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nanaminokanojo · 3 years ago

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BLOOM | Sukuna X You | Part 1/3

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His hair was the color of cherry blossoms, that's the first thing you noticed. It was the softest shade of pink, easy on the eyes, reminding you of the tendrils of filtered rays of the sun lightly touching the edges of clouds very early in the morning. Or your favorite angora wool sweater.

The man stole your attention from the book you were reading when you chanced a look from your periphery just to check who sat on the stool beside your usual spot on the bar – the seat at the very end by the wall. Your planned glance turned into a furtive stare at the sight of him from his candy-floss-hued hair, the rippling muscles hidden under his white oxford shirt and the array of tattoos that peeked through his neatly folded sleeves. And boy, since when did men smell like vanilla and spring while also exuding such a virile scent?

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth at the thought, internally shaking your head at your behavior. You should not be staring at people, and though you weren't exactly ogling him, you were still observing him enough to associate him with your favorite article of winter clothing.

"Hey. The usual for you?" you heard Maki, the bar owner, ask, giving you the idea that the man was a regular. How you haven't spotted him before was a mystery.

If it was already hard concentrating on the novel you were reading, you've completely forgotten about it when you heard him say, "Make that single-malt." It's either the gates of hell opened at the sudden heat you felt on your skin at the sound of his voice or the gates of heaven did with how delicious it sounded in your ear, thick like honey and deep with a distinct ring to it. It got you wondering what his mother craved for when she was pregnant with him, and your brain said, "Greek gods," when you lifted your eyes from the current page you were reading and briefly exchanged looks with him as he shifted his line of vision from Maki to you.

You turned your eyes back to your book, making it seem like you were just absently looking about, but in reality, it took herculean effort to wrench your gaze from him. In that brief meeting of your eyes, the features of his face registered in your head like a bar code scanner, etching itself in your mind like a white-hot brand. He wasn't shockingly handsome, but he was beautiful in his own right with those intense eyes that reminded you of drowning pools and the rugged yet refined planes of his face. It was as if an artist painted him in passionate anger, slowly fell in love with the piece and began redefining his features with gentler strokes.

You turned the page of your book despite not getting any reading done. Well, it has been the case for a considerable amount of minutes now, but you tried anyway, furiously staring down at the new page but not comprehending anything. Your eyes kept scanning the same sentence over and over again but it was not sinking in at all.

"Excuse me, miss," that deep voice you've already developed a strange affection for assaulted your senses again, making your head snap up to the direction it was coming from. Hell, you think you'll do its owner's bidding just hearing it at the rate you were going, reacting automatically as if you were programmed with a voice prompt or something.

You were about to look at him but Maki caught your attention as she pushed the smoothie you ordered towards you, placing it precisely in front of you on the hardwood surface with her fingers. She arched a brow at you, causing you to stiffen on your seat.

You've been coming to the quiet little bar since you grew old enough to drink. In fact, you considered it your regular watering hole, going there whenever you can even in the day as it doubled as a gastro-pub. You've already come to know the staff who reserved the spot for you every single time you told them you were coming, particularly the tough but very lovable Maki. She's basically a friend now, and you knew you were acting off if she was giving you odd looks.

"Thanks, Maki," you said just in time, even managing to smile. She just shook her head at you before walking away to tend to another client.

"I have to know what book you are reading," the person beside you said just as you began sipping on your drink, which, you've noted, was a cherry blossom tea smoothie that reminded you of him.

You let go of the straw between your lips, swallowing hard. Turning your attention to him, you found him sitting sideways, chin propped on the heel of his palm as he regarded you. "Huh?" was all you could manage to say to him.

A slow, crooked smile etched itself across his mouth, the action appearing sensuous with the gradual way his expressions changed. "That book," he said for your benefit. "May I know what it is about?"

You just blinked, still questioning yourself if he was addressing you.

"If you're that engrossed about it, it must be great," he said. "Mind telling me the title?"

"Book?" you asked dumbly. He was really frying your brain.

He pointed at the book you were holding with his lips, protruding them slightly before smiling again. Jesus, you loved the way he smiled. The gesture didn't belong there when you've already thought he was the smirking, grinning-devil type. It was too soft a gesture, but then again his hair was shell-pink – a contradiction to his stridently brawny features.

"Oh." Despite yourself, you found yourself chuckling. "I'm sorry, I was distracted."

"Not by the book, I hope."

You looked away, smiling to yourself as you closed the object in question and slid it over to him. When you looked at him, you were surprised to see him actually reading the synopsis at the back, interest flickering in his dark eyes. You were already expecting him to just read the title, probably the author, too, thinking he was just flirting with you judging by his last words. But he was actually reading it.

"It's about an architect," he stated. "He must be mind-blowingly awesome if you're too transfixed on his story."

"No, Howard Roark is mostly a recalcitrant bastard who breaks rules here and there, doesn't cooperate or collaborate and is stone-faced about most anything."

"But it's what you like about him," he supplied.

You nodded. "He’s a breath of fresh air in a world governed by stuffy archaic principles. The spring to a long, stagnant winter of conformity. I'm in love with him." Noticing the look of amusement on his face, you were quick to add, "What?"

"Nothing." His smile didn't waver though. "Are you an architect, too?"

"Too?" you repeated with inflection then tilted your head. "Ah, you're an architect, huh?"

"Guilty."

"Any projects of note?" you asked, tilting your head in wonder when he seemed flustered. "What is it?"

He shook his head slowly. "You're very straightforward."

At that, you grinned. "Should I take you out to dinner before I get that information?" You sipped leisurely at your smoothie, glad that you throw him off as much as he flusters you.

"You don't have to," he found himself answering anyway. "But I work for a firm, so they get most of the credit. We built that new hotel at Shinjuku."

"Eh? Didn't pin you for a baroque kind of guy."

"You know..." He was all ears now judging by how he leaned closer to you. He leveled his expression to yours then. "So, what kind of guy did you think I am?"

There it is, you thought, the smirk you've been waiting for. Without giving it much thought, you said, "The Howard Roark type, of course."

***

"You seriously don't remember, do you?"

It wasn't that you didn't. You simply had no idea how you got home, considering how you ended up all smashed after enjoying too many margaritas after your smoothie. You seriously just didn't know certain things. You didn't know what happened after you reached your limit. And out of all the things you know you should not have missed, you didn't know his name.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter, nursing a headache, trying to fill in every bit of information your friends were trying to leech out of you in your addled state. You've been expecting it - the great inquisition - especially after you returned in a state lesser than they've been expecting, unconscious, according to the collective stories of your roommates, when you told them you were just stepping out to get some reading done. And on a school night, no less. Very atypical of you indeed.

"What should I be remembering?" you responded to Ieiri. You weren't exactly fond of her worrisome nature although you knew she was just watching your back especially since she has been rather disapproving of your escapades with these guys you somewhat dated back then. You appreciated it, but it didn't mean you liked it.

"Oh, I don't know, Y/N. Strawberry blond? Tats? Drives a Jeep? Ring any bells?" she said, jogging your memory. "He came knocking at two in the morning, carrying you in his arms. I mean he was hot according to Satoru, but do you even know the guy?"

“Cherry blossom,” you absently corrected the color Ieiri mentioned.

“Huh?”

“Him, I remember.” You smiled at the thought, not hiding your delight from them. You were sure they were just annoyed that they weren't in on the action since Satoru, your other friend and roommate, who seem nonexistent recently, was the one who interacted with the man you met and supposedly brought you back to the house you rented with all of them. And Satoru doesn't know basic decorum to actually ask what the man’s name was. "Howard."

"Howard?" Suguru, another one of your friends who was in the literature department as you were, asked. "Howard Roark?" He knew the reference, obviously. You forced him to read the book before it even became one of your study materials.

You nodded enthusiastically. "He's an architect."

"He didn't look like a 'Howard,' apparently," Ieiri said.

"That name is from her favorite book," Suguru supplied, his dark eyes shifting to you as he tucked some stray strands of his long, raven locks which were currently tied in a half-up. "So your guy's an architect, too."

"That, but he isn't 'my guy' and I don't know what his name is."

He grinned then. "If you're openly calling him by the name of the character you claim to be in love with, I'm assuming..."

"No!" Ieiri gasped.

You laughed despite the action making your head hurt. You were still hungover after all, but you didn't mind, not when you knew you had a good night. Probably a great night to allow yourself to be hammered like you have been. You only ever drank to your fill when the company is great and when you were in a jovial mood.

"It's nothing like that. He just feels like spring time. Looks like it, too." You waved your hands in front of you for emphasis. Still, your expressions said otherwise.

You weren't in love with the man because you didn't believe in mushy things like love at first sight, but you knew you liked him, just that you weren't getting your hopes up cause there's a chance you might not see him ever again, assuming your meeting was something transient like the blossoms his hair made you think of. Even if he was a regular at Maki's, if your schedules didn't coincide with one another, it would not be easy to meet. You've been coming to the same bar for years and yet, you've only ever seen him that time. You never really know.

But then, you got your answer pretty quickly.

From: Satoru

See you at 7 tomorrow night. Same place.

That’s how Satoru's message read, sent late the previous night. You almost forgot about the agreement you’ve had with him to get unlimited barbecue after sleeping the rest of the day but you made it out just in time. It was something you did with all three of your friends as a way to bond with them individually.

You glanced at the clock on your phone, feeling the stares of the restaurant staff on you. Well, you’ve been there for more than an hour waiting for him. One hour and thirteen minutes to be precise. All you’ve ordered so far was a glass of lemonade and you were able to finish that in the first half hour, sitting on a table for two when evidently, you were alone. All your texts were ignored and your calls were always being redirected to voicemail.

“Where the fuck are you, Gojo Satoru?” you asked him in one of your messages, hissing low into your phone just so the other diners would not be offended by your words. You got a message another twenty minutes later, the sound of your phone almost making you jump from your seat. However, when you looked at it, it was from an unknown number.

You were about to check the message when one of the waitresses came to your table, pad and pen on the ready. She’s always the one who served you whenever you and your friends would go there for a dose of beef and pork fat, and she has always been nice to you.

“Not to be nosy but I think your friend isn’t coming.”

You nodded, grimacing. “Tell me about it.”

“The boss has been giving you the stink eye, too.”

Looking over the counter, you saw the elderly man really looking at you. He looked away when you met his eyes, muttering to himself. You knew how the owner could get, but you simply loved going there since their food is good and the service is just the same. You smiled ruefully at the woman before you. “I’ll have a sukiyaki set and warm sake, please. Thank you.”

“Would that be all?”

“Yeah.”

“Coming right up.” She flashed you a bright smile before disappearing into the back rooms.

You almost forgot the message you saw earlier, but then, your phone lit up again with that familiar tone. The new message was from the same number.

From: Unknown

How are you?

From: Unknown

I hope you’re okay.

You frowned, not having the slightest clue as to who could be texting you.

From: You

Who is this?

Your order came but there was no response from the mystery texter or Satoru. You felt pathetic looking at your phone every once in a while as you ate and drank. Normally, you wouldn’t even have given anybody, including your best friends, the time of the day, making you wait for longer than an hour without as much as a message. You don’t ever wait for people over the agreed meeting time. You hated it with passion. And you were already thinking of ways to make Satoru pay.

You were about to eat a mouthful of beef when you heard the chair across you being dragged back. Your eyes flicked to the direction, and to your utter shock, you almost dropped your chopsticks if it weren’t for the hand that reached out and held onto your hand, securing the utensils.

Once again, you were sitting on your usual spot at the bar, eyes clashing with those intense ones owned by the pink-haired guy who apparently drove a charcoal grey Jeep and reminded you of spring, the same one who drove you home the other night.

“Careful,” he said, his scent assaulting your senses.

A lump formed in your throat, making you unable to form proper words, so you settled for putting down the chopsticks. You folded your hands together on your lap, recovering from your consternation before you finally looked at him, unable to help it but grin. He looked different that day, more laid back in a white baseball cap mussing his candy-floss hair down, a loose-fitting shirt in the same hue and jeans. He looked so fresh, you felt the air around you cool down considerably.

“How did you…” you hesitated and shook you head. “Hello.”

He broke into that crooked smile. “Crazy how the moment you sent the message, I saw you through the glass walls while I drove past.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it again, not quite knowing how to react to it when suddenly, the first part of his statement registered in your mind. “Wait, message?” You picked up your phone, showing him the messages. “This is you?”

He nodded slowly. “Looks like you’re doing great.” He regarded the bottle of sake on the table. “I had to get your number to check up on you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Y-yeah, I mean, no, not at all. Thank you by the way.” You chuckled, saving his number and naming him Spring God in your contacts. “I wasn’t really expecting you to bring me home.”

“I got your address from your driving license.” He grinned then. “I thought of taking you back to my place, but I didn’t know how that would sit with you.”

Who says chivalry was dead? “I’m sorry for acting crazy, if I did anyway." You chuckled. "I don't remember…and for having to bring me all the way to the house.”

“It’s fine. It was lovely meeting Satoru.”

At that, your face flushed red. You winced. “I’m sorry for whatever he did while I was out of it.” He could be crazy at times, and you wouldn't be surprised if he did something untoward.

He shook his head, letting out a slight chuckle. “He was very nice to me, don’t worry.” He furrowed his brows then. “I also got your name. Y/N. I don’t know if you forgot to tell me or you just didn’t trust me enough, but I’d like to think it’s the former since you didn’t seem to think twice about getting wasted with me like you did.”

You deliberately didn’t tell him your name, but he was making it sound a little nicer. It wasn’t really something you planned on doing again, meeting him, but somehow, he found you. You shook you head, coming clean. “If you put it that way, okay, but really, I thought it was better if you didn’t know.”

“Hmm. Why is that?”

You found it endearing that he tilted his head a bit to the side when he asked the question. Your lips curled upwards at the corner. “I just never thought I’d meet you again.”

“That would be unfortunate.”

You laughed awkwardly at his remark. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

“I’m not offended.”

“Okay.”

You requested for another order of barbecue for him. He declined but you insisted. “Come on. My treat for your act of kindness.” You snickered. “Besides, my supposed date bailed.”

“Date?”

Sighing, you said, “Well, not really. Satoru. We agreed to meet here over an hour ago but he hasn’t been answering my messages or calls. Something probably came up.”

He eyed you thoughtfully. “If you don't mind me asking, is he your...?"

"My what?"

"Your boyfriend…maybe."

You chuckled at the thought, but then you realized you didn't even know his name. "I don't really tell strangers about things like that," you teased.

“Okay, but I thought we’re past being strangers.” He smirked then and you swore you felt your stomach flip.

“We’re in the getting-to-know-each-other phase,” you told him with a laugh, acceding. "Since I didn't tell you my name, I didn't expect you to tell me yours. Plus I didn't ask, so may I have yours?"

"Sukuna," he said. "Ryomen Sukuna."

"Su-ku-na," you repeated, liking the feel of the syllables as they rolled out of your tongue. Finally, the person you've gotten so fond of in just a short time had a name. You didn't know what his name meant but it seemed to match him well regardless of how arbitrary it was to his person. You couldn't think of any better name though. "I like your name. It's pretty." You smiled brightly at him then. "And no, Satoru is not my boyfriend."

Ryomen Sukuna was an absolute puzzle to you. How he could look so badass and pretty much intimidating with his strapping physique and inked skin – throw in the multiple piercings on his left ear which you were noticing or the first time – while also pulling off all these adorable little actuations was a quandary to you. Tall, solidly built men like him should not be reminding you of soft, cute things, but the moment he blinked in confusion, you knew you couldn't get enough of it.

"Nobody ever said that about my name, but thanks," he returned in that deep voice after a moment's pause. And was that a dusting of roses over his cheeks? The surprises you were getting from this man was endless. He really was such a breath of fresh air, so far from the usual stereotypes.

Your face seemed to be perpetually pulled into a smile whenever you were around him, and you didn't think you were doing a good job suppressing the urge to be beaming like an idiot around him. "So, anyway, what made you think that blue-eyed idiot is my boyfriend?" you asked, changing the topic.

"Well, he was a bit hostile at first when he took you from me, making me explain things but then started apologizing after. He told me you could be a handful when inebriated..." He let his voice trail off as if letting you chew on his words.

"You agree with him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." Sukuna pretended to frown. "He also calls you 'his princess'."

You threw your head back, covering your eyes momentarily in embarrassment. "Now I wish you met Ieiri and Suguru instead," proceeding to explain that the nickname was something akin to what a father would call his precious daughter.

"He was rather intimidating, but I guess he's just looking out for you."

"He's still not off the hook for standing me up," you quipped, "But you finding him intimidating is funny."

"Why?"

You scoffed, gesturing over to him. "I think you can snap him in two if you wished, too."

"He was scary," Sukuna insisted.

"He's harmless...most of the time, but yeah, he’s rather protective. That’s one of my dads for you."

He laughed then. "There's nothing scarier than a fiercely protective friend…or a doting father. I can't muscle my way out of that for sure."

"Ah, then you'll find Ieiri scarier."

The night pretty much went well and ended on a good note. Sukuna did most of the talking for the rest of the night. You learned he was six years older than you at twenty nine, one of the head architects at the firm he worked for, has a love-hate relationship with his job cause he wants to draw portraits instead, was a delinquent when he was younger but got away with things cause he was a straight-A student, loved dogs so much that he cries when they die in movies, was closer to his mom, got his tattoos on a sudden whim, and was pretty much a sweet, charming genuine person which contrasted his appearance. What you see isn't what you get. That just isn't how it worked with him.

You loved it when he talked. It was rather entertaining as he had a way of telling stories which made you feel like you were actually there when it happened. Eventually, you forgot the reason why you were at the restaurant in the first place. It was as if you went there for the purpose of meeting Sukuna himself. Satoru was all but forgotten as you dissolved into carefree laughter and playful banters, and you felt at ease and more like yourself around him, pretty much like when you were with your three favorite people in the world.

“It’s not really that funny,” Sukuna told you, watching you laugh heartily at that one episode in his freshmen year when he made a mistake of going on a date with the wrong girl who happened to have the same name as his supposed date. You continued to laugh as if he didn’t say anything.

“It’s just crazy that both of them were there at the same time. I mean, what were the odds?”

He parked by the sidewalk in front of your house, killing the engine. “That’s the reason why I have never agreed to a single blind date ever again.” He pulled the key out of the ignition, glancing at the direction of your house. “We’re here.”

Your laughter died down when you followed the direction of his gaze. The lights were off except for the one lighting up the porch of the house you shared with your friends. You returned your gaze to him then. “Thanks for driving me home. Again.”

