mashed potatoes that will make you cry.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the secret?”

“It’s for Valentine women only, mister. My mom didn’t get the recipe until she and my dad had been married for 10 years.”

“It’s that serious?”

Naomi nods. “Super serious. She’s really protective over her recipes, and she wants the rest of the family to be just as guarded. My uncle once suggested she write a cookbook, and she nearly tore him a new one.”

Ethan notes the sparkle in her eye as she talks about her family and he can’t help but to smile. “Okay, since you’re the expert, I’ll let you help me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Yay! But first, I cannot cook in silence. We’re going to need some music.”

“In the living room, next to the window, I have a record player. Pick whatever you’d like.”

“A record player?” Naomi slides off the barstool and rushes to the living room. “You’re an old soul.”

“I like records. I think they’re cooler than CDs.”

Naomi browses through his selection of vinyls. He had a mixture of a lot of different artists and genres: Billie Holiday, Michael Jackson, Prince, David Bowie, Queen, James Brown, Nina Simone, The Beatles. There was even some classical music by Beethoven thrown into the collection.

She settles on Billie. “You have good taste, Doctor Ramsey.”

Soon she’s back in the kitchen, hands washed, sleeves rolled up, and hair pulled back. They settle into a comfortable routine. She minces garlic as Ethan gets the rice started.

Ethan enjoys her presence in his kitchen. There’s no tension in the air, the silence isn’t deafening, and Naomi moves around with ease and confidence, as if the space was made just for her. He chooses to ignore the way his pulse speeds up at the thought.

With two people helping, it doesn’t take long for dinner to be served. Ethan tops off their wine, fixes two plates, and moves them into his formal dining area.

“I had no idea this little dining area was tucked back here,” Naomi says, looking around. “Just how huge is this apartment? Does it have a second floor that I’m not aware of?”

Ethan rolls his eyes at her wide cracks. “No second floor. But it’s a 3 bedroom.”

“3? How did I not notice that?”

“Well the last time you were here we only stayed in the kitchen. And the time before that we–”

He stops himself before he can finish the sentence. The time before the last, they barely stayed in the living room for a few minutes before Ethan was dragging her into his bedroom.

Naomi looks down, her face burning at the memory. Thinking about their previous...encounter wasn’t her intention in the slightest. She groans to herself. This is what she gets for trying to make dumb small talk.

She pivots, not allowing them any more time to ruminate over the hook up. “Well you’ll have to give me a tour.”

“Deal.”

Naomi grabs her fork and digs into her food, taking a bite of her chicken. A low heat coats her taste buds, followed by the buttery flavor of the meat. A soft sigh passes her lips. “Okay, I know you love being a doctor, and you’re great at it, but I think you’d be an amazing chef.”

“Of course I’d be an amazing chef, I’m good at everything,” Ethan quips with a smirk.

“Your ego is unmatched.”

“But seriously, the food is good?”

His voice takes on an uncharacteristically low and shy tone. Naomi looks up at him and they lock eyes. He’s...nervous, she quickly surmises.

“The food is great, Ethan. If it wasn’t, you’d know.”

He smiles at her, relief coursing through his veins. Sure he knows he’s a good cook, but something about her praise and validation makes him feel like a teenager again.

“Good.”

“I might have you cook for me more often,” Naomi adds, lifting her wine glass to her lips and takes a sip. “How many other people get to say the great Ethan Ramsey made them dinner?”

“It’s just you,” Ethan replies. “And of course, you’re welcome over any time.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time. I just might take you up on that offer.”

“Please do.”

The rest of their dinner goes by, the two of them embroiled in light conversation. Once dinner is done, Ethan instructs her to head to his living room while he puts the dishes in the sink. A few minutes later, he comes back with two slices of cake, and two more glasses of wine, red this time to complement the chocolate of their dessert.

“Ooh, I get dessert too? My, my, You’re really spoiling me tonight.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Ethan grumbles.

“Too late.” Naomi eagerly accepts her slice of cake. “Did you bake this?”

“Would you be impressed if I said yes?”

“I’d be very impressed.”

“But no, I can't take credit for this. There’s a bakery a few blocks away, and they make the best chocolate cake.”

“That’s a hefty endorsement coming from you.”

“Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Ethan sits down next to Naomi, leaving little room between the two of them, but just enough. At this distance, he can smell whatever sweet perfume she’s wearing, mixed with her shampoo—coconut scented, that much he knows for certain—it it’s effects on him are dizzy and intoxicating.

“How did your talk with your dad go the other day?” Naomi asks. Being questioned about his dad wasn’t what he was expecting, and it snaps him out of his daze.

“Huh?”

“How did your talk with Alan go?”

Ethan stops to seriously consider the question. His talk with his dad brought up a lot of feelings, good and bad, about a lot of different things. “I think he and I understand each other more. Love is still a pretty foreign concept to me, so I don’t think I’ll ever truly understand the depth of what he feels towards my mother, but I’m going to try to be more compassionate about them.”

“And I told him that him continuing to hold a flame for my mother fueled a lot of my anger,” Ethan continues. “It used to feel like he was willing to forgive her for hurting me. No matter what she did, all would be okay as long as she came back. Of course, he didn’t realize my perspective, and he apologized. We both realized that our views of my mom were going to be inherently different. And he agreed to stop trying to get me to talk to her.”

Naomi is glad to hear he made some peace with his dad. Alan seems like a sweet guy. “Do you think you’ll ever want to see her?”

A stony expression mars his features. “No. I’m not in a space to hear whatever bullshit excuse she spits out, nor do I want to hear any apologies. I’ve survived 25 years without her, I’ll survive 25 more.”

The energy in the room has taken a sharp turn. Naomi puts her plate down on the coffee table and takes Ethan’s hand in hers, her thumb running across his knuckles in a soothing manner. The simple gesture catches him off guard, and he looks at the younger woman.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset with my line of questioning.”

“I’m not upset with you,” Ethan assures her. She’s the last person he’d be upset with considering she’s been his rock throughout this entire ordeal. “And I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.”

“You’re not being a burden, Ethan.”

“Regardless, I didn’t invite you over here to be bogged down by my family drama.”

Naomi looks down at their still joined hands, and she swallows thickly. “Okay, did you invite me over here to talk about our kiss?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up at the question. “I’ve always admired your boldness, Rookie. You get straight to the point no matter what.”

“No point in beating around the bush,” Naomi says with a shrug. Reluctantly, she pulls her hand out of his and turns her body so they’re facing each other. “Look Ethan, you said that we needed boundaries, and outside of our kiss at Donahue’s a few months back, I’ve been trying my absolute hardest to be respectful. But now you’re sending me mixed signals. First when we went to stake out your mom a few weeks back, you held my hand the entire way back to Boston. And then you kissed me the other day, a few times. Now I’m at your apartment again. I need to know what we’re doing, because you’re blurring the lines.”

Ethan sighs. He feels like a selfish asshole, jerking her around like this. “Look, Naomi, I thought our relationship was going to be that of a mentor and mentee–and it is, but it’s become so much more than that. You are one of the most important people in my life. You are the one person I want to turn to when things feel crazy, whether it’s about work or my personal life.”

“And…?”

“I’m getting there, Rookie,” Ethan chuckles softly, and her stomach flips at her old nickname. “Look, all my life, I’ve only ever viewed things in black and white, and it was easy for me. But you came barreling into my life, and not only can I see shades of grey, but I see the entire color spectrum. You push me, you challenge me, you drive me absolutely insane.” Naomi laughs. “But it’s becoming increasingly harder to respect my self-imposed boundaries when it comes to you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I think it’s time I stop trying to hold myself back when it comes to you.”

Naomi’s too afraid to move. To breathe, even. What if this is some sort of dream? She’s going to wake up soon, in her own bedroom, alone, disappointed and full of self loathing. “So, what? Do you want to give us a try?”

“Yes, I want to give us a try. That is, if you still want to give me a chance. I know I probably don’t deserve one.”

Hearing those words is akin to a dam breaking inside of her. The air leaves her lungs all at once and her vision goes blurry with unshed tears.

Crying wasn’t the reaction he thought he was going to get from her. Ethan reaches out, gently swiping the pad of his thumb underneath her eye. “Naomi, what–”

She cuts him off, grabbing his face with both hands, crashing their lips together. He barely has time to toss his plate onto the table before she’s clamoring into his lap, straddling him.

This kiss feels so much like the one they shared a few nights ago. It’s frenzied, desperate, and filled with longing, but there’s an undercurrent of something else, something they haven’t felt before. Relief. Lightness.