“I enjoyed your company. It’s the least I can do.”

You smiled warmly at him, reaching over to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek when he suddenly turned his head a fraction towards you. That minute change made your lips end up against his instead. He was surprised at first and remained immobile against you, but when you pulled away, he chased you back, connecting your mouths, his lips feeling soft and warm yet emitting that air of dominance as it coaxed yours to move in sync with his. You were kissing him back in no time, but you immediately caught yourself and withdrew, utterly flustered.

Your heart thudded heavily as he held you in his intense gaze, his tongue slowly running over his lower lip, making you even more mentally incapacitated. It made you want to just pull him back to you and covet those lips with yours again. You snapped out of it though. You already knew he was capable of hot-wiring and hijacking your brain.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you told him when you were able to form words again.

Sukuna looked at you from under his lashes, smiling slightly. “I’m not.”

Taken aback, you chuckled nervously. “No?”

He shook his head, reached over and ruffled your hair a bit. “Go inside. It’s late.” You nodded and disembarked from the car while he leaned on the steering wheel, watching you. You were already on the pavement, about to close the door, when he spoke again. “Can I come see you again?”

“Sure,” you said without thinking. “Good night, Sukuna.” Man, you just loved saying his name.

“Bye, Y/N. Good night.”

He drove away while you made your way towards your doorstep. Your fingers flew to your lips once you were standing on your porch, smiling to yourself at the realization of having kissed him. Shaking your head, you fished for the keys from your pocket and entered the house, not quite remembering how you got to your room, but you slept that night with pleasant dreams of running your fingers through pink locks of hair.

***

"I'm really sorry. Something came up and my phone died."

You acceded. It wasn’t as if Satoru did something so big. You went to the outdoor kiosks near the parking lot by the football grounds to catch up on some reading while Satoru ate and told you bits of his past few days, since he got held up at their family estate. Having such a traditional, high-ranking family in the country sure had its downsides, and you weren't about to make him even more agitated than he already was. He had it difficult, you knew that, and you weren’t about to be petty over him not coming to your supposed bonding time. He may be happy-go-lucky but you felt tension simmering just under the surface when you squeezed his hand in assurance.

Suguru and Ieiri followed shortly after Satoru fetched you from class, also surprised to see him there. "So, you finally decided to show up," the former said.

"Don't ask," Satoru said.

"Wasn't planning to," Suguru scoffed, his attention shifting to you. “What are you working on anyway?” he asked, flipping the file you were reading haphazardly to peer through the contents.

“I’m making an analysis report on ‘The Romantic Manifesto’.” you answered, looking up from the notes you were writing when your eyes suddenly strayed over his shoulder. You almost did a double-take, glancing at Suguru before returning your line of vision at the spot beyond where he sat.

“It’s due…” your voice trailed off when you realized just what, or rather who, you were looking at. You weren’t so sure whether what you were seeing was real or a mirage, a very familiar, specific and detailed one, but then, you figured it was the former when the person smirked and cocked his head to the side, beckoning you over to where he leaned against his grey Jeep as he raised a cup of what looked like cherry blossom tea.

Suguru arched a brow at you, looking behind him but not really noticing the object of your distraction. “Hey, you okay?”

Ieiri followed the direction of your gaze and nudged you when she saw who you were looking at. "Is that your Howard? Damn, girl. He’s sizzling."

You nodded, but at that same moment, you rose from the table without any explanation, your feet immediately leading you towards the outdoor carpark. When you were within earshot, you said, “What are you doing here?”

You stopped a few feet from him, glancing behind you to where the others had already turned their heads to follow the path you took, flashing you shit-eating grins. It wouldn’t surprise you anymore if they had pieced together who the person was before you. They claimed to be your ‘parents’ but acted like children at times.

“I brought you tea.” Sukuna walked towards you, standing so close that you forgot how to breathe for a few seconds as you inhaled his scent and took in his appearance, looking immaculate in a plain white shirt and faded jeans, but your brain only seemed to register those lips and the memory of how they felt against yours.

You shook your head, snapping out of your trance, mentally cursing at yourself. “Hi.” You exhaled loudly, trying hard not to smile like an idiot while you absently twirled your hair on your finger, suddenly seeing the world through a pinkish filter. "How do you keep finding me?"

Sukuna's smile dropped. “Did I come at an inconvenient time?” he asked gently, trying hard not to sound miffed, but he obviously was taken aback by your words.

“No.” You shook your head, placing a hand over your forehead. You finally smiled at him, letting out a choked snicker. “No, Sukuna. It’s good to see you. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see you here. And you didn't really tell me you were coming.”

He grinned at you then but he still appeared unsure, placing a hand behind his neck. “Right.”

You flashed him a helpless look. “Please don’t look at me like that. I’m just really surprised.”

“Hmm." He moved closer to you, wrapping your hand around the transparent disposable cup. His proximity was affecting you in ways you couldn't admit out loud. "Are you happy to see me, too?"

"Too? So, you're happy to see me?"

"Always."

That's it. You're done for. Trying to avoid his intense gaze and escaping his scrutiny, you glanced over your shoulder to find everyone on your table observing you blatantly. Satoru raised a thumb at you while Ieiri was giggling with Suguru.

"Are those your friends?" Sukuna commented, his minty breath fanning against the side of your face which made you turn a little too quickly to face him again only to be confronted by his face leaning towards yours, mere centimeters away.

“Y-yeah.” You leaned a bit backwards but he moved forward. “That they are.” You stepped backwards again, nearly faltering on your feet, but you immediately gained your balance when he grabbed you by the arm, steadying you.

"Are you alright?" Sukuna asked, looking at you with concern written all over his face which morphed into wonder when you said, "Yeah, you're just overwhelming."

"Huh?"

"I can't think properly when I'm around you," you stated casually, your expressions not giving anything away as per usual. You arched a brow at him when he did the same. "You hot-wire my brain."

"I know what you mean." He smirked despite his confusion. "Is that good or bad?"

You eyed him thoughtfully, biting on your lower lip. "Good for you, bad for me. You can probably tell me to eat dirt and I'd do it in a heartbeat."

He chuckled, looking at you tenderly. "You're too honest."

"To a fault," you agreed, "Suguru tells me all the time. Wanna meet them?"

He ruffled your hair. "Sure."

***

While you weren't exactly expecting to see Sukuna again after the night you met, he became of constant presence around you. You have gone out with him several times over the course of two months. He was a busy person and you also had your priorities, but he always makes you feel special whenever you two would be out and about, behaving like such a gentleman opening and closing doors for you, naturally shifting closer to traffic while you walked, bringing an extra jacket in case you felt cold or a larger umbrella so you don't get wet, bringing you your favorite tea whenever he could.

He picked you up from school for lunch twice, making the most of the hour, and one time, you brought him lunch at work when he suddenly canceled on you, saying he was swamped with work. He sounded really upset so you decided to go to him instead. You brought Suguru with you as a buffer, but Sukuna's colleagues still teased him. He was different in the office – gruff and strict which fitted him more – but he still beamed at you happily when you brought him food, not caring who saw.

Apart from the brief phone calls, you two never really texted. It wasn't really your thing and he didn't like it either, so it could go days on end without you saying anything to each other, but when you do get a chance to speak, it would always be like picking up on where you've left off. He has only ever sent you two messages. One to remind you to take good care of yourself because he was going to be away for a while and another one a week later asking if you wanted to go out with him that coming Friday night.

"Your timing's off," you told him over the phone. You really wanted to say yes, but, "Ieiri, the boys and I are going out that night. Gang tradition."

"Some other time then?"

"Sure."

You hung up after a few more exchanges of words, getting started on reading some notes when Ieiri entered the kitchen. "Was that Howard?"

"Yeah. He's inviting me to go out on Friday, but I already said yes to clubbing with you guys."

She grinned cheekily, wrapping an arm around you as she poked you on the cheek. At times, it feels like Satoru was rubbing off on her. "Are you sure you don't want to ditch us for the hot architect?"

"Hot architect –" You snickered. "Did you just say that?"

"I was supposed to say 'sugar daddy,' literally and figuratively. Sugar and his cotton candy hair. Get it?"

You narrowed your eyes at her, shaking your head. It was supposed to be amusing, but when Ieiri says it, it just sounds weird. "Can I read in peace now?"

She left you alone, but laughed at your expense.

Friday couldn't have rolled around fast enough and you headed out with your friends at the club owned by a friend of yours, prepared to party in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, a crop top and your hair hanging about in wavy layers. You were already expecting the place to be cramped as hell given the day of the week so much so that Suguru had to hold onto you tightly so as not to lose you when you entered until you found the area you had reserved for the night. It was for good measure too since the place was drenched in purple, blue and green laser lights which were disorienting at first. And so, your night began as such.

You were in the middle of dancing, only pausing when you had to down your nth shot for the night when your eyes suddenly strayed to the bar area at the elevated part of the club adjacent to the the leather seats. You looked away but returned your gaze towards said direction when you realized this very familiar guy was looking at you. He was watching you as you danced and let loose, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You craned your neck, looking back and thinking the guy looked a lot like Sukuna, but then he couldn’t be. He was engaged elsewhere, still you continued to ogle him until you were pretty sure it wasn’t the same person. But the longer you looked, the more it was being proven to you that it was him.

That lopsided smile drew itself across his lips, seeing as how you were doubting yourself about his identity. There was no mistaking that look on his face, the way his dark eyes seemed to sparkle whenever he smiled even if the action didn't belong there.

“Sukuna?” you mouthed his name and he nodded, motioning for you to come over with his head. It had been a solid ten days since you last saw him, and for some reason, your heart raced at the thought of seeing him there.

Without saying a word to the people you were with, you squeezed yourself through the crowd, your feet carrying to the upstairs bar, to Sukuna. It took you a while to traverse the space between you, and when you finally stood before him, all you could do was smile up at him, taking in the soft look about him as he regarded you which were at odds to those fiery eyes that had the capability to turn into bright orbs of light when he beamed down at you.

“Hello, Y/N. Once again, fate has brought you to me,” he said rather dramatically, a smirk drawing itself across his pretty mouth.

Laughter escaped your throat, unable to say anything when you realized that you actually missed him, missed looking at him. Unable to help it, you stood on your toes and reached out to touch his hair, the action surprising the both of you. He eyed you, his expressions that of a half-smile and a look of confusion while you retracted your hands as quickly as you felt his soft locks with your fingertips, wincing at the realization of what you were doing.

At that, he laughed heartily, stealing your hand and pressing it over the side of his head. “Go ahead. I don’t mind you touching me,” he told you, staring into your eyes that you felt like all the air in the room was gone.

You blinked at him, processing what he said and joined in his mirth. “You're here!” You shook your head when it dawned to you that you were stating the obvious. “I’m sorry. How are you, Sukuna?”

“Pink?” he offered and chuckled at his own joke which made your face heat up. “Kidding. I’m great. I missed you these past days. How are you?”

“You did?” You felt your insides melting at his statement, made worse when he nodded to confirm it. “I’m fine. Great. Where have you disappeared to anyway?”

He snickered a your question. “Madrid.”

Your jaw dropped. “As in Spain?”

He nodded. “Had to do something there.”

“Uh-huh.” His words were rather obscure, but you didn’t want to encroach on his private life.

“What are the odds that we’re at the same club?”

“The owner is a friend,” you answered, smiling awkwardly as you glanced at the direction of your friends on the dance floor. You saw all of them looking at you. Suguru winked at you, giving you the thumbs up, making you laugh at his silliness.

“The gang’s all here, I see.”

“What?” You faced Sukuna, finding him leaning close beside you against the metal balustrade. Just then, a waiter passed by holding a whole tray of shots, and before you could duck, he grabbed you by the waist so that you were leaning against him with no quantifiable space between your bodies. Your eyes widened in shock and you froze, your thoughts clouded by the familiar smell of rain in a bamboo forest during Maytime. “T-thanks…”

He hummed in response to your gratitude, but he didn’t let you go. “I didn’t know you enjoyed places like this, too.”

“Why is that?” you asked, feigning ignorance to how close you two were.

"I never pinned you for the party animal type. I kinda developed a fondness for that quiet, nerdy girl sitting at the corner of the pub."

"Not exactly. I prefer Maki's place to be honest but coming here once in a while doesn't hurt. Especially with those three." You frowned slightly at him then as you thought of something. “So, why didn’t you approach me?” You motioned towards the dancefloor. “I'm sure the three-headed monster won't mind if you joined us. You alone?”

“Yes, sweetheart, but aren't you supposed to be hanging out with them?" You grabbed his arm before he could refuse you and started leading him towards where the others were.

However, he had other plans in mind. Again, he hooked an arm around your waist until your back was leaning against him. You eyed him sideways, startled by his actions, but unable to counteract it anyway as you’re just stunned speechless all the while. “You can go back to them, Y/N, but I don’t think I should go with you.”

You turned around, gently easing away from his hold. “Why not? They already know you, and they like you.”

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a party pooper.” He leaned towards you, tilting his head to the side while his lower lip slightly jutted out.

"What are you talking about?” You rolled your eyes at him then snickered.

He eyed you seriously then. “Just in case this is a friends-only affair?”

“Satoru already ruined that by bringing his girls into the mix.” You laughed at him when you saw him hesitate. “Come on, Sukuna. Join us. For me?” You showed him your best impression of puppy-dog eyes. “Pretty please?”

When you saw that he wasn’t budging, you changed your argument. “Fine. Dance with me then.” You didn’t give him any time to contradict you as you took him by the hand and dragged him to the dancefloor.

He was just standing still, looking uncomfortable as you started to groove to the beat, so you took his arms and started moving them until he was moving on his own, finally breaking into that smile. He looked too awkward that you wanted to laugh but decided against it, simply raising your hands and feeling the music.

“Aren’t you having fun?” you asked him as you were bobbing your head to the bass.

“I am!” he answered above the music.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun. Are you shy?” You chuckled openly at that.

“No.”

“You don’t dance?”

“I can dance.”

You giggled. “Then show me what you’ve got!”

Without a warning, he started moving in sync with you, taking your hands in his and finally letting loose in such a graceful manner as you both got into the beat and started waving and swaying against one another, his hands slowly running at your sides in sensual rhythms that got you reeling in excitement. You almost forgot that you were with other people as you danced with him. It was fun and it felt good to be that carefree, not minding your friends, drinks flowing in nonstop.

Soon, the group you’ve left joined you and Sukuna. They all greeted him excitedly while the boys exchanged high-fives with him as they were dancing. Satoru and the two girls who were with him also joined in and somewhere along that, Suguru offered everyone cigarettes, and you gladly took one when you saw Sukuna taking one as well. You didn’t really smoke on a regular basis but you didn’t exactly shy away from the so-called cancer sticks.

After taking another shot, you pulled Sukuna out of the dancefloor, hollering at the others as you raised your cigarette, signaling where you were going in case they wanted to come with. You made your way to the smoking area at the veranda situated at the back of the building with the older male in tow. You were pretty much buzzed, calming down from the high you had while dancing, grinning wide as the cool night air met you, making your lungs expand as you breathed in.

Sukuna watched you as he took his place against the banister, following him shortly as you produced a lighter from your pocket, something that you always carried just in case.

“You smoke?” he asked, toying with his own battered stick, twirling it around his long fingers.

“Sometimes,” you admitted, watching his reaction. “And you?”

“Not really.”

“You took one anyway.” You wedged the item in question between your lips and raised the lighter, but before you could light it, it was pulled out from your mouth and the next thing you knew, Sukuna was kissing you, his lips pressed against yours as he pulled you closer by the hips which he seemed to have a fixation for since you came up to him. It was a soft yet urgent kiss that cajoled you to respond, and not long after, your lips were submissive clouds moving to the will of the wind that was his luscious mouth.

Like the first time you felt his lips against yours, electricity ran through your body as if he was touching you elsewhere apart from your mouth. It was driving you off the edge of sanity, and you knew you’d probably jump off a cliff for the male. He grinned at your dazed state when your eyes met after he finally pulled away, showing you the cigarette that was supposed to be between your lips before he unceremoniously laid claim to them.

“You’re going to ruin your lips by smoking. I’m keeping this,” he told you.

You were too mesmerized with the tingling feeling in your mouth while your eyes stayed glued to his as you blinked slowly, your mind and heart racing at a thousand miles per second. “W-why would you do that?” you stammered, feeling your throat go so dry that you had to drag the words out.

“Apart from the fact that it’s terribly unhealthy, it ruins your sense of smell and taste.” He waved the cigarette in front of you before shoving it into the pocket of his jeans. “Scientific fact.”

You couldn’t quite process what he was saying. You were asking why he kissed you, but he misunderstood. “Are you going to taser me with your lips every single time I’m about to smoke?”

“Taser…” He chuckled and narrowed his eyes at you. “I might just if it means these dangerous things don’t touch your pretty mouth.”

“What the –” You didn’t know if you would be scandalized by what he said or if you were going to laugh. The latter won and you tittered. “That’s a good one.”

“I mean it, Y/N.”

Boldness engulfed your whole thought process as you stepped closer to him, looking straight into his eyes. “And if I insist on it? Placing dangerous things in my pretty mouth? What are you going to do then?”

He, too, leaned forward, eyes flicking to your lips. “Then I guess I just have to keep your mouth too busy to even think about smoking again,” he whispered to you, his breath hitting your lips.

You smirked at him then. “I guess I just have to make sure you aren’t around if I do feel like smoking.”

He pouted. You burst out laughing.

You reached over and pinched both of his cheeks. “You’re so adorable.”

Sukuna swatted your hands away, but smiled nonetheless. "You're the only one who says I'm adorable."

"You are. You just don't know it."

“Okay then. If you say so.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear then, your skin tingling where he touched you. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Not really.”

“Good. I wanna do something for you.”

You eyed him questioningly. “Hmm. What?”

“That’s a surprise.”

It was already around two in the morning when everyone had the unanimous decision to leave the club which was still packed. You, too, were getting tired especially after Ieiri ended up hammered and Satoru was emptying his guts through his mouth. Suguru was a bit drunk, too, but he was trying his best to help you take care of them. Sukuna had been very nice all night, even helping you load Satoru and Ieiri into the backseat of Suguru’s car.

“Would you like me to drive you home?” he asked you after shutting the door to the backseat.

“No, I’m gonna be fine. Besides, I can’t just leave Suguru to deal with them both.” You motioned to his Jeep. “You should go ahead, too.”