Ethan’s tongue presses against her lips, silently asking for permission to deepen things. Naomi responds, opening her mouth to grant him entrance.

She clings to him, grabbing all that her hands can. His shoulders, his neck, his soft t-shirt. She needs some sort of permanence to ground her to the moment and let her know that this isn’t a dream. It’s real.

Ethan’s hands move from her hips, aiming higher until they’re under her sweater. His fingers burn, and he’s not sure if his brain is playing tricks on him because he’s consumed quite a few glasses of wine, or if the feel of her skin has that effect on him. Whatever the case, he welcomes the white-hot sensation, greedily searching for more surface area. Finally he settles on her back, his hands running around her spine, making her shudder.

They only pull apart because the need to breathe is much stronger than their desire to stay joined. But it doesn’t last long, as Naomi quickly kisses him again.

“I’ve missed you,” she confesses when she pulls away. Ethan notes the vulnerability in her eyes as she comes to rest her forehead against his. “I’ve missed this.”

“I’ve missed you too. You have no idea how much.”

She bites her lip in contemplation and Ethan swears it might be his favorite sight. “Please tell me this is real. Tell me you won’t wake up tomorrow and change your mind.”

Reluctantly, his hands drop from the small of her back. He uses one to tilt her chin up, forcing eye contact between the two. “I’m not going anywhere, Naomi.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

They kiss again, a softness filling them this time around. Her fingers pull at the hem of his shirt, tugging it, urging him to remove the piece of fabric.

“Naomi, stop,” Ethan orders gently.

She breaks the kiss, confused. “What?”

“We need to stop,” Ethan pants heavily. His heart is beating erratically against his rib cage, and if she keeps kissing him like this, and touching him like this, he’s going to lose all of his will.

“What’s wrong?”

“If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop myself from escalating this and taking you into my bedroom.”

Naomi shivers against him. “Is that a promise?”

“You have no idea. But I want us to take this slow. I want to do this right.”

“Oh yeah?” He can tell by the twinkle in her eye that she’s going to tease me. “Are you going to court me, old man?”

Ethan wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She groans at the contact. “Call me old one more time, Rookie.”

Naomi is never one to back down from a challenge, but she doesn’t want to take things further knowing he wants to move slowly. “I think it’s sweet.”

“I just really don’t want to mess things up with you.”

“I don’t want to either.”

Naomi moves off of his lap, creating some distance. She smooths out her sweater, which is currently twisted around her midsection.

She checks the time on her watch. “It’s getting late, I think I should go.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I know, but I think it’d be better for both of us if we ended things here. I don’t want to test your restraint any more.”

“Thank you. Do you need me to take you home?”

“I’ll call an Uber.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Naomi quickly calls for a car using the app. They find their shoes, enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. They hold hands the entire way down, sharing shy smiles and glances.

The air between the two of them feels so different now. Like a weight has been lifted off of both their shoulders, they revel in the newfound lightness and change in their relationship.

They stand in front of his apartment complex as they wait for her ride to arrive, their hands still joined together. It’s late at night, but the city is still lit up, and all of the lights reflect off of Naomi as she stares at her surroundings. Ethan clears his throat, gaining her attention.

“So I was thinking, how about we go out this weekend,” he suggests. “There’s a new exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts.”

“We agreed to date a few short minutes ago, and you already have a date planned.”

Ethan shrugs. “Well, I’ve had this evening planned out for the past 48 hours.”

Naomi smirks at him. “And you were just so sure I would say yes to you?”

“Call it a hunch.”

A car matching the description of Naomi’s rideshare pulls up along the curb. “This is my ride.”

Before she can open the car door, Ethan yanks her hand and spins her around. He kisses her again, his warm hand cupping her jaw. He pulls away quickly, leaving her breathless. “One more for the road. Call me when you get home, okay.”

“Of course.” Naomi smiles. “See you tomorrow, Ethan.”

“Goodnight, Naomi.”

She enters the car and Ethan watches as it drives off. He stands on the sidewalk for a long time after she’s gone, as if he’s still in a daze. The entire night feels surreal, and he almost can’t believe things worked out the way they did.

He knows one thing for sure: he’ll be forever grateful for his ability to cook.

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc

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