Sukuna grimaced as he nodded. “I guess that would be for the best. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. You take good care now.”

“You, too, sweetheart.” He stepped forward and pulled you against him, hugging you, enveloping you in his warmth and that scent you loved profusely. “It’s really great seeing you tonight.”

You returned the gesture, smiling up at him as you tried to compose yourself. “It’s great seeing you, too.” You stood on your toes and pecked him on the cheek before giving him a gentle shove towards the car. “See you, Sukuna.”

He waved at you then boarded the car. You watched as it disappeared down the street before turning away to enter the club to get Suguru who was left to settle the bills. You found him seated on one of the couches, finding your way easily since the crowd thinned a bit.

“You okay, dude?” you asked when you reached him. He was pale and he looked like he was going to throw up anytime. “Do you need to go to the restroom?”

He shook his head. “Just get me out of here.”

You chuckled, leading him faster out of the club. You sat him down on passenger side and soothed his back, asking after him again as you started the engine. He said he was fine, laughing when he caught a glimpse of the two who were already passed out on the backseat with Satoru lying on Ieiri’s lap while her head was lolling limply to the side.

The drive was rather short without much cars on the road, but Suguru was still able to squeeze in a conversation, and of all the topics he could broach, it had to be about Sukuna.

“I thought Sukuna will be driving you home,” he began, glancing at you.

“He offered, but I can’t just leave you.”

“That would have been okay.” He glanced at the rearview mirror then, checking on the two, you could only guess. He could be such a mother hen at times. “I think he’s cool.”

“Mhmm.”

“And he’s really good-looking,” Suguru threw in with a chuckle. “Just date already.”

You chuckled. “Why don’t you date him instead?”

“Don’t you want to try it out with him?”

“He hasn’t even asked me to date him.”

“Yeah, but he already kissed you –”

“How did you know about that?” you demanded, mortified. Your cheeks were heating up again at the memory of it.

“Well, you’re in a public place.” He laughed. “So, it’s bound to end in dating anyway.”

“Not necessarily.” You turned sideways to look at him. “He’s older after all, not that I see the age gap as a problem. But you know, he might just be passing time.”

“He obviously likes you. If you date him, it’s a win-win situation. You like him, too, you just don’t know it.”

You scoffed. “How can you say that?”

He blew a raspberry. Typical Suguru behavior. “You can be yourself around him. You’re all smiley face around him, too. I saw you. You can’t lie to me.”

“Really now?”

“Yeah. You look your best that way. And don’t ever think you are just a pastime. I’ll kill him if he treats you as such.” He smiled knowingly at you. “Besides, you should date properly. Enough with your flings with stupid boys in campus.”

“Okay, dad.” You sighed, trying to contain your excitement. “I do like him though. He’s so nice to me.”

Suguru reached over patting you on the shoulder. “Ah! My daughter is a grown-woman.”

You swatted at his hand, laughing at his antics.

-end of part 1-

If you're curious who Howard Roark is, he's one of my fave literary characters from Ayn Rand's "The Fountainhead." He's excellently made. That's it.

Can architect!sukuna please call me "sweetheart," too?

If you want to be included in the tag list, please DM me :) I'll be posting every week (or I'll try to anyway). Someone remind me to post the next chapters please?

Additional notes are available in the masterlist, particularly on the reasons why I wrote some things the way I did. I don't know what I'm trying to prove there, but haha!

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART SOURCES FULLY CREDITED TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

347 notes · View notes

phykios · 3 years ago

Text

this one is dedicated to mi amor mari @perseannabeth, who is a beautiful bird and a wonderful friend and i am v v vvvvv grateful to have crossed the airwaves with her :”)

Today Was A Fairytale [read on ao3] T, modern royalty, fun at disneyland!

She stares at him.

He stares back. “What?”

“Really?”

“What?”

“You really think this is going to be enough?” Annabeth points at her head, the blue Yankees cap squishing her curls.

“Of course! It’s the Clark Kent effect.” As if to underline his point, Percy slips on his fake hipster glasses, except that stupid grin of his is too bright not to draw attention.

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Sure it is. Studies show that glasses are actually good enough to alter your appearance if someone doesn’t know you well.”

“Then why didn’t you bring a pair of glasses for me?”

“Because your hair is definitely the prettiest thing about you,” he says, automatically tugging an unruly curl which peeks out from under the brim, a gesture so practiced she almost doesn’t register it--until he blinks, dropping his hand, blushing lightly. “I mean--the most noticeable thing. You know. A hat should be fine.”

He looks away. Heat rises to her face, too. Because it’s so hot out, obviously.

“Anyway,” he mumbles, “um. No--no one’s going to give you a second look if your hair is hidden.”

Chewing her lip, Annabeth can’t help but worry. Percy’s face is extremely well-known, possibly more than hers, and they’ve both spent the better part of three weeks with their faces plastered all over the media on their diplomatic trip. This is probably a really, really bad idea. Then, a thought occurs to her. “How about,” she says, perking up, “you give me your glasses, and I’ll give you mine.” From her backpack, she fishes out a pair of sunglasses, big and nondescript. He’ll practically be wearing a superhero mask with these.

Percy smiles again, and Annabeth thinks she might fly. “Perfect.”

Which is how Her Royal Highness Anna Elisabeth Ingrid Irene of Sweden and His Serene Highness Perseus Alexandros Ioannis of Thera play hooky from their day of boring meetings, insufferable dignitaries, and stuffy security guards, to go see the eighth wonder of the world: Disneyland Resort in California.

And how Annabeth eats her words as they make it past the security gate unchecked. “Eh?” He beams, nudging her with his elbow. “Eh?”

Rolling her eyes, she shoves him back. “Shut up.”

***

[description: a tiktok video which depicts a line at Disneyland. the op, a black girl with braids, covers her mouth and looking into the camera, turning the camera to focus on the two people behind her. one is a tall boy with black hair and sunglasses, and the other is a blonde girl with a yankees hat and glasses. both are white. video text reads: “p sure the people behind me are prince percy and princess annabeth??? um?????”. background audio is a dubstep remix of the fight theme from undertale. end ID]

***

Maybe it’s a little weird, on account of her being actual royalty and all, but Annabeth has always been interested in princesses, both as a matter of historical record (history is awesome) and in the general sense. Like millions of other people, she, too, was raised on Disney movies and tales of princesses and true love, and she was just as captivated as the rest of them. She and Percy used to watch the Disney catalogue whenever their families held state visits for each other, staying up into the small hours of the morning, sharing some popcorn and singing along.

Luckily for Annabeth, her favorite princess is holding a meet and greet at the Royal Hall.

“Excuse me,” Percy says, approaching Princess Ariel. Well, her cast member, anyway. “Could I get a photo for my friend?”

“Of course!” she trills, her blue eyes sparkling. “It would be my pleasure.” Holding her hand out, perfectly poised and graceful in a way that would impress even Annabeth’s stodgy etiquette instructor, she smiles, warm and welcoming, pivoting to bring Annabeth in for one of those weird, semi-awkward half-hugs. “What’s your name?”

“Anna,” says Annabeth. Hey, it’s not untrue. She’s a little leery of using any of her names, but Anna is common enough. Annabeth? Not so much. Even with her glasses and hat disguise, a little paranoia is justified, she thinks.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Anna,” she says, cheerful, with all the grace and charm of someone who doesn’t spend hours saying the same thing over and over again to excitable, temperamental children. What a trooper, she thinks.

“Don’t you recognize a fellow princess when you see one, your highness?” Percy says, grinning that stupid, smarmy grin of his.

Annabeth glares. Oh, he thinks he’s so damn clever.

“Oh, of course,” says Ariel, smoothly. “How could I have thought otherwise? Your highness.” And she curtsies to Annabeth, a short dip, her hand placed delicately against her chest. “Perhaps I can introduce you to my friend Anna, princess of Arendelle?”

Still smirking, Percy takes some more pictures, trapping Annabeth into smiling for the camera. She can’t be glaring daggers in her pictures, nor can there be video evidence of her kicking him--no matter how much she wants to.

And she definitely doesn’t miss the way Ariel not-so-subtly checks Percy out, eyeing him up and down.

“You fucking asshole,” she hisses as they leave the photo area, swatting him lightly, and he giggles.

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Ugh, I hate you so much.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him, though she definitely tries as they enter back out into the park proper, giving him just the barest hint of a cold shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Percy says. “I was just teasing.”

“You shouldn’t go around tempting fate like that,” Annabeth says. “Do you want to cause another international incident?”

Percy winces, no doubt remembering the Gateway Arch incident of 2008.

“If someone recognizes us, we don’t have Zoe or any of her team to protect us,” Annabeth goes on. “Not that I think anyone here would try to hurt us, but…” But it’s a little nerve-wracking, being on her own like this. She hasn’t been alone like this for a really long time.

Wincing, Percy rubs the back of his head. “I guess I forgot you’re a little higher profile than me. Sorry.”

She doesn’t like to think about it, but it’s true. Percy, by his nature as the younger son of a largely defunct royal house, doesn’t have quite the same number of… issues… that someone like Annabeth might have.

Deflating, she uncrosses her arms. “It’s okay.”

“I should have asked you first.”

“It’s really okay,” she says. “No harm no foul.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, entirely serious. “I can call someone up.”

She knows just how long they’ve planned this, how many favors he’s called in and policies he’s sidestepped. Backing out now would just be a waste of a day. She shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’m just… feeling a little exposed, I guess. But, I don’t want to ruin all our plans. Let’s keep going.” She grabs his hand, squeezing a little.

“...Okay,” Percy says. “But say the word, and we’ll call it a day. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Like he doesn’t have any other expression today, he smiles at her again.

It hits her, suddenly. He’s so much taller than she remembers. Once upon a time she used to be taller than him; now, he’s basically a whole head above her.

It’s annoying. But also… not.

Spying something over her shoulder, his eyes light up, and he practically gasps. “Cinderella!” he points with his free hand, like a five-year old. “Come on!” And he takes off to one of the park corners, dragging Annabeth along with him.

He has to wait in line behind a pair of twin girls, six or seven years old by the looks of it, in identical Cinderella dresses for a photo, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and when it’s finally his turn, he nearly trips over himself to go up and ask for a photo.

Cinderella agrees, and now Annabeth is relegated to the job of cameraperson. Percy slides in next to the princess, his hand on her waist, but, ever the respectful gentleman, loosely held, so the cast member can slide out of his grasp without any difficulty at all.

Taking a few shots, it does look kind of strange to have Cinderella’s beautiful, shining face, and Percy’s enormous sunglasses blocking his. “Take off your glasses?” she says, lowering her phone for a second.

Dutifully, Percy slips them off, smiling again for the camera.

Cinderella’s smile doesn’t falter, a credit to her professionalism, but Annabeth can see her eyes widen, just a touch.

Annabeth snaps off a few more photos, “Got ‘em!” and Percy once again gushes over the princess, thanking her for her time. Grabbing Annabeth’s hand again, he practically skips off, leading them in the direction of a nearby candy shop.

***

me: IM SHAKING GUESS WHO I JUST TOOK A PICTURE WITH????

sis: prince percy?

me: HOW TF DID YOU KNOW

sis: its on twitter already

***

They’re walking along, Annabeth slurping up a Dole whip, when she suddenly stops in her tracks, outside of one of the many, many gift shops. “Wait up a second.”

“Hm?” Percy says, around the giant lollipop in his mouth.

“I want to get some Mickey ears.”

Very quickly they get lost in the sea of Disney merchandise, walking the labyrinth of Star Wars and Marvel and Pixar goods. There’s a surprising amount of black for the so-called happiest place on Earth, but things do brighten up when Annabeth finally turns a corner and finds the enormous selection of Mickey ears. It’s a wash of sparkles, flowers, bows, and occasionally characters, for children and adults alike. Annabeth eyes a pair designed like Baby Yoda, eyes wide and ears adorably huge, before she fingers a pair of white Mickey ears that have a bridal veil attached to them, contemplating its counterpart, the black ears for the groom, each ear emblazoned with a sparkling silver “Happily Ever After.”

She looks around. Where did Percy wander off to, anyway?

Well, wherever he is, hopefully he hasn’t gotten mobbed by a horde of excitable fangirls. Given that she can’t hear any screaming--well, any unusual, non-Disneyland-relevant screaming--that’s probably a good sign.

Running her fingers over the ear selections, she finally picks out a pair of silver sequined earrings with a shiny gold bow, a tiny, rhinestone Cinderella’s castle placed delicately in the middle.

Yeah. This one.

Percy finds her as she is paying for her ears, a pair of his own already on his head, red balloons inside of plastic circles. The sunglasses, she notes with a tinge of nervousness, are tucked in his shirt, and not on his face, protecting his identity. “Oh, check mine out--they light up!” he says, giddy, pressing the button on the side, not that she can tell in the brightly lit shop.

“That’s not why I was looking.”

Walking out of the store, ears firmly in her possession, she looks around again. Percy’s face is out there for the world to see, and no one is giving them a hard time.

And her hat is really sweaty.

Ah, fuck it.

She removes the Yankees cap, shaking out her sweaty curls, sliding the ears on in its place.

And the glasses, for good measure.

“Cinderella?” Percy asks.

“I thought you’d approve.”

Outside the shop, next to a corn dog cart, Percy pulls her aside, out of the way of a whole classroom’s worth of children, holding up a plastic plag. “So, confession.”

“Percy…” He didn’t. “We said no gifts!” They had agreed to it that morning!

“Well, see,” he says, fumbling around in the bag, pulling out a black t-shirt. “I saw this, and I thought--I thought you might like it.”

He unfolds it, and Annabeth frowns at the shirt design.

It’s… a drawing of a man in a purple mask against a solid black background, glaring at the viewer. Circling him, in distressed, white-grey military font, are the words “BARON ZEMO,” and the logo for the show he must star in, Marvel’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. She doesn’t really watch superhero shows, though, and she’s pretty sure Percy doesn’t, either. Maybe he’s started this one and he really likes it? “Thanks,” she says, confusion coloring her voice despite her best efforts.

But he doesn’t look too disappointed. “I was looking through their pride merch, and they didn’t have any stuff with the ace flag, which totally sucks, but then I thought that maybe you might like something a little more subtle? So, yeah.” He shakes it. “Ace pride!”

Oh. Oh, this boy.

She remembers, so vividly, visiting his father’s summer home on Kalymnos, a few years ago, the summer she turned nineteen, waking up to a banging in the kitchen, noisy pots and pans making a real racket. Granted, it had been one in the afternoon, and Annabeth probably should have been awake sooner, but she had stumbled out of the guest room into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, to the sight of Percy wrestling with the standmixer, making bright, neon purple frosting. The night before, sometime around three or four AM, that weird, liminal hour where the shadow of night just starts to recede, the sky a sweet, soft, dusky blue, she had come out as demisexual to her best friend, saying the words aloud for the first time ever. Loopy from lack of sleep, the moment had passed without much fanfare.

But Percy, dark-circled and still yawning, had woken up early to make her a chocolate cake. By the time she had woken up, he had baked the cake, chilled it, and made two out of the three frosting colors, a beautiful, moist, dark chocolate cake which ended up being frosted with a marbled mix of purple, black, and white, all folding into each other into a kind of colorless, grey sugar.

Here, now, in Disneyland, she throws herself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck. His arms automatically come up to circle her, hugging her tight.

She had been worried it had been some kind of defense mechanism. A young girl with an alarmingly high profile, Annabeth had been the subject of intense scrutiny with regards to any romantic entanglements, with critics, tabloid reporters, and fans alike attempting to invent gossip-worthy relationships with every boy she ever talked to--most usually Percy. They did grow up in the public eye together, attending all kinds of events and functions together over the last fifteen or so years. And they did tweet at each other. Like, a lot. They even had their own portmanteau hashtag. But no relationship ever materialized.

She thought maybe she was just being stubborn, unwilling to play the media game. But it hadn’t been stubbornness. It wasn’t about shyness or inexperience. It was real, and it was her.

And Percy hadn’t even blinked.

“I love it,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, swaying her from side to side, just a little. “It was my pleasure.”

***

What’s happening: #percabeth (Entertainment • trending)

@kndrck__ STREAM CHROMATICA: um @TheraUS @SwedenRoyals i think i found your sick royals? #percabeth #disneyland

@wasabiviking: omg werent they supposed to be at some hospital opening today #percabeth

@ChampionSno brando he/him: LMAOOO NOT #PERCABETH PLAYING HOOKY LIKE IT’S ROMAN HOLIDAY

***

“Holy shit,” Percy moans, his mouth full of food. “Oh my God. Dear God in Heaven.”

Annabeth kicks his ankle under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

He swallows, eyes fluttering. “Oh my God, Annabeth. Holy shit. This is the best damn sandwich I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

“A monte cristo?”

“A deep-fried monte cristo! In sweet batter!” Taking another bite, he moans again, just this side of indecent. “Oh my God I love Americans. They are absolute culinary geniuses.”

“Better than Bistrot Chez Rémy?” They had both been to Disneyland Paris, separately, sadly, and Percy had recommended the restaurant to her with great enthusiasm for her upcoming trip. As usual, he was spot on with his food recs.

He nods, eyes closed in rapture. “By a mile.”

“You’ll have to learn to make your own when we get back home, then.”

He jolts, straightening up, cheeks full of food. Roughly, he swallows. “You’re right! I need to take notes.” And he takes out his phone, hurriedly typing down whatever scent and flavor notes he must be able to discern. “This is definitely challah…”

Plucking another piece of chicken with her fork out of her jambalaya, Annabeth lets her attention wander a little, content to watch the passengers on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride as they float on beside them, down in the artificially constructed bayou river.

Truth be told, she’s kind of tired. They’ve been walking around all day, and even with the brief reprieve of rides, her shoes really aren’t the kind that deal well with huge amounts of walking. She can already tell that she’s going to crash, and crash hard, whenever they get back to their hotel. You know, if their security detail doesn’t eviscerate them first.

When Percy had first presented his idea to her, she had agreed without hesitation. They had had a long, dense schedule of public appearances planned for their excursions to the states, and the days had begun to seriously wear them out. Together, they had worked out the kinks, coming up with contingencies, negotiating things to do, all over Discord so no one else would get wind of what they were doing. Prior to this trip, she hadn’t seen him in… probably almost a year. She knows his father had been keeping him close to home for whatever reason, and Annabeth had had a handful of official functions to deal with. Their paths just never managed to cross, up until now.

She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him.

It’s lonely, growing up in the public eye. It’s cliche, but it’s true. And while Annabeth is afforded a metric ton of various intersecting privileges, she thinks she’d probably give it up in a heartbeat. It kind of sucks being a living, breathing tourist attraction.

Growing up, she had her cousin Magnus, and a handful of other assorted children to play with, but she would never say that she had a best friend, or even a good friend, until she’d met Percy. Her mother and his father, famous for their mutual dislike, had put aside their differences to host some kind of charitable dinner for the disgustingly wealthy, and had trotted out their respective children in all their finery. Annabeth, being all of twelve years old, hadn’t really grasped the gravity of the event, and had gotten into an itty bitty little food fight with the then-unknown Prince Perseus, the result of an extramarital affair whom his father had so graciously decided to acknowledge and adopt.

After that night, they became fast friends, and she decided that, if she ever left the royal life, she’d make sure to take Percy with her. He’s one of the few things that makes her life bearable.

She thinks about it, sometimes. Renouncing her title. It wouldn’t exactly be hard. There was Magnus, just in line behind her. And it’s not like her family held any executive power anyway. They’re just fancy, historically interesting celebrities.

Would Percy give up his, she wonders?

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

He looks at her oddly over their dessert, two vanilla-bourbon creme brulees. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just tired. Long day.”

“You want to call it a night?”

She frowns. “What’s left?”

“Well, we did Space Mountain, Rise of the Resistance, Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, a few others,” he counts off his fingers, “saw the princesses, got Mickey ears, ate at Blue Bayou… I guess all that’s left is walking around the pier, if you want.”

“Sounds like you two had a full day.”

As one, they almost leap out of their seats, Annabeth choking on her spit. “Jesus, Zoe,” Percy pants, his hand over his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Oh?” says Zoe Nightshade, the head of their security detail, who had just apparently materialized out of thin air. “Funny. I could say the same about you, sir.”

Coughing, Annabeth eventually manages to get her air back. “Hey, Zoe,” she wheezes. “How was your day?”

“Eventful. Let me tell you about it in the car.”

Annabeth glances at Percy, who’s looking a little bit like a deer in headlights. Honestly, she’s surprised they even made it this far without one of their own tracking them down. Still, it looks like their game is up.

...Or is it?

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a large tour group, approaching on the horizon.

“Sure,” Annabeth says, getting up. Luckily, they’ve already paid, so they can just head out; they don’t need to wait for another big group of people to cross their paths. “Will you let us go to the bathroom, first?”

Zoe squints. She’s always been able to see through Annabeth’s bullshit. But Annabeth has her best, Percy-patented baby seal eyes on, perfectly innocent. Surely, Zoe wouldn’t deny them a physical need such as relieving themselves?

After a moment, she nods. “Make it quick, if you please.”

“Of course,” Annabeth says, looking over at Percy, hoping he gets the message. He stands up, slow and stiff, eyes darting between the two of them. “We’ll be right back.”

They wander through tables and chairs towards the bathroom, her eyes always on the tour group as it just starts to pass by. Reaching out, Annabeth grabs Percy’s hand, and with a turn that would make her track coach proud, sprints out of the restaurant, using the throng of people as cover.

She thinks she hears Zoe yelling behind them, but maybe it’s just her own laughter. “Come on!” she shrieks, breathless, as Percy’s long legs keep pace with her. “To California Adventure!”

***

darthbingus said: the monarchy are fucking parasites but percabeth is pretty cute i guess :/

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: it’s obviously a publicity thing lmao, also prince Percy is gay???

eowynning reblogged and said: he’s dating rachel dare, right? he can’t be gay

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: That was a publicity thing too obvs, and Annabeth hasn’t ever been linked to a guy. The king of thera is hardline greek orthodox, there’s no way he’d let his son come out publicly. They’re both gay and pretending to date because homophobia

lardoftheprks reblogged and said: people can be bi and ace and pan and all sorts of things you know

batgirlcock reblogged and said: can you animals leave them alone fr

***

Zoe only spots them after the ferris wheel starts moving. Sprinting over to them, they’re still a full forty feet off the ground by the time she reaches the operator. “Sorry!” she yells down to her, hands cupping her mouth. “We’ll be down in ten minutes!”

“Ananbeth!” he chokes, giggles still escaping him.

“What?” she laughs.

“We’re in enough trouble as it is!”

“Exactly,” she says, settling back on the ride. “You’ll probably be grounded for life.”

“Me?” he squawks, playfully offended. “What about you?”

She scoffs. “Please. I’ll just pin it all on you.”

Leaning back, he pouts, arms crossed. “Wow. I plan this amazing day, violate a few embassorial rules, and probably put both of our countries on a massive red alert, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I helped plan it, too.” But he does have a point. “Thank you,” she says. “I had a lot of fun today.”

He turns his head to her, a grin stretching across his face. “Me too.”

His voice is so soft, so fond. They share a look, a moment, no words between them, only the silence of a true, deep companionship. They don’t need to say anything else, because they already know what the other would say.

As one, they break away, looking back out into the California evening.

They don’t talk much as the ferris wheel climbs higher and higher. Honestly, Annabeth is kind of impressed with how well he’s handling himself--she knows heights are a bit of a weakness of his. He grabs the edges of their gondola every once in a while as it drops a few feet, knuckles white and face a little green, but he manages to keep his dinner down, even as the ferris wheel grinds to a halt, Percy and Annabeth at the top of the world. The swing back and forth a little, hot faces against the cool evening breeze.

And they stay there.

And stay there.

And… stay there.

Annabeth checks her watch. How long have they been up here?

Percy taps his feet, a little too frantic just to be ADHD.

Finally, there’s a burst of noise from below them, garbled and static. “Uh, yes, excuse me--” the voice says, amplified through a megaphone. “Yeah, um, it appears we are having some… uh, technical difficulties with the Pixar Pal-A-Round. Please remain calm, as we have our best technicians on it, and we are working on evacuating the ride in a calm and efficient manner.” Then the voice cuts out.

Annabeth glances towards Percy. He has his hands in his lap, fists clenching and unclenching, over and over again. “Uh… you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, sure,” Percy says, “just fine. Peachy keen.” He squeezes his eyes shut, slowly blowing out his breath through his mouth.

“Hey.” She reaches over, and takes one of his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. After a long day of holding hands, somehow it still manages to surprise her, how well they fit together, how her skin tingles as she rubs her thumb against his finger. “It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna be just fine. They’re going to get us off this ride, and then we’ll fly home and be grounded for life.”

“I thought,” he wheezes, “you’d blame it all on me?”

“As if you could come up with a plan as genius as hiding from our guard in It's A Small World.”

He nods, shakily. “Right. All you. Definitely not my idea. Everyone knows I’d have looped back to Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Definitely.” She squeezes his hand, scooting a little closer. “Just breathe with me a little, okay?”

They breathe together, slowly and evenly. At some point, Percy takes her hand in both of his, running his thumbs over her palm, tracing her lifelines like a map. His hands are big, and warm, and it seems to calm him down a little, so she doesn’t mind all that much.

Twilight darkens, stars twinkling against the grey, dusky sky, and still they are holding hands. Eventually, Percy relaxes, slumping against his seat.

“You good?”

He nods. He still doesn’t let go. “Yeah. Just…” he sighs, stretching his arms up, taking Annabeth’s hand with him. “Not super looking forward to the dressing down I’m going to get.”

She winces. Annabeth’s dad is a little more flexible than Percy’s when it comes to breaches of protocol. The king of Thera is somewhat famous for his paranoia. “I hope it was worth it.”

He whips his head to her, eyes wide. “Of course it was worth it!” he says, as though the opposite were even fathomable. “You kidding? This was the best day of my life.”

“Better than your sixteenth?” His father had officially acknowledged him that day. Annabeth had spotted him in a deserted hallway with his mother, the two of them fighting off a few happy tears. She knows just how special that day was for him.

“Not even close.” Squeezing her hand, he smiles again, that smile she knows almost better than her own by now. That smile she grew up with, a quiet oasis in a whirlwind of ancient tradition and modern media coverage. That smile is safety, familiarity. That smile was there to greet her when her mother chose to leave her family, when her uncle died without heirs, thrusting the position of heiress on her, whenever she had a rotten day or a bad grade or a lonely night, just on the other end of a phone, or down the hall, or in the kitchen.

Whatever happens, she knows, Percy will be her best friend. Her anchor.

Her…

She swallows. “Thank you,” she says again. “I needed this.�� A day without an agenda. A day just for them.

His eyes are dark, and soft, like the water beneath them. One hundred and fifty feet in the air in a broken ferris wheel, there’s nowhere safer she can be. “Me too.”

So she’s not really surprised at herself when she says, “I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Eyes widening, just a hair, he opens his mouth, momentarily speechless. “You--are you sure?”

She nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“Cool. Uh, me too.”

“Cool.”

Neither of them move.

“So, do--do you want to--”

Annabeth leans in, her other hand cupping his cheek, and kisses him.

His lips are soft. His mouth tastes like vanilla and bourbon. They are trapped in a metal box, one hundred and fifty feet off the ground, about to get the punishment of their lives when they get down, and it is absolutely, utterly perfect.

And when Annabeth pulls back, there are fireworks.

Quite literally.

Percy’s face glows with pink and green and purple, and a little fire in his eyes that’s all him. The pops of the fireworks, loud and brassy, and muted, completely overshadowed by the pounding of her heart in her chest.

They rest their heads against each other, breathing each other’s air, quiet and intimate, the calm before the storm that is surely coming. But that’s fine. Let it come, she thinks. She’ll be safe with Percy.

When the park technicians eventually get the ferris wheel moving again, Percy and Annabeth disembark from the gondola like nothing’s even gone wrong, waving to the crowd of people, fans, and reporters alike, who have swarmed the pier, phones and cameras held aloft in a constellation of light, before being quickly hurried away by Zoe and her crew, ushered to the end of the pier where Annabeth’s embassy’s car is waiting.

Percy doesn’t let go of her hand once.

***

KALYMNOS, GREECE--Prince Percy has arrived on the island for his family’s annual summer retreat, bringing his girlfriend, Princess Annabeth of Sweden, with him for the fifth year in a row, and the third as his official partner. Lifelong friends, the couple were most recently seen at Disneyland Tokyo, continuing something of a tradition for the two royals where they visit Disneyland parks across the globe. Our sources inside the castle are hinting that the family is planning something big this year. Could we see a proposal by the end of summer? Be sure to subscribe for more updates!

#pjo fic #percabeth #percabeth fic #my fic #au #perseannabeth #the rivalry ends here #will i ever stop writing modern royalty aus? no 💖#also look mari i even used a taylor swift song

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years ago

Text

Searching for Hidden Things (Ticci Toby X F!Reader)

Searching for Hidden Things

[Ticci Toby X F!Reader]

[Warnings: it's kinda sad? Language, blood but only slight.]

[AN: Another good one from Eris]

You are convinced that your home is haunted now more than ever. While you are not particularly ghost believer inclined, as a witch, your mind is open to these kinds of happenings but that’s not your field of study - you’re much more inclined to herbology and green witchery as opposed to medium and seership into other planes of existence. The natural, real world is what you are focused on. Not some spectre that happens to like little knickknacks that you don’t even claim ownership to.

How on earth did you end up here?

Simple. Fresh out of college and working from home, you decided to leave your stuffy city and come out to the countryside to get back into nature. It took forever to find a place that piqued your interest, but a small town smack dab in the middle of Alabama. You’re almost dead certain there’s barely five thousand people in the area. Though, you hardly stick around long enough to find out.

You only dip into town in the evenings and get the groceries that you can’t grow. Let’s just say you really enjoy living off the land and that practice helps you further your own craft. It’s anything a hedgewitch might dream of. The people that live here are pleasant, but they’re silent.

It was a normal evening visiting your favorite curiosity and occult shop run by a sweet girl and her partner who have come to expect you weekly on Saturdays. You usually stay for tea and a cupcake or whatever baked good Zinnia and Briar have set up for you, and it is from one of these little sit downs that you found out your home isn’t exactly normal.

“It’s so nice to see you again, love bug!” Briar smiles widely, their arms opening to greet you.

You smile back and walk into their arms and hug back just as tightly. “I could never miss tea time with my two favorite curio owners,” you chuckle.

Zinnia pops out from the back, her hands are covered by oven mitts. “I just made some brownies! Also have some angel food cake from last night. Come, come. Briar? Get the tea,” she says as she rushes to the back to set up the table in the sunroom.

Briar nods and puts their hand on your upper back, guiding you to the back. “My wife thought you would’ve liked the angel food cake. She’s been talking about it all night,” they explain, a giggle on their lips.

Zinnia is buzzing around like a bumble bee while her partner attempts to get her to sit down. She’s a good host, you’ll give her that. This is your fourth sit down with them and she’s like this every time.

“Reader isn’t going to care about the plates-” Briar attempts to say before getting shushed by Zinnia.

“I like being aesthetically pleasing,” she says as Briar absentmindedly ties her curly black hair into a ponytail. “Unlike you,” she giggles.

You roll your eyes playfully at their sweet gestures. “Aesthetically pleasing or not, those brownies and the cake look delicious.”

“See? Reader gets it,” Briar lightly ribs before bringing the tea to the table, Zinnia following close behind them with platters and plates. “So,” Briar hums. “How is your place?”

You begin pouring yourself some tea and shrug. “I don’t think I ever mentioned it to you, have I?”

The couple shake their heads as they get comfortable in their seats. “Where have you put your boots down?” Zinnia inquires.

“There’s this little house in the woods,” you begin to explain before sipping at your tea. “Had a great garden and was already furnished, asked the realtor and she practically threw it into my arms.” You put down your tea cup and cut a brownie for yourself before raising a brow at the couple’s shocked and slightly confused expressions. “What’s wrong?”

Briar blinks a few times before shaking their head. “It’s nothing! Just, it’s the house in the woods?”

You nod in confirmation. “The house in the west woods, near the pond with water lilies?” You continue in an attempt to further their understanding, getting the feeling there’s something you don’t know but should. “Guys..?”

“S-Sorry,” Zinnia suddenly says. “It’s just that…” Her eyes shift around for a few moments before she leans in close, as if she was telling you a secret. “That house is haunted.”

Your eyes go wide before you laugh. You laugh and laugh and then when you realize they’re silent, you blink. “Wait what? Why do you say that?”

“Someone used to live there a few years ago, we moved in after her… disappearance,” Briar explains. “She just,” Briar makes a poof shape with their hands, “like nothing. No trace, no leads, the house was empty but everything of theirs? Still there.”

“Who was the person that lived there before?” You ask, intrigue kicking up before you bite into the brownies and then try the angel food cake. Zinnia was right, you do like it.

Briar shrugs, “we don’t know. Whispers say it was the girl named Natalie. She kept to herself but from the people I’ve talked to so far - at least, those who would talk about it - said she was sweet and spunky.”

“Guy at the grocery store, Mr. Wu? He said that Natalie was his regular. They were friends,” Zinnia adds on. “He used to visit her house every now and then and said near the end, her behavior got kind of squirrely. One night, he went to visit her and saw her running. Of course, guy is like seventy, got scared and ran back home. Called the police over it. They got there? Nothing.”

You nod as you listen to them give out their theories on what might have happened to Natalie. It’s one of the most interesting things you’ve heard of since you moved in.

When you returned home, you couldn’t help but shake the thought you were a guest in what used to be Natalie’s home. Your hands flew over the slightly dusty shelves and found it wrong to really touch anything that might not be yours. There’s books about boring things, encyclopedias, general knowledge, young adult fiction, but nothing that tells you who she was.

As you stand with your arms crossed in your living room, you search for the things that were left from her. Your room is entirely yours, you’ve already managed to find a room and clear it out for your witchy things, the kitchen was empty and there is no basement. This house is small, more like a cottage. If there were any signs of who she was, they’re not easy at making themselves known.

All you have to go off of from her is the living room and is undoubtedly Natalie’s and not yours. The shelves and other knick knacks are things that don’t match your aesthetic at all. Seems she was fond of the color green, just not plants like you are.

It’s by the living room that you’re able to learn some things about Natalie, even if they’re minute. For instance, you can tell that either she likes costumes or she’s missing an eye due to a small box of eyepatches varying in color and design. She’s got a frew petal pressed flowers - tulips - and last you checked, that meant a declaration of love according to the standard Victorian language of flowers.

You know absolutely nothing about Natalie other than her name and that she may be missing an eye and that she has tulips, but she permeates your mind like a virus that refuses to go away. You’re entranced with her, and want to know more of her.

When you work on sigils, you make one for her and put it in the corners of the front windows and in the doorframe. You wonder if she’s out there, and if she is, if she’s safe. If she is, you hope the runes and sigils you’ve made for her will keep her that way.

One evening at the grocery store, you have the privilege of being able to speak to Mr. Wu when ringing up some craving you’ll know you’ll inevitably have.

“Natalie?” He hums as he rings up your items. “She was a nice girl,” he continues. “Very kind, had a good sense of humor.”

You furrow your brows and smile sympathetically at him. “I’m sorry for-”

“It’s no matter,” Mr. Wu brushes off. “I don’t know what happened to her, and I’d like to think she’s still out there,” he begins checking the register for the total. “I’d like to think that when she was running, it was towards better and away from whatever it was she couldn’t get here..” His old, weathered hand reaches out to show you the total on the screen. You notice he’s put on a 50% discount. “On me,” he smiles.

Ever since then, Natalie has consumed your thoughts entirely.

So, how does this all tie into a little sparrow figurine going missing? You think it’s haunted. Genuinely. Have you angered Natalie’s spirit by messing with her house? You’re not so sure. You don’t communicate with spirits, though you’re considering picking up a pendulum and attempting.

Ever since you’ve heard about Natalie, things in your house have been getting moved or straight up lifted. It doesn’t help that you hear, no, you think you hear, things outside lurking around your home. Spiritually, you’ve protected the place more than you think is necessary. The not deer, skinny legends and Wendy boys really shouldn’t be knocking around her mostly because the place is just one giant protective bubble. Still, as you sit up late in the night and look at the moon as it reflects the water from the pond and the peer through the darkness of the trees that hang much too low, you know something is out there that shouldn’t be.

This has all come to a head when you wake up one morning to see that the sparrow figurine is gone. It makes you startle and almost drop your mug in response.

“How the hell..?” You say as you stare at the empty space. Its little circular base has left the real shade of the wood it sits on open. The dust has accumulated around it. You saw it here just yesterday! Little brown and tan sparrow and now it’s gone.

On instinct, you open your front door. It was still locked, and it doesn’t seem that anyone came in. But you know that you didn’t move it either. You haven’t touched any of Natalie’s things, you wouldn’t because you’re worried you’re going to upset her spirit or something. Who took it?

Unfortunately, that’s not even the first time it’s happened. A few days later, the little robin is gone too. Now you are absolutely convinced your home is haunted.

Of course, you call up one of your friends who also practices witchcraft like you do to see what you can do about making amends with a spirit. He’s a death witch - he should know.

“Wait what?” He says, his voice conveying nothing but confusion.

“You heard me,” you sigh as you plop down on the couch. “I think she’s been like, taking things because she doesn’t trust me with them?” You say in a slightly confused tone.

“But you really haven’t moved anything in the living room, right? From the pictures you sent me, you left that space as hers. She shouldn’t be upset considering you never touched her stuff.”

“But these figurines are still missing. How did they just get up and go?” You ask in a slightly exasperated tone, staring at the empty space.

“Y’know what you should try?” He begins, a small audible smile on his face. “Find something personal of hers and return it to her. Maybe she’s looking for something and is just settling.”

“Do you have a protocol for that or..?” You trail off.

“I’ll send you a page from my grimoire, sounds good?”

Here you are, late at night, not able to sleep and looking for something personal of hers. You don’t think it’s anything out in the open that she wants because why would she want that? It’s in her line of sight. You’ve practically turned up your home looking for it - her home? You’re not sure what kind of terminology you should use in regards to this house, but you know you’re hellbent on finding something, anything of importance to her home.

“Come on, Natalie,” you mumble to yourself as you head to your bedroom and begin overturning things. “I just need something of yours, help me make it make sense,” you say. “Natlie, Natalie, Nat, Nat-” and immediately after that nickname tumbles from your lips, you get the overwhelming urge to check under your bed.

Like a mad woman, you dive down to the floor and begin pulling your storage boxes out from under it. One of them snags slightly, and when you tug on it, you pull. Odd. You tug even harder. That’s when part of the carpet comes up. You raise your brow and shove the box out of the way before crawling under yourself and use the flashlight on your phone. It’s dark, a little dusty under here, but you clearly know someone has been under here before.

Your fingertips creep around the edge of the odd piece of carpet before you pull it up, seeing that it’s already been cut up. And there, you feel a handle.

“Oh my gods,” you mumble creeping further under the bed before yanking at the small handle. It doesn’t give right away. In fact, it makes you bump your head from the sheer force of trying to open it. It’s almost as if it was a secret and you’re violating the parties who knew it existed. Still, you continue to tug on it before it finally pops open. You move your phone over to see that there’s a box with the lid loosely placed on. Your hand gently reaches in and scoops the box up. You hold it like it’s glass. “Thank you, Natalie, thank you,” you mumble as you roughly and awkwardly crawl out from back under the bed.

You sit on your bedroom floor now, your phone now forgotten as your fingertips gently trace the box. You mentally ask for Natalie’s permission to open it and when you get the feeling of something warm, like a hug, you do so. Inside the box that you gingerly open, you see that there are letters, letters upon letters in a writing addressed to her.

“Can I read these, Natalie?” You ask softly, your eyes scanning over the one you hold in your hand dates from a few years ago. You feel that warm hug again, and the night alights with songs from the birds on the pond. You know you have her permission.

‘March 16, 20XX. Dear Natalie, how are you? I just wanted to apologize for the other day. I shouldnt have left that soon, but you know hoy my dad is. Anyways, just wanted to check in. Hope to see you soon.’

‘March 22, 20XX. Dear Natalie, I wasn’t actually expecting you to get back to me after what happened! I - thank you. Things have been just fine with me, but I miss being in Alabama. No reason, just miss the woods by your place.’

‘May 5th, 20XX. It’s funny you mentioned that, I saw something last night that reminded me of you too. Y’know how you’re always going on about time and being punctual? The other day, me and my comrades were walking through an antique store. Whole bunch of clocks. Made me think of you:).’

You keep reading the letters and piecing together the story of these two as it picks up through the years as general friendship to something more. This person that Natalie was writing to told them a lot of things - everything from the general happenings of the day to more quieter, intimate things (that you tend to skip over out of respect for Natalie.)

Reading the letters to Natalie becomes a daily occurrence for you. There’s so many that you decide it wouldn’t be right to read them all in one day. So, you read two a night and piece together their story, learning of their love and finding out just who they were. Natalie left some letters that she never sent to her love, mostly the ones that she must have considered duds or the angry ones that she decided not to send when her fire had died down. What? All couples go through those patches. It’s whether you can fix it and get back on the road or hitchhike with another driver that determines the outcome. And them? They loved each other so much, looking at another driver to get to their destination was never an option.

It takes months for you to get through the letters. Even reading two a day, it’s hard to get through a few years worth of content. They wrote to each other often. You’re able to see the full spectrum of emotions from them two, even if you’re on;y reading the letters addressed TO Natalie and not from her (for the most part). You read them smiling, and can hear their tears alongside their laughter. They no longer feel like names on paper, but real, once breathing people.

Eventually, you reach a letter that finally completes the story as you know it. It’s dated from right around the time you know Zinnia and Briar moved in. It explains a lot.

You know that whoever Natalie’s love was working for was NOT a good man. He struck the fear of the gods into them. He was called ‘The Operator’ and apparently had eyes everywhere despite being faceless. The way Natalie’s love writes about him has you feeling chills down your spine. Them too, because it was enough for them to want to run away. Natalie’s love was called a proxy, and from what you can understand, that means he’s a person who does work for someone else because they don’t want to get directly involved. The Operator treats those who work under him like cattle, and nothing more. He was a scary, scary man, and the society he runs is one you know is not intertwined with yours.

The letter that’s in your hands is the last one before their escape it seems.

‘August 31st, 2018. Dear Nat, are you nervous? I’m nervous - you can probably tell by my writing. Tonight we leave everything behind. We run. I hope you know that it’s never too late for you to back out. Because after this, we can never go back to what we used to. I’m so sorry that being around that tall fuck-but did this to you - and shit, by extension, me. I’m so sorry for hurting you, but this is it. This is it. This is the final stop.

Who knew that me striking up a conversation with a cute girl behind the counter of some hippy’s coffee shop would lead to a love like ours? You mean the world to me, Nat. I’m more and more thankful every day that I think about you and receiving your letters has me up to the moon. If you asked me about this kind of thing before I met you, I would have told you that I would never have gotten rid of the proxy lifestyle for a human. Humans are… Well, according to the Operator, they’re dangerous. They’re not worth us.

But you? Oh gods, you? You changed everything. You made it worthwhile. You came into my life like a splash of color in a world so grey and cold and bathed me in warmth until I could reciprocate your love and make room for it to grow. I love you, Natalie. I love you so, so much. After tonight, we won’t ever have to worry about this - the space and the distance between us. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just us and our transparency.

I love you, Natalie. I love you so, so much. I’ll see you tonight, backdoor as per what is our usual. To the moon and back! Love, Toby.’

You don’t know why, but Toby’s letter makes you tear up. It’s like you can feel exactly how Natalie must’ve felt when she received it. The tears that prick your eyes roll down your cheeks and you can’t help but take a few moments. You’d always known their story ended with something sad due to the whispers in the town, but getting confirmation that Natalie ran… It didn’t work. It just didn’t work.

You’re wiping away your tears when you hear your backdoor get thrown open. No one comes out to your neck of the woods, and it makes you panic. You can’t find your phone - dang it! Must’ve left it in the kitchen. You scramble around your room as you hear whoever just broke into your house walk confidently without a care in the world to the living room.

“W-Who the f-fuck lives here n-now?” You hear a male voice mutter as they pass your bedroom door. “A-All this w-w-witchy shit,” they continue.

You mentally huff. Rude. You then quietly slink around before grabbing a large chunk of amethyst. It’s rough to the touch and weighty, and unfortunately, one of the only things you have as a weapon now. Your heart is pounding as you quietly move through your hallway to the living room.

“Where i-is it?” He continues mumbling to himself as he tears your living room apart.

You’re able to see him by the faint light of the moon. He’s got brown hair and twitches slightly. Is he nervous? He’s still tearing up your living room though and touching Natalie’s things, and that's unforgivable in your head. So, you raise your chunk of amethyst pillar and quietly creep behind him.

He turns around to look at you, genuinely surprised someone is here when you whack him as hard as you can with the chunk of amethyst. “Are y-you fucking s-serious?!” He yells as he pushes you back.

You look at him with confusion as you back up, still clutching the amethyst before you notice that he didn’t react in the way he should. You hit him really, really hard and in the back of the head. He’s back up and glaring at you like you mildly inconvenienced him. And now? Now he’s pissed and looking at you like he’s going to kill you. You notice that he has hatchets on the sides of his waist.

“C-Come here,” he taunts, eyes narrowed and slowly closing the distance between you.

“Stop,” you shout in an attempt to command him back. “I will hit you-”

“With t-that?” He sneers.

“I swear to the gods I will-”

He looks like he’s ready to pounce when he suddenly stops, a certain sadness and pause rushing over his body and his face as he looks at the letters in your hand. You’d honestly forgotten you were still holding them.

“Where d-did you g-g-g-get those?” He asks quietly, his shoulder dropping.

“What?” You ask, surprised he can do an impression of a human being.

“Those l-letters! They’re n-not yours!” You pull back hard when he tries to grab them from you and swing the amethyst at him and sneer when he ducks. “They’re not yours either!”

“T-The hell t-they aren’t! I-I wrote t-t-them!” He shouts back.

You immediately deflate. “You’re Toby?”

He freezes and flails his arms slightly as if to ask nonverbally, ‘you read those?’

You sigh deeply and rest your hand on your forehead before you rest your arms down slowly, showing that you’re not going to fight him. It’s a pleasant surprise that he slowly copies your movements. “Do you know how a keurig works?”

He nods slowly.

“Make us some coffee. We got a lot to talk about.”

“So, t-t-that’s why you’re here,” Toby hums as he dumps another unholy amount of sugar into his coffee cup. “I-I thought y-you were some s-squatter in Nat’s h-house,” he admits with a small chuckle before scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

You take in a small breath and nod, a small smile pulling your lips upwards. “This is what you were looking for, huh?” You say as you push the box full of memories towards him.

He puts the cup down and takes it into his hands carefully before hugging it to his chest. He then takes in a deep breath, relaxing. “Y-Yes, this is t-them,” he says quietly. “That’s a-a-all I really w-wanted.”

“And the little figurines?” You hum, a knowing smirk on your face.

Toby flushes slightly and nods once more. “T-They just r-r-reminded me o-of her.” He then places the box in front of him and leans back, his eyes blinking upwards towards the ceiling before he stares up at the ceiling. “I lost h-her that n-night,” he says, voice so soft and scared as if he’s reliving it.

“Toby…”

“That w-w-was our thing, y-y’know? W-We were gonna b-b-be free. My b-b-boss found out,” Toby hisses as he picks one of the letters up and gestures with it, “a-and he s-sent my own c-comrades to…” He closes his eyes to stop the tears from welling within them.

Natalie was grabbing her backpack from her room with everything important when Toby came to the doorway and smiled at her. “What’re you doing here?” She chuckled, her green eye flashing with amusement. “Thought you were gonna be getting stuff ready in the kitchen and watching the door.”

“Just d-don’t like being a-a-away from you,” Toby said, a small smirk on his face as he came up to Natalie and brushed a long strand of brown hair from her face. “You’re s-s-such a p-pretty girl,” he complimented.

Natalie blushed slightly and took his hand that rested on her cheek into hers. “Go. I’ll be fine in here.”

“W-Whatever you s-say, p-princess,” he teased before pressing a kiss to her forehead and hesitantly leaving her side.

Natalie rolled her eyes with that smile never leaving her face as she continued getting the last of her things ready for the leave. When she was absolutely certain she was ready to go, she slid the backpack on and headed to the living room. She was ready to go and start a new life with Toby, the only man who ever made her heart skip a beat.

“Are you ready?” She asked, her arms wrapping around Toby’s waist as he finished his cup of coffee.

“S-Sure am,” he replied before turning around and wrapping her in his arms. “You g-gonna miss t-t-this place?”

“Absolutely not,” Natalie laughed. “I can’t wait to get out-”

What happened next was pure chaos. The back and front door were both breached by men in masks, and Natalie quickly deduced that they were Toby’s comrades. His boss found out. Toby reached for the front table and palmed his hatchets and swung them at the man in the white mask.

“Run!” Toby shouted, pushing Natalie towards the open front door. He watched his heart run out and shake off the backpack to gain speed as she took off into the night. Masky hit him, but he did not flinch.

“Fucking hell, Toby!” A gruff voice shouted.

The young proxy then watched in horror as a flash of yellow zipped out into the night to chase after Natalie. Toby felt worry cloud hsi every movement as he dodged and hit Masky. Hoodie’s specialty was tracking and hunting. He had to get out there to help Natalie.

Toby took a step back then ran into Masky as hard as he could, slamming his leader into the floor before attempting to brutalize, but not kill him. When he was sure that Masky was going to need a moment, he shot up and sprinted out of the house and into the darkened forest to find Natalie. He must’ve prayed the entire time he ran.

He ran over the heavy forest growth and cursed the roots that almost tripped him before he felt his world go quiet.

Natalie was screaming.

Toby heard his name cried out in the trees and his heart sunk down to the forest floor as he ran wildly to the source. He felt hot tears as they rolled down his cheeks as he finally found that same damned hue of yellow waiting for him.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Hoodie mused as he dug his boot onto Natalie’s skull, making her cry out in pain and fear. Her arms reached out for Toby, his name permanently on her lips.

“You f-fucking bastard!” Toby roared as he lurched forward, attempting to beat Hoodie within an inch of his life when something hard smacked into the back of his head. Toby turned around to see Masky. His brown eyes were full of murder as he stalked towards Toby.

“I should kill you for this,” Masky sneered as he got within arm’s distance of Toby.

Toby glared and swung his hatchet again at Masky, now out for blood when Hoodie slammed his boot back into Natalie’s skull, a crack sending Toby into a fury.

“You won’t touch him if you know what’s good for you,” Hoodie said, his hands loosely hung in his pockets. “Leave him alone and focus on your girl.”

Toby felt chills down his spine as he turned his full attention to Natalie. “My g-g-girl,” he whispered as he fell to his knees to hold her. “M-My s-sweet, sweet g-girl.” His hands shoved Hoodie off of her skull, giving her room to breathe. After that, he turned her over on her back as she cried out in pain. He rested her head on his lap and let her sob.

“Toby,” she croaked in a voice like sandpaper. “Toby, it hurts,” she cried, hands reaching out to his face.

“I know,” he said as he gripped her hand. “I k-know, baby, I k-know.” Tears were pouring from his eyes just to see someone he loved in such pain. “It’ll b-be over soon, I p-promise.” His other hand that wasn’t being gripped by Natalie’s went to pet her hair and give her some comfort.

“Over real soon,” Masky huffed. “You better finish this.” Masky continued. “Or I’ll make Hoodie put a bullet in her skull.”

Toby sent another glare up to Masky and protectively held onto Natalie just a bit harder to not cause her physical body anymore pain.

“We need to run,” Natalie whispered as she reached up to hold Toby’s face. “We can still go-”

Toby hushed her as his eyes scanned over her body. She was beyond repair. Hoodie had broken her legs and bent them at angles that should not exist. “You n-need to r-rest, okay? W-We’ll go in t-t-the morning, I p-promise.”

“You do?” She asked, her beautiful green eye beginning to see the world more in shapes than in

“Y-Yes,” Toby promises. “Have I e-e-ever broken a p-promise to y-you?” He hummed before leaning down as best he could to kiss her forehead. “I l-love you, s-so, so m-much.”

Natalie sleepily giggled and allowed her tears to cascade down her face. “I love you too. To the moon and back?”

“T-To the moon a-a-and back,” he said as the grip she held on his hand weakened.

“Toby, my Toby,” she said softly, her voice growing softer as she repeated the words like a mantra. When her breathing slowed until it was nothing, her hand went limp in Toby’s.

Toby closed his eyes as his heart fell into millions of pieces. He refused to let Natalie go that night, and his teammates, who had acted on behalf of a father who did not love them, let him.

“A p-part of m-me died with h-her that night,” Toby says as he lovingly looks over the letters. “I still c-can’t breathe r-right without her.” He closes his eyes and allows his tears to fall. “I d-don’t think I e-e-ever will.”

You get up from your seat and pick it up, silently moving it to rest next to Toby as he begins to cry. You know he must’ve held this one in for so, so long. After planting your chair down next to him, you take him into your arms and allow him to cry.

Toby holds onto you and doesn’t let go. It’s like he views you as a comfort blanket or a teddy bear. And you let him. You let him get it all out.

You feel tears well in your eyes and let them fall too.

#ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #angst #toby creepypasta #reader insert #clockwork #natalie ouellette

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haravath0t · 4 years ago

Text

The Spy’s Game - Prologue

Pairing: Noir Spy!Steve x Noir Spy!Reader

(inspired by the 1946 film, Notorious)

A/N: Well, here it is! The Prologue to “The Spy’s Game”! I am really excited for this one, you guys. As this is pretty based off of the film, Notorious, possibly my favorite Noir and Spy movie, I really look forward to mixing up my love for Old Hollywood film and the MCU into this fic, with none other than Steve Rogers himself. I currently am still trying to see whether or not this is considered a mini-series or series yet, so let’s see where it goes. I am trying my best to have these updated on Saturdays! Honest opinions along with comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Happy readings, lovlies!

Los Angeles, California - April 14,1946 - 3:23 PM

Ms. (L/N)! Over here, Ms. (L/N)! Can we get a statement from you about your father?”

“Do you think your father got what he deserved for working with Hydra?”

“Ms. (L/N)! Could we say that you are pleased to hear that your father has a life sentence in prison for treason?”

You were blinded by the numerous amount of flashes directed towards you since you got out of the courthouse. Not a word was said from you as you made your way down the stairs amidst the chaos of photographers and reporters, clutching onto your bag. Your entourage guides you and covers you as you make your way to your car, looking down, not one word to anybody.

Little did you know certain pairs of eyes were on you and that life had other expectations from you.

“That’s the woman we travelled across the country to see. I expect you to keep watch on her, Agent Rogers. See if she leaves town.”

—————-

A few days had passed since your father had been sentenced to prison, but the press was still onto you, trying their hardest to get a word from you. The policemen that followed you to your house was enough to take you and your father’s story to the front page, and you wanted to get away from the whole reality of it all.

So, in your own fashion, you threw a little party for you and your inner circle of friends in the comfort of your home in LA, drunkenly laughing along with friends as you poured more liquor into their glasses. It was a chaotic yet joyous sight for you, for everyone seemed to be having a good time. Drunken conversations took place everywhere, from those slouching over the dining table in the kitchen to even the couples that were tipsy as they danced to records in the living room. You giggled as you sloppily poured more drinks for those in the living room.

“Say, Y/N, were you really followed by the police? Read it on the paper. Sounds exciting doesn’t it?” A woman sloppily calls out from her partner’s shoulder.

“Ahh, those annoying policemen. They never...never got enough of me even before the trial.” You start, attempting to pour out another drink for another man sitting on the couch.

“But I suppose the only way I’m gonna get rid of them is just by shooting it out,” you tease, causing drunken laughs to fill the living room. “I think you’ve drank enough, Y/N, I think we all did,” another woman calls out, you can’t even bother trying to remember who it was. “Ahh, don’t say that. We haven’t even gotten to the important drinks yet,” you tease reaching over to start a new record. Everybody was still having a good time, filled with dancing and laughs, at least that’s what it seemed like.

You saw a quiet gentleman in the corner, a mysterious, tall, burly looking man sitting by himself on the couch, watching everyone else. When did he come in? Why did he look so dashing? Well, he’s a guest, and might as well entertain the blond gentleman. His suit perfectly fit his form, a neatly done bowtie wrapped nicely around his neck and under his neat collar, but the poor man didn’t seem to have drank enough yet. You can change that.

“How about you, handsome? Care for a drink?” You ask, leaning against the armrest of the couch with the bottle of liquor on your other hand. He only stares at her with those blue eyes and nods, extending his empty glass to you, watching you as you poured. “Have we met, by any chance?” You question drunkenly.

No response.

So you shrug and sway your hips before sitting down next to him, observing him up close. “Hmph… doesn’t matter. I like party crashers.”

“Oh, he’s not a party crasher, I brought him,” The woman from earlier said. Oh right, Missy was her name. “You know, Y/N. I really don’t mind if a cop had followed me,” Missy shrugs, deciding to get the bottle from you to pour herself a drink. You groaned in frustration. “I hate how normal people like you like the thought of policemen after you, whereas me, get the opposite, You know I’m a marked woman, Missy. They think I am gonna blow up New York or the Panama Canal any minute.” More and more talk came up about the trial, about the cops and you frankly couldn’t take it anymore, so you decided to cut it short, ushering the guests out, wishing them a goodnight as you do your best in your drunken state to escort them out. What a perfectly hideous party.

You close the door, to find your home now all empty, except for the tall blond guy who still sat on the same couch. A little smirk and a chuckle leaves your lips as you restart the record, turning around to see a bottle in the gentleman’s hand and two empty glasses on the table.

“This drink hasn’t been finished yet. Such a shame, about the ice I mean.” He says, pouring the drink in the two glasses. What an interesting conversation already.

“What do you mean?” You ask sitting on the couch across from him and taking your glass.

“It’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?”

“The ice,” he says, grunting as he stands up to turn the obnoxious record that has been on repeat for hours off, making you groan in frustration. You just restarted it too. “I don’t get why you even like that record.” He huffs, taking his seat once again to take a sip. “Well, there’s nothing like a love song to give you a good laugh, you retort, taking a gulp of your glass. You liked this guy. Although you didn’t know much about the guy, it wasn’t hard to see that he was handsome despite the fact that he didn’t mingle with the crowd earlier. Your thoughts were cut off by the warmth you felt. “It’s stuffy in here.” You groan, downing the rest of your glass.

“Sure.”

“Hmmm I am taking a liking to you. Maybe we can have a picnic.”

“Outside?”

“Too stuffy in here for a picnic...how are you not finishing your drink?”

“Doesn’t do much to me, but I do like to practice some self-restraint.”

“What a boy you are,” you scoff, getting his drink and downing the rest of it before you stand up.

“My car is umm.. Outside.”

“Well I’d hope so.”

“Picnic is too much… a drive will do.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’ll drive,” You say as you lazily snatch your keys, struggling to reach for the door, but he stops you. “You need a coat, don’t you? Best if I drive as well.”

You didn’t want this guy telling you what to do. He barely even knew you. “I think you being next to me while I drive is enough warmth.” You huff as you manage to find your way to your convertible. Before you hop in, the gentleman stops you, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and tying it nicely around your collar and opening the door for you. “At least wear this then, will you?” You really just wanted this guy to stop treating you like a delicate little flower. You were getting annoyed by the second. So you drive, despite the fact that this road seemed to just go all over the place in your eyes. The car didn’t go fast enough, you thought to yourself, so you step on the gas, watching his reaction. “You don’t get scared easily do you?” You huff in annoyance. “Not too much,” he replies, although he leaves his hand on the emergency brake should something go wrong. You really intrigued him, quite enjoying himself with the way you try desperately to outdo him, and you on the other hand hated it. “65,” you huff as you look at your speedometer, only to hear the blond chuckle at your words. “Shut up. I can go 80. 85 even. Gonna make that smile go away as quickly as it came. Hate it when men like you do that to me.” You growl, stepping on the gas even harder, but it still didn’t phase the man, only watching him shrug, grin still on his face. “Can’t a guy grin?” He shrugs, smiling more when sirens are heard, adjusting the rear view mirror and taking on the wheel to pull you both over. “Look. A cop. Look at that mirror. Look.” He says, making you whine in frustration for the nth time.

The car was still going at a fast speed, but still, the policeman was able to ride on its motorcycle towards the vehicle, right beside you. You didn’t do much but glare at them. “Listen, ma’am I think you gotta talk to that cop.” The blond chuckles, watching as you rolled your eyes. “Hate cops. The bunch makes me sick. Here we go. Drunken driving. Second offense. Now I go to jail. Along with my fucking father. Would you look at that? The entire family is in jail. What are the odds of that? Not that it matters anyway.” You mutter to yourself, annoyed as you made yourself slow down and pull over. You quickly quiet yourself as the cop hops off his motorcycle, now standing next to your side of the car. “Having a time for yourself, huh? Wanting more press, L/N?”

“You know you should be in bed. It’s late for fucks sake.”

The policeman sighs, now talking to the gentleman next to you. “Drunk?” “Now wait a second officer,” the blond responds, digging into his pocket. “I don’t have time for your excuses sir, I-” the officer’s words cut off when he sees the identification from the man. You eye the officer, as he stops and sighs. “Sorry, if you said so earlier, I wouldn’t have pressed on.” The police officer grunts. “No trouble at all, officer. I got it under control.” The blond responds back.

You get confused as you watch the cop salute the gentleman next to you before riding off in the distance, making you look at what the gentleman was holding, trying your hardest to focus your vision, until it does. And your eyes widen before they turn into ones of anger and disbelief. “Where’s the ticket? I should have gotten one. Tell me your name.” You tell the man angrily, as he returns the item to his pocket.

“Rogers.”

“You showed him a badge didn’t you? That’s why he saluted you and went off!”

“I don’t think so.” “You son of a bitch! You’re a fucking bastard!” You say, throwing punches in anger while he effortlessly blocks them. “We can argue later. I’ll drive us back, Miss L/N.”

“No you won’t! Can’t believe it! A fucking federal agent! Crashing my party! You want something from me!” You continue to fight, him only blocking your punches until you suddenly calm down. “Good. Calm? Okay, I’ll take you back hom-” You started throwing punches again, a little off, but still powerful despite your drunken state. “No, you’re not, the only way you will is through knocking me unconscious! But you do know the way I work don’t you? You know how har-”

“Don’t make me do this.” Steve groans as he dodges and blocks.

“Hard it is to get by me you hear?! You’ve heard of how-” Your rambled monologue gets cut off when he manages to lift you up and push you towards the passenger’s side, knocking you out in the process by your head accidentally banging against the headrest. Steve winced a bit, but sighed in relief when you didn’t thrash at him anymore, only breathing in and out steadily as he now takes the wheel and makes his way back home. “Really, Fury? Agent L/N? Daughter of Dr. L/N? A member of hydra? Give me a break, Steve scoffs as he turns off the engine, carefully carrying your body to your bedroom until you wake up.

Chapter 1

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#mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #spy!au #spy!reader #noir spy!au #steve rogers au #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #mcu scenario #mcu imagine #the spy’s game #fandom-basurero fics

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omoi-no-hoka · 4 years ago

Audio

Hi, guys! Sorry for the rather long hiatus. Work is still...soul-consuming haha. But I wanted to make a post about one of my favorite Japanese artists and this really cool song he released a little bit ago! All of his songs just got added to Spotify finally yesterday!

His name is 米津玄師 Yonezu Kenshi, and he is amazing. He started out making Vocaloid music under the name Hachi, in which he programmed all of the instruments and vocals. Now he mostly does music with his own vocals, and he writes and produces all of it. He also used to do all the illustrations for his music videos, and he does the cover art for his albums! I’m always swept away by his creativity and the poetry in his lyrics.

And you know how big a nerd I am about words, so here’s my English translation of my favorite song from his latest album. The song is called ひまわり Himawari (Sunflower).

This is a bit long, so I’ll put a “Read More” thing here. If you open the whole post, you’ll see my translation, and also a breakdown of my favorite kanji and words he uses. Hope you enjoy!

I hope that everyone studying Japanese can take a look at these lyrics, my notes on them, and see that even just listening actively to music can be a good way to study. 💗

ひまわり　Himawari　Sunflower

悲しくって　蹴飛ばした　地面を強く Kanashikutte kettobashita jimen wo tsuyoku Sorrowful, the ground I had sprung away from 跳ねっ返る　光に指を立てて Hanekkaeru hikari ni yubi wo tatete pulled me back strongly. I raised my finger to the light 愛したくて　噛み付いた　喉笛深く aishitakute kamitsuita nodobue fukaku Longingly, biting down on your lips and whistling deeply その様が　あんまりに美しくてさあ Sono sama ga anmari ni utsukushikute saa That visage is simply too beautiful 舌を打って　曠野の中　風に抗い Shita wo utte, kouya no naka kaze ni aragai Click your tongue, defy the wind of this wasteland 夜もすがら　嗄れた産声で歌う yo mo sugara shagareta ubugoe de utau Sing in the hoarse cries of a newborn through the night 遠く遠く見据えていた　凍て星の先まで tooku tooku misuete ita ite hoshi no saki made Shine the light of your bruised heart 痣だらけの心　輝かせて aza darake no kokoro kagayakasete all the way past that frozen star far, far in the distance その姿をいつだって　僕は追いかけていたんだ sono sugata wo itsudatte boku ha oikakete itan da That silhouette, I had always been chasing it. 転がるように線を貫いて　突き刺していく切っ先を korogaru you ni sen wo tsuranuite tukisashite iku kissaki wo I pierced through those stabbing blades as though I were falling 日陰に咲いたひまわりが　今も夏を待っている hikage ni saita himarwari ga ima mo natsu wo matte iru The sunflower blooming in the shade is still waiting for summer 人いきれを裂いて笑ってくれ　僕の奥でもう一度 hito ikire wo saite waratte kure boku no oku de mou ichido Break through that stifling air and laugh for me, deep within me, once more 消し飛べ　散弾銃をぶち抜け　明日へ keshitobe sandanjuu wo buchinuke ashita he Erase it all and fly, fire the shotgun into tomorrow 吐き出せ　北極星へ舵取れ　その手で hakidase hokkyokusei he kaji tore sono te de Get it all out, take the oar to the North Star into your own hands 傷ついて　静脈を不意に巡るエレキ kizutsuite joumyaku wo fui ni meguru ereki Wounded, electricity flows unexpectedly in the veins 掻き毟って　吹き荒び　鳴る哀歌 kakimusshite fukisusabi naru erejii Rip it away, rage upon it, let this elegy ring out 聴こえているあの時から　少しも絶えぬまま kikoeteiru ano toki kara sukoshi mo todaenu mama It never dies down, not even the slightest, from the time I first could hear it 震えるほど全て　消えないぜ furueru hodo subete kienaize It won’t go away, to the point that I’m trembling その姿がいつだって　僕を映し出していた sono sugata ga itsudatte boku wo utsushidashite ita That silhouette, it was always reflecting me もしも同じ街で生まれたら　君のようになれたかな moshimo onaji machi de umaretara kimi no you ni nareta kana If we had been born in the same town, could I have become like you? 日陰に咲いたひまわりが　今も海を見つめてる hikage ni saita himawari ga ima mo umi wo mitsumeteru The sunflower blooming in the shade is still watching the ocean. 聴こえるなら強く叫んでくれ　僕の名をもう一度 kikoeru nara tsuyoku sakende kure boku no na wo mou ichido If you can hear me, scream my name one more time. 鳴き声　かんかん照りの街路で　佗び戯れ nakigoe kankan teri no kairou de wabizare A cry on a sweltering city street, raise a lonely clamor 解き放て　乱反射して遠くへ　鳴り響け tokihanate ranhansha shite tooku he narihibike Let it out, that bent refraction that echoes far into the distance その��をいつだって　僕は追いかけていたんだ sono sugata wo itsudatte boku ha oikakete itan da That silhouette, I had always been chasing it. 転がるように線を貫いて　突き刺していく切っ先を korogaru you ni sen wo tsuranuite tukisashite iku kissaki wo I pierced through those stabbing blades as though I were falling 日陰に咲いたひまわりが　今も夏を待っている hikage ni saita himarwari ga ima mo natsu wo matte iru The sunflower blooming in the shade is still waiting for summer 人いきれを裂いて笑ってくれ　僕の奥でもう一度 hito ikire wo saite waratte kure boku no oku de mou ichido Break through that stifling air and laugh for me, deep within me, once more 消し飛べ　散弾銃をぶち抜け　明日へ keshitobe sandanjuu wo buchinuke ashita he Erase it all and fly, fire the shotgun into tomorrow 吐き出せ　北極星へ舵取れ　その手で hakidase hokkyokusei he kaji tore sono te de Get it all out, take the oar to the North Star into your own hands

A Quick Note on Translating Lyrics

I’ve got to say that it’s really hard to translate song lyrics haha. Sometimes the word order is so different between Japanese and English that I have to swap the lyrics.

遠く遠く見据えていた　凍て星の先まで tooku tooku misuete ita ite hoshi no saki made Shine the light of your bruised heart 痣だらけの心　輝かせて aza darake no kokoro kagayakasete all the way past that frozen star far, far in the distance

The Japanese is actually in reverse order of the English here. Technically, a very direct translation would be “All the way past that frozen star far, far in the distance, shine the light of your bruised heart.”

Interesting Words

舌を打って shita wo utte click your tongue

In Japanese culture, doing that “tch!” sound by clicking your tongue is rude. It shows that you are impatient, irritated, or frustrated. Many English speakers click their tongue when they’ve been asked a question and need to think about it. If you are a tongue clicker and you go to Japan, try to curb the habit!

The full lyrics here are: “Click your tongue, defy the wind of this wasteland.”

So this really expresses the pent-up frustration and anger in this person.

嗄れた shagareta, kareta hoarse

What I love about this word is the kanji and its radicals. We have 口 (mouth) and 夏 (summer) put into one kanji. Can you imagine what it would be like if all the heat and dryness of summer was in your mouth and throat, and how hoarse and miserable you would feel? What a cool kanji! (Note: this is a very low frequency kanji.)

切っ先 kissaki point (of a sword, etc.); pointed verbal attack

I had a hard time translating this line for a lot of reasons, but in particular I wasn’t sure whether this kissaki was a sword or a verbal attack. I can only assume that because this song talks about crying out and singing so much that it must be the verbal meaning, but Yonezu uses many metaphors so I could also see it being blades.

人いきれ hito ikire body heat from several people in close quarters; stuffy air

This was a new word for me. Again, I found myself unsure of which meaning to use when I translated it. I went for the “stuffy air” meaning in the end because it was more succinct, but I imagine that Yonezu was probably imagining the former meaning, because he mentions streets and cities, which I imagine to be crowded. He’s also asking a person he’s lost to call out, and perhaps they are lost in a metaphorical sea of people. Then again, summer imagery is strong in this song as well. His word choice is just so GOOD. I wish he’d marry me.

散弾銃をぶち抜け　明日へ sandanjuu wo buchinuke ashita he fire the shotgun into tomorrow

This evokes much more beautiful imagery in Japanese. The kanji for “shotgun” are 散弾銃 (sandanjuu). 散 means “to scatter” or “to spread,” like fallen cherry blossom petals scatter in a gust of wind. So rather than evoking the image of someone pulling a trigger, it evokes the image of the pellets scattering into the air like fireworks or petals almost.

北極星へ舵取れ　その手で Hokkyokusei he kaji tore sono te de Take the oar to the North Star into your own hands

Ahhhh this is just so freaking pretty. “Take the oar to to the North Star into your own hands.” In other words, determine your own fate, take charge of your life. I just love the “oar” here.

吹き荒び fukisusabi to blow fiercely; to rage, to play (a flute, etc.) for fun

Again, I wasn’t sure how to interpret this line because of the multiple meanings woven into this word. Japanese is SO. COOL. you guys.

哀歌 aika lament (song); elegy; dirge; sad song

My man Yonezu out here bein tricky. Though the official lyrics use the kanji 哀歌, he actually sings this as エレジー (elegy). And that rhymes with the last word of the previous line, エレキ (ereki). Typically, Japanese songwriters tend not to think too much about rhyming. In fact, in Japanese in general, rhyming isn’t thought of as frequently as it is in English. So the fact that Yonezu used this interesting play on words with 哀歌 was pretty cool to me.

震えるほど全て　消えないぜ furueru hodo subete kienai ze It won’t go away, to the point that I’m trembling

I just didn’t have a way to translate the feelings in the ぜ here. “Ze” is a sentence-ending particle that usually shows a person’s confidence. So for him to use it here as he describes himself trembling, is like he’s putting on a front of confidence when really he’s deeply troubled.

佗び戯れ wabizare ???????

This was my favorite word in the song, and also the hardest one to translate! It doesn’t appear to be a real word in the dictionary, but it’s an imperative made of two different words: ��び and 戯れ.

Have you ever heard of the term “wabi” or “wabisabi?” It’s this concept of Japanese culture and aesthetics that focuses on the beauty of impermanence and solitude, and an appreciation for the sorrow that comes with the transience.

To look up the definition of “wabi,” it means “taste for the simple and quiet; rustic simplicity; austere refinement; wabi,” or “enjoyment of a quiet life.”

But to look up the kanji of wabi (侘), we learn that it means “proud, lonely.”

So this is a very nuanced word! I think that the “wabi” of our word “wabizare” is meant to conjure the meaning of the kanji wabi, “proud, lonely.”

Now, 戯. Zare means “pleasantry; joke; tomfoolery.” There is also a word 戯言 zaregoto, which means “nonsense” or “wishful thinking bordering on nonsense.” I imagine that when Yonezu created this word 佗び戯れ wabizare, he wanted to combine the “proud and lonely” with “wishful thinking bordering on nonsense.”

鳴き声　かんかん照りの街路で　佗び戯れ nakigoe kankan teri no kairou de wabizare A cry on a sweltering city street, raise a lonely clamor

In other words, he’s asking this person to call out to him, but he knows that they are far away, too far for him to hear. He wants them to give out a cry, one that will sound as lonely as it does nonsensical because there is no way it will reach him.

Uh... What Does This Song Actually Mean?

Disclaimer: This is entirely my own opinion and it could be totally wrong! I always believe that everyone can interpret any piece of art how they like.

The tricky thing about Japanese is that you can omit subjects, and Yonezu does that a lot. So unless there’s an imperative or a use of pronouns, I’m not sure which line is about whom.

But basically, I think that there was this beautiful person that the singer came to know, someone that they loved and admired. But that person fell into a very dark, hopeless situation. They are “a sunflower blooming in the shade, waiting for summer,” and the singer wants that person to reach out to him. “If you can hear me, scream my name one more time. A cry on a sweltering city street, raise a lonely clamor.”

The chorus is all imperatives, telling the person to leap into tomorrow, to get it all out, to take the oars into their own hands and head for the North Star.

I think that this song is all about the singer wanting to help a person they care deeply for, and imploring that person to take action rather than suffer passively.

The End!

I hope that you guys liked this post and that maybe you learned some new words and even found a new artist you love!

Would people like to see more lyrics translations? They’re kinda fun!

#japanese lyrics translation #japanese language #study japanese #learn japanese #song lyrics #japanese vocabulary #study kanji #learn kanji #kanji #kenshi yonezu #米津玄師 #Stray Sheep #jrock #jpop

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bribe-the-door · 4 years ago

Text

the things that we’ll never know [001]

the one where best friend!harry apologizes

a/n: hi friends :) it’s been a minute... hasn’t it? i’ve been going a bit stir crazy waiting for quarantine to end and the world to feel normal. so, to deal with the angst i have toward the current state of the world, I give you: fine line era angst.

let me know if you’re interested in seeing more from me! i sure miss writing and i think it might be something i get back into these days :) xoxo h

***

Are you still watching?

A banner pops up on your laptop screen, pausing the credits of yet another episode of Grey’s Anatomy. You scroll to the corner, click “yes”, and settle back into your spot; the corner of a well-worn grey sofa. A small grey cat, lovingly named Bean, readjusts her head and falls back asleep against you. The familiar two-beat drum sounds and Netflix shines in its red glory, the only light to illuminate your small space.

It is probably better this way, the darkness.

Having remained almost completely stationary for the past three days, the apartment is showing signs of abandonment and disarray. The space, normally light and airy despite its tiny size, feels cramped and stuffy. Plants droop in their pots as the sun sinks deeper into the sky and you’re too bothered to turn on the string lights. Instead you stay put, wilting, too.

Your laptop is wedged between a plate and bowl from a long-since concluded meal. A lone coffee mug sits cold, the dregs of drip coffee stagnant in the bottom of the cup. It will leave a ring of discoloration when you try to scrub it clean. There is a mess of cords under your legs; a charger, heating pad, headphones.

You’ll untangle them later, you tell yourself.

A sudden rush of action on-screen catches your attention, diverting your thoughts for a few minutes. An ambulance rushes to the hospital and interrupts a love triangle moment. Someone is caught in a longing gaze across the emergency department. Chaos ensues and there’s a dramatic cut to the next scene of hands furiously moving through surgery.

Your phone buzzes next to you and you glance at its screen, blue light casting a gastly glow over your face. It’s nothing important and you swipe to close the app.

A glaring red “1” catches your eye.

Your thumb hovers over the message app, knowing exactly what this text says. It’s remained unread, untouched, for three days now. An internal battle heats up in your brain, and, avoiding the turmoil altogether, you shake your head and lock your phone. It’s tossed aside as you push off of the couch. Netflix continues to play in the background.

You make your way into the kitchen (Bean following, curious) and scour the cabinets for something else to add to your pile of dishes on the coffee table. They’re bare except for a stale, half-eaten loaf of bread, some peanut butter, a box of elbow macaroni, and a can of peaches. A stray protein bar is likely hiding out somewhere in there, too, but you close the cupboard in defeat.

Since when were you so easily shaken by a simple “hi”?

A single laugh floats from your lungs. It happens again, this time out of disbelief.

And then it turns to a sob.

There is nothing simple about this greeting.

[three days earlier]

“Y/n,” Harry sighs. His hand rakes through his curls and leaves them disheveled. “It’s not that difficult of a concept.”

You feel your heart lurch into your throat, the second time this evening. The silence leaves only another opportunity for Harry to drive the wedge deeper between the both of you. He seldom leaves an argument without having the final word.

His eyes find yours amidst the tension. It’s uncomfortable and feels similar to the way your father scolded you as a child. His gaze locks you in place; cold.

“You’re acting as if you can’t see what I see,” he says, voice hardly a whisper. It grows in volume as the emotions well up within his chest. “Feel what I feel… It’s not /there/ anymore, y/n.”

Your lips part in attempts to interject, but are closed just as quickly.

“You’re not here anymore.” Harry’s head shakes and his eyes continue their grip on yours. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried and tried and nothing seems to stick. Not a single goddamn thing! I can’t figure you out, y/n. I’m going crazy trying to understand where I went so wrong.”

An angry fist pounds the table beside him and you stand in your place; fear paralyzes you and you are one with the cold kitchen tile. It’s a standoff now and neither of you move. You can’t move.

“Do you not have anything to say?” he spits, disbelief tinting the outburst. His eyes pity you, searching your face for any semblance of attention. Emotion. Something.

“I…” you begin, swallowing back the lump that’d made its presence known minutes ago. Your mind draws blank as his eyes bore into yours. This feels completely out of left field.

“Nothing?!”

“Harry, please.”

His hands fall to his sides in a final defeat. “No… No. No, y/n.” He’s talking to himself, muttering under his breath. He begins to turn away from the table, phone in hand. The counter is his next pursuit, likely in search of his keys, you presume.

“Where are you going? You ask, snapping to attention when you realize the familiar path he’s taking. He’s done this before. Many people in your life have taken this path, actually.

It’s the one ending in a slammed front door, an empty foyer. You don’t shake those feelings easily.

Harry laughs, “I’m not sure. But I’m not staying here.”

You take a step toward him and try to form a coherent sentence, but your tongue trips in the process. You don’t come up with much, but it’s an attempt.

“But, what about us, Harry? I love you!”

His body turns slowly to face you. He’s got his belongings in hand—the weathered notebook he keeps with him at all times, his keys (in a loop around his fingers)—and a sweater drapes itself over the crook of his elbow. Harry’s hands are full, but his eyes fail to show any sign of life.

“How do you know what love is, y/n?” He asks, tone dripping with doubt. “How do you know what that could possibly mean when you show yourself no love?”

His accusation holds the same comfort as burning your tongue on coffee. Stubbing your toe on the doorframe. A paper cut washed with soap.

When you fail to answer, Harry earns his final word in this argument.

“I can’t stay with someone who doesn’t love herself. I can’t fix you, y/n.”

Instantly, your chest floods cold. It’s an interesting sensation, as your cheeks run warm from anger while the rest of you ceases to function. You’re confident your heart fails to beat any longer; your lungs constrict like a snake around its prey.

“I’m done trying.”

Harry leaves you in the kitchen, the sounds of his boots echoing further and further away from where you stand. The front door shuts with a firm slam and serves as his ‘goodbye’.

You’re left standing in your spot, frozen as your thoughts race silently through your head. It feels like TV static buzzing in your ears and you can’t turn down the volume.

How is silence so deafening?

***

The phone sits in your hand as another /ping!/ sounds. It burns in your hand as you realize whose name sits above the few words on your screen.

Harry (7:54 PM): Y/n… Can we talk?

Your mouth tastes of pennies and you relax your jaw, grimacing at the now-sore part of your lip imprinted by your teeth. The red “2” shines angrily from its spot at the bottom of your phone. With a sigh, you tap on the square and reveal a text-thread you wish you never have to read again.

The blue and grey boxes hold words and emotions from days ago and, in your separation from them, you’re unprepared for the visceral reaction deep within your chest. Your heart drums underneath the cage of your ribs, constant, but worried. Like it knows something you don’t.

Feelings are pushed to the wayside and you begin to type back a response.

You (7:58 PM): Sure.

The grey “typing” bubble appears almost instantly after yours delivers. /He’s been waiting for you to respond/ you realize.

Harry (7:58 PM): It’s such a relief to hear from you, y/n.

Harry (7:59 PM): I miss you.

Grey’s Anatomy plays across the room from you, another heated argument on-screen, but it is drowned out by the thudding of your heart. It’s working in overdrive now.

For days, you did nothing but attempt to forget Harry’s existence: his clothes sat in a pile at the bottom of your closet (despite the overwhelming urge to pull that grey jumper over your shoulders at this moment); your mirror sits bare now that the polaroids of you both are nowhere to be found; his favorite coffee mug, along with his small collection of shot glasses and a teacup with the matching spoon, have been packed away and sit in a small cardboard box beside your kitchen counter.

Your apartment has been picked apart, day by day, to rid Harry of the space. It feels impossible, though, with how much time he spends (spent?) here.

Another text pops up:

Harry (8:07 PM): Y/n, are you there? I really want to make this right.

“Ugh!” you groan, loud enough to make Bean stir from her spot. “Sorry, baby, I’m just…”

Just what? you think to yourself. Just… Frustrated? Confused? Hurt?

Bean nudges your elbow with her tiny head, rubbing against your arm to try and earn some affection. You reach behind her ears and scratch small circles until she begins to purr. It’s hard to focus on anything present right now; you find yourself mulling over things from weeks ago. Swept up in memories once sweet now stab at your heart with a vengeance reserved for the most heinous of crimes.

There was the date at sunset in the park, complete with a chilled bottle of prosecco to celebrate your graduation and a slice of pie from the bakery down the road. The time he surprised you at work with balloons, a bouquet of peonies and eucalyptus (your favorites), and a stupid grin of his face “Just Because”. Remember when Harry decided to decorate your entire apartment for Valentine’s Day because you’d mentioned in passing no one had ever done anything for that holiday growing up, and it was your favorite? There were roses everywhere; Bean had a pink bow on her head, and Harry insisted on baking a heart-shaped cake.

Why did something so seemingly perfect cut even deeper on second thought?

You sigh again, shaking your head at the phone.

“What do I do, Bean?” She chirps in response and you let out a single laugh. “You have it so much easier, you know? No boys to break your heart, no job to take up all of your time.”

You pick her up and hold her in front of you, leaning forward to rest your forehead against hers. Her sandpaper-tongue brushes over your nose and she meows again.

“Okay, sorry.” You put her down and she curls up in your lap, purring against your stomach.

Things move in slow-motion as you think, and you’re not entirely sure how much time has passed. Phone in hand, your fingers anxiously hover over the screen and anticipate a string of words. Each time, though, they feel wrong, and you delete the entire thing.

”I just want to make things right.”

It feels like an internal battle to decipher what Harry means with this pleading. There’s a part of you who wants nothing to do with him, another who desperately wants him back, and the most confusing part, who feels like you were the one in the wrong here. Love is a tumultuous thing; intense, passionate. It feels utterly terrifying in the simplest of ways. Was your lack of self-love really what caused such an uproar in the first place? Had you been blind to your own hatred this whole time?

A knock at the door interrupts your ponderings.

Bean looks up suddenly, ears flickering at the noises from the hall. She jumps from your lap and runs to the dining table, hiding behind its oak legs. You can hardly see her, only the glimmering green of her eyes as they move to survey the apartment.

It takes minimal thought to figure out who stands on the other side of the door and you aren’t sure if it’s wishful thinking or fear of confrontation.

You stand and cautiously approach the hall, legs more like jell-o than limbs. Another knock sounds and the hair on your arms stands on end. This feels like a scene from a horror film; ominous. In attempts to steady your breathing, you don’t reach for the door at first, knowing full-well who stands on the other side.

The floor creaks underneath your right foot, and you swear under your breath. A quick “shit!” before you remember why you’re being so timid in the first place. A grimace crosses your face in wait.

Harry sighs from outside the door. “Y/n, I know you’re right there.”

You don’t say anything and instead look through the peep-hole. His face looks defeated, eyes searching the door for you as if he knows your every move.

“Can we please talk?”

The doorknob seemingly glows in response to his suggestion, simply begging for your touch. It feels entirely wrong to refuse conversation with the boy who, for the past few years, so gingerly held your heart and cared for you more than any family member could have.

He just wants to talk, you remind yourself. A quick talk.

You twist the lock on the knob, a metallic “yes” answering him instead of your own words. Next is the deadbolt, then the chain. The knob feels heavy in your hand as you turn it, but there isn’t any going back now.

Light floods into your apartment from the common hall, accompanied by the stale smell of cigarette smoke. Harry moves only his gaze to meet yours.

“Hi.”

You swallow before answering and realize how tightly you’d been holding your jaw the entire time. “Hi.”

His hands are in his pockets, and, illuminated by the harsh fluorescents of the hallway, he should have looked intimidating. But his shoulders hung low and his eyes were unsure.

Clearly neither of you were ready for this.

“Can I…” Harry starts.

You gesture forward, backing up against the door and allow him to enter.

He hesitates slightly before moving into the entryway, hovering for just a moment. The stiffness in Harry’s shoulders fades slightly as the door shuts behind you but the tension in his presence only increases.

Harry turns to face you, and, against your best interests, seconds pass as minutes. Slowly enough to study over his eyes; shadowy in the dim lighting of your hallway but ever still green. They invite you in like a warm mug of coffee after a chilling walk home from work and you find yourself biting back a grin. It all feels wrong, having him so close.

But, the heart wants what the heart wants, right?

“Can I?” He asks, more succinctly this time.

You nod a single nod, stepping a single step closer. He reaches forward to cup your chin in his hand, tipping your gaze up at his for just a second. That same emerald draws you in just like moments before, a safe embrace.

A welcome home.

Harry stays like this for just a moment more before dropping his hand, a sigh leaves his lips. You’re disheartened at the buildup leaving just as quickly as it’d come on.

“So about that text...” you laugh. He shares a laugh, too, but there’s a hint of pain in his tone.

You anticipate they’ll be a lot more hurt tonight.

***

feel free to let me know what you thought! this is just a little piece and it’s been fun to work back into the writing scene <3

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction

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professional-benaddict · 5 years ago

Note

TW for eating disorders but i have one and i was making a lot of progress to being healthy, but then the quarantine happened and everything has kind of tanked and i'm a lil upset with myself. if its not too much i was wondering if u could write a prompt with peter having one. like tony and stephen try so hard to get their bb to eat. and then if he does he gets extra rewards. just a lil bit of hurt and a lot of comfort because im struggling rn and ur my favorite acc. i go to u for smiles 🥺

aww im so sorry to hear this quarantine is messing up all your progress sksk that really sucks🥺🥺 i hope you manage to get on top of it all and find that peaceful balance again💓💓

Daddy Tony, Daddy Stephen, 18+ Little Peter, eating distorders, conflict, fluff, comfort, 1k

“What would you like to eat, Petey?”

“Nuthin’.”

“That’s not an option, mister. Come look in the kitchen and see what we have.”

With a dramatic huff, Peter takes his shark stuffie named Jaws with him and drags his feet to the kitchen. He stops by the kitchen island, but he doesn’t sit.

“We got grapes, yogurt, cereal... I can make you grilled cheese if you want.” Tony offers when none of Peter’s favourite foods that he listed at first seemed to interest him.

“But, I’m not hungry, Daddy. Promise.” Peter tries and fiddles with Jaws’ fin.

“Even if you aren’t hungry, you still need some food, baby. Remember what the doctor said, okay? Three meals a day, no matter if you are hungry or not.”

The mention of the doctor makes Peter whine and clutch Jaws tighter where he twists his torso from side to side, like he is shaking his head, but his whole body instead.

“Don’t like the doctuh... Want Dada.” Peter whines again, meaning he wants Stephen. Although Stephen is a doctor too, he doesn’t specialise in eating disorders like Peter’s current doctor does. Besides, it wouldn’t be ethical for Stephen to treat his own Little like that, although he does check on him from time to time.

“You don’t like Christine? I think she’d be sad to hear that, cause I know she likes you tons.” Tony says as he gets the ingredients for the grilled cheese.

“Don’t care!” Peter shouts all of a sudden, triggered by all the food on the counter. Before Tony can respond, he runs up to his room and slams his room shut. Down in the kitchen, Tony huffs out a breath, but continues to make the grilled cheese, determined to have Peter eat it.

“What’s up?” Stephen with the laundry basket in his arms while he stops in one of the two doorways to the kitchen. Tony is currently grilling the sandwich on the pan, and looks over his shoulder at his partner. “I heard Peter getting mad.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t wanna eat. Can you-”

“On it.”

It’s past 10 am already and Stephen knows Peter has been up for some time already, so breakfast is necessary before midday. It is part of Christine’s plan for Peter, but it is also very much in the interests of the Daddies as well. They both hate seeing Peter worsen and needing hospital treatment with feeding tubes. There has been three hospital admission like that in the past, but Peter has been doing better lately. Still, some days are harder than others, but they can be managed with some coaxing.

“Hi, love bug.” Stephen coos cheerfully and enters Peter’s room after knocking. The boy in question is laying on his bed on his front and with Jaws under one arm.

“Am not a bug...”

“Love bug.” Stephen specifies, seeing the pet name as an endaring pet name. But, Peter doesn’t always agree. “How are your feelings today, bud? Is there a lot of traffic up there?” The doctor asks and brushes back Peter’s hair. The boy sags a bit and relaxes where he lays, but he won’t turn his head to face Stephen yet.

“Lodda traffic...”

“Hmm, lots of cars? Are there any trucks? Buses?” Stephen asks. The vehicles refer to the amount of thoughts and feelings Peter is experiencing in his mind. It is a meditation technique, which is part of Peter’s treatment plan. They usually do a meditation session with their boy in the afternoon to check on his emotional well being.

“Lodda cars. Some trucks too.” Peter specifies with a mumble.

“What colour are the trucks?”

“Hmm... Red.”

“Red? That’s cool.”

Peter nods and turns his head towards Stephen, huffing a bit.

“Don’t wanna eat... Daddy, please.” Peter begs and lifts a finger to feel Stephen’s black jeans.

“I know you don’t, and I know that you often feel that way. It must be hard. I can see that it is. You’re looking all mopey.” Stephen continues gently, brushing back the curls from Peter’s eyes. The validation seems to work as the boy inches closer to Stephen, so the doctor continues. “How about we make a deal?”

“Deal?”

“Yeah, a deal. You get something, and Daddy and I get something. Sounds fair?” Peter nods. “Okay, you’ll have the grilled cheese Daddy’s making, and after that we can play whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” It’s Stephen’s turn to nod now. “Purple sand!”

“Okay, then we’ll play with the kinetic sand.” Stephen allows with a big smile and picks Peter up, giving his cheek a smooch. “I know this is hard, baby, but you’re being so brave.” He adds before bringing the boy downstairs again.

Tony has just finished the grilled cheese, and he has placed it on one of Peter’s ’Finding Nemo’ plates along with three cherry tomatoes. Next to the plate, Tony’s put a sippy cup of milk. Setting Peter down on his seat, Stephen gives him another kiss.

“Take the time you need, baby.” He encourages before joining Tony by the dishwasher to help empty and fill it.

Both the Daddies know how Peter prefers to not have people watch him while he eats, and this set up works perfectly for them both. Peter gets some peace, and the Daddies are close enough to keep an eye on him still. Surprisingly, just 10 minutes later, Peter lets his Daddies know he is done and asks for the kinetic sand.

“Of course, baby. But, say thank you to Daddy for your yummy meal.” Stephen points out and gestures to Tony.

“Thank you, Da.” Peter blushes a bit. “It was good.” He adds, making both Daddies smile widely. “Now, purple sand!”

#my prompts #little!peter #daddy!stephen #daddy!tony #starkerstrange #starker #ironstrange #spiderstrange #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker x stephen strange #tony stark x stephen strange #peter parker #tony stark #stephen strange #ask

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flowerfan2 · 4 years ago

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All Vows

A/N: Given that this is the second year in a row I’ve been inspired (compelled?) to write a Good Omens fic on Yom Kippur, I’m inclined to think there’s something to it. But who knows.

See below for more info and author’s notes. L’shana tova, everyone.

All Vows, A03

It's Yom Kippur again, and Crowley can't stop watching you tube videos of the Kol Nidrei service. It's hard to know where he fits, but Aziraphale is there to help.

Crowley hit pause on the video he was watching and shifted on the couch, pulling out his earbuds when it became clear that Aziraphale was talking to him (he could hear him either way, of course, but Aziraphale said it was rude to keep them in during a conversation).

“Are you still listening to Kol Nidrei services?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t think you’re actually required to do it multiple times.” There was a soft smile tugging at his face, but Crowley didn’t mind the gentle teasing. He knew he was being a little, well, obsessive.

“I’m not required to do it at all,” he reminded Aziraphale. Demons didn’t need to go to temple. Crowley was aiming for a casual tone, but he kind of ruined it by swiping at his eyes, which were leaking rather annoyingly. Traitors.

“Being able to remotely watch Yom Kippur services from all over the world is a silver-”

“Do not say that again, Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled, returning to more familiar territory. Aziraphale continued to find the “silver lining” in the COVID disaster in everything from less crowded roads to the months and months he’d had to try out different variations on his macaron recipe (Crowley had drawn the line at lobster maracons with buttercream and crabmeat filling), and every time, it grated on his nerves. No “rain bow” was going to make up for this disaster.

“I’m sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said, sliding over and taking Crowley’s hand. “I don’t mean to downplay your concern. But it is long past sundown here, and presumably in…” Aziraphale craned his neck to see what Crowley had been watching on his tablet, “New York City, and I think you can take a break now.”

Crowley let out a long breath, and laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Kol Nidrei means ‘all vows’ in Aramaic,” he said.

“Hmm, yes,” Aziraphale agreed.

“Do you remember, then – when it got started… medieval times, all those persecuted Jews, forced to convert to other religions, wanted to return to their own community.” …”

“But they were worried that the oath they had sworn to God to follow another religion would get in the way. So the congregations developed the Kol Nidrei prayer to absolve them of the oaths they had made.”

Crowley digs his chin into Aziraphale’s warm shoulder, and Aziraphale gives his hand a squeeze. Of course Aziraphale knows all about it, they were both there, bearing witness to the many ways humans have wronged each other year after year in the name of religion. But something about this particular religious ritual, a legal formula recited every fall to address each person’s own relationship with their god, has hit him hard tonight.

“D’ya think it worksss for me?” Crowley asked quietly, his voice rebelling against him as surely as his eyes had earlier. “Can I be forgiven, for the vows I sssshouldn’t have made? Or does it not work, since She threw me out in the first place?” Was it still a vow against God if God pretty much forced him into it?

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, unclasping his hand from Crowley’s and enveloping him in a tight hug instead. “It works for everyone. Vah-yoe-mare Adonai, sah-lach-tee kid’vorecha.”

“And Adonai said, ‘I have pardoned them as you have asked,’” Crowley repeated, roughly translating the end of the prayer he had heard so many times.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, Aziraphale adjusting his hold on Crowley to something more comfortable. Crowley snuggled against Aziraphale’s chest, rubbing his cheek along the worn velvet of Aziraphale’s waistcoat, a feeling of safety and warmth spreading through his body.

“So, which one was your favorite?” Aziraphale asked after a while, shifting so that he could reclaim his tea from where he had abandoned it at the other end of the couch. It was still at the perfect temperature, of course, despite the fact that he hadn’t taken a sip of it for quite a while.

“My favorite…?”

“Your favorite service. You must have watched a dozen of them tonight.”

It had been more than that, actually, if you counted all of the ones Crowley just checked out on you tube for a few minutes and then noped out of if it wasn’t particularly interesting.

“I always found that fancy congregation in Manhattan a bit too stuffy,” Aziraphale said, referring to the last one Crowley had viewed, and Crowley huffed out a laugh. Anything too stuffy for Aziraphale was, let’s say, more than a bit behind the times.

“Newt and Anathema had a good service in their backyard, actually,” Crowley said, grabbing his phone and swiping around until he found what he was looking for, then playing a snippet of the recording for Aziraphale. There were less traditional instruments playing along with the traditional prayers, and Aziraphale smiled as they heard what sounded like a ukulele.

“Anathema will really do anything for Newt, won’t she?” Aziraphale murmured approvingly. Anathema wasn’t Jewish, at least not by birth.

“Well, she thinks the cantor might be under some sort of spell, given how long she can hold out those high notes without breathing, so she’s taking a professional interest.”

Crowley showed Aziraphale a few pictures Anathema had sent him that afternoon, of Newt and Anathema’s yard, set up for a small group of neighbors with chairs spread out at least six feet apart. Their guests were all bringing their own prayer books, or using their phones to access the texts. Even some communities who usually wouldn’t allow the use of technology on the holidays had made exceptions for a variety of practices given the need to stay safe during the pandemic, although Crowley was pretty sure Newt and Anathema weren’t so conservative in their observance anyway.

“Things really are different this year,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley nodded. “Yup. Tomorrow someone is coming by to play the shofar for them. Apparently the guy is just going to go from house to house, if you want him to come play it for you, you just have to let him know and he’ll stop by. Home-delivery shofar blowing. But,” Crowley broke off, swiping until he found another photograph, and then turning his phone so Aziraphale could see the image of the long, curved ram’s horn with a mask somehow attached to the end, “it has to wear a mask too. It could be a super-spreader.”

Aziraphale stared at the photo of the shofar with a mask on it and started to giggle. Crowley harrumphed, but then Aziraphale did that little wiggle that meant he was truly endeared, and Crowley started giggling too.

“Humans are endlessly creative,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s neck, when the giggles had subsided and they were once more curled up around each other. “They will rise to this challenge, as they have before.”

“Do you really think so, angel?” Crowley asked.

“I do, Crowley. I really do. And we’ll be here to watch them.”

“Together,” Crowley said shyly, hiding his blush in the soft fluff of Aziraphale’s hair. Because no matter what vows Crowley had made, no matter what heaven or hell had required of him, somehow, Aziraphale was still here.

“Yes, of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale replied, nuzzling a delicate kiss into the spot just behind Crowley’s ear, fond and steady and true. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

_____

Note: Here I am again, for some crazy reason, writing another Yom Kippur fic. Yom Kippur is the traditional Jewish day of atonement, and the Kol Nidrei prayer is thought to have originated as a result of Jews being forced to convert to Christianity or Islam upon pain of death. Afterwards, many of the forced converts wanted to return to Judaism, but this was complicated by the fact that they had been forced to swear vows to another religion. The Kol Nidrei legal formula was developed to enable them to return, and is recited each year at the beginning of Yom Kippur to absolve them of their vows to God made under duress. The melody of the Kol Nidrei prayer, which became standardized in the 1800’s, is particularly haunting. To hear and see the Kol Nidrei sung by Cantor Angela Buchdahl, the first Asian-American to be ordained as a rabbi and cantor and an amazing person, go here.

Jewish communities around the world, large and small, have been conducting remotely accessible services this year, and finding numerous ways to allow people to come together for high holiday observance in one form or another while still following social distancing guidelines and keeping each other safe. As just one of many examples, Temple Emanu-El of New York has made its high holiday services available online to everyone; you can find the Kol Nidrei service here. (As described on Wikipedia,Temple Emanu-El is the first Reform Jewish congregation in New York City and, because of its size and prominence, has served as a flagship congregation in the Reform branch of Judaism since its founding in 1845. Its landmark Romanesque Revival building on Fifth Avenue is one of the largest synagogues in the world. I was there once for a wedding - it blew me away, and honestly, most Jewish synagogues don’t look anything like it, but it is a very lovely place to have visited).

#Good Omens #Jewish Good Omens #Good Omens fic #Aziraphale #Crowley #ineffable husbands

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disneydreamlights · 4 years ago

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Cendrillon

FFN | AO3

Summary: Gula's job as a mercenary for hire means he never turns down a job, even if that job is killing the heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Vulpes. [GulAva]

A/N: Inspired by this. Originally this was written for the 2019 rarepairs zine but the tight deadlines combined with my busy work and class schedule did not work out, so I had to drop the zine and left this on the back burner for a while. Cue a sudden burst of creative energy this month and some determination and I returned to this fic to finally finish it almost a year later.

Gula pulled down on the mask once more, giving it a firm tug to make sure his face couldn’t be seen underneath the leopard styled mask. The masquerade ball tonight was important after all, Lady Ava of the Vulpes kingdom was going to be making her grand debut, and it would be best to make a good impression.

Or at least, that would be what most would be thinking as they prepared for tonight, but as Gula straightened out the tie on his golden yellow suit, he had a lot more pressing matters to be thinking about. The knife, hidden in his socks felt cold, just one of many hidden, but hired killers had to be prepared. It really was nothing against his mark, she probably was a fine girl, but this was his job.

“Name?” Gula smiled as the guard looked at him with no more scrutiny than any of the stuffy royals that had entered into ballroom that night.

“Ventus, of the Kingdom of Leopardus.” The guard nodded, likely assuming he was simply a lower noble. Which was fair, royalty in Leopardus changed often enough that even in the kingdom of its closest allies, it was difficult to keep track. As he officially entered the ballroom, he couldn’t help but reflect on how that had been a part of why he had been brought into the ball in the first place.

The man had entered Gula’s home about two weeks ago, shortly after Gula had returned home from his last mission. He was dressed in a black cloak, with his face fully hidden in its shadows. “Why hello there, it took you long enough to get here.”

“How did you get into my house? What do you want?”

“Easy there Tiger, I’m not here to make any enemies. I just need a favor, heard that you’re willing to do any jobs, legal or illegal, if the pay is high enough.”

“Most of my clients don’t stop by my home.”

“Yeah, well mine is a special task.”

Gula had raised an eyebrow at that. “What did you have in mind.”

A bag was placed on his desk, holding what looked like well over a few hundred thousand munny after a quick investigation of its contents.

“I need you to kill the crown princess of Vulpes, Lady Ava.”

The plan was most definitely simple enough. Sneak into the ball in her honor, find her, stab her, get out. Leave the leopard mask behind to implicate Leopardus. War would allow for whatever his name (X? He was pretty sure that was some part of the name given) to take over the kingdom, reinstate peace. Murder admittedly was not one of Gula’s usual tasks, but money talked, and true to the meaning of his name, he was never satisfied with what he had. Not to mention, there was so much wrong with the nobility anyways, even if an innocent had to die, a new ruler might mean a new chance to fix the world, he couldn’t complain about that. He wandered the floor aimlessly, enjoying the party for what it was, listening in on the conversations of the various nobles and sneaking some of the food while he waited for the princess’s presentation.

“Why aren’t you talking with the rest of the guests?” A girl’s voice rang caught his attention, as a young girl around his age stood in front of him. He hadn’t even noticed her approach. He took in any details about her he could. If he got caught and needed to clear up the loose ends, he would need to remember any details. She had pink hair, and a fox’s mask covering almost as much of her face as his own leopard mask.

“I’m not one for small talk, it doesn’t really have much point.” And it was true, small talk was hard to maintain, and he had no interest in learning about any of the nobles who would be out for his blood before the clock struck midnight.

The girl gave him a confused look. “If you don’t like small talk, then why are you at the party?”

“I like to dance.” It was the first excuse he could come up with, but she seemed amused by the way her mouth threatened to turn into a smile. This was bad, he didn't want to be remembered here. “I understand social niceties, even if they aren’t my favorite thing,” he added on afterwards, hoping she’d buy it.

She did, seeing as she nodded. “Who are you anyways, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lord with blond hair as messy as yours.” She poked at one of the many spikes coming from his head, it was one of the few things of his natural appearance he’d retained.

“Ventus.” Gula used the same fake name he’d used for the guard earlier. Best to keep it simple.

“My name’s…” The girl hesitated for a moment, as though holding the knowledge of her name close to her. For the first time, he was actually intrigued by her. Why was this girl holding back her name? Was it possible that she, too, was an uninvited guest to the party.

“Fox.” He supplied the name for her, surprising himself. “You wear a fox mask, if you want to avoid using your name at the ball, why not go by the name of the animal you’re wearing a mask of.”

She nodded, her face brightening. “Fox is good!” She paused for a moment, almost as though she was unsure of what to talk about with him. For a moment, Gula was almost sure she had the intention to find the next sulking partygoer, but she seemed to stay quiet.

“It was a pleasure meeting you Fox, but I can’t stay and talk for--”

“Wait.” Gula stopped, letting the girl talk. “Could I have just one dance?” He was about to answer no, but she continued. “You did say that dancing was the main reason you came, don’t you want to?”

He could tell her no, but placating the girl would better serve his interests better. It would be better if she remembered the unknown lord as a good person, rather than poorly. Then he wouldn’t have to take out any more people than necessary. Fox had been nice enough anyways to him.

“I suppose one dance won’t take too much time out of my night.” And before he knew it, he was pulled out of his corner by Fox, who seemed to take a natural lead as she put her hand on his shoulder, clasping one of his with her second. He settled for a hand on her waist, sharing the dance floor as he chose to let the girl lead. She moved swiftly and gracefully, but she was a noble. It wasn’t a surprise that she knew how to dance. The two fell into a natural silence, following the rhythm of the music, following through each step.

“You know, for a self proclaimed dance lover, I’m surprised you’re letting me lead.” A small smile formed on Fox’s face as she teased him.

“You’re the noble, I’m just the party crasher who likes a good waltz. Leading’s in your job description.” It was true enough. Besides, he’d rather not risk leading her in the dance on the off chance she saw through his flimsy lie. The fact that she’d bought it so far was a surprise enough. “It gives me a chance to see if you’d be a better one than all the others here so far.”

“Not a fan of the current ruling party?” Fox turned a corner, pulling him with her and keeping them moving in the same pattern as earlier. “I can’t say I blame you, I know a lot of the commoners aren’t very fond of us either.”

For a moment, Gula couldn’t help but wonder if there was something different about Fox than the rest of the nobility she was a part of. The frown she wore on her face seemed genuinely upset at the thought of not being loved by the people she ruled over, but he dismissed it. Nobility didn't care for everybody else. That’s why he needed to take jobs like this in the first place. “I don’t care for them, no. Life in Leopardus isn’t easy, but I’ve heard life in Vulpes is worse.”

“Maybe Lady Ava will change that?” Fox spoke in a small voice.

“Maybe.” Maybe she could’ve, but she wouldn’t get that chance for sure. He raised his arm, allowing Fox underneath it while she spun. “But nobody knows what she’s like. Perhaps she asked for her grand debut to be something as glamorous as this ball, and she’s worse than both her parents.”

Fox’s face scrunched up in disgust at that thought. Despite being a look of disgust, Gula couldn’t help but find it cute in a way. “It’s a terrible way to make a public appearance. All it does it make a show, like some display of power. I can’t imagine anyone liking it.”

“Not a fan of balls I take it?” Gula asked.

“I’d like them more if they were events for fun for everybody. A party only allowing nobility...like I said, it doesn’t do anybody good.” She shook her head. “I know the commoners don’t like this ball at all. My friend, Ephemer, he said--” She stopped herself the moment she realized the song ended. “I’m sorry, I asked you for a dance and instead I spent the whole song rambling to you about why I don’t even like the ball.”

If Gula was honest, he hadn’t minded the Fox’s rambling. In general, she seemed to dislike the way other nobles ran things. Perhaps he could negotiate with his boss for her to get a higher up position after the fallout, have her help make change. “Ramble away, your opinion is a breath of fresh air compared to most of the others I’ll hear tonight.”

“Oh?” She looked at him, surprised. “Why’s that?”

“I’m not the biggest fan of balls either.” And he wasn’t. “Truth be told, it wasn’t even my choice to come here.” She’d been honest with him, a random stranger at a ball. And she at least seemed to give half a mind about commoners. He owed her a small part of the truth.

“But you said you liked dancing.” She tilted her head, though somehow he got the feeling that it was just for show than not knowing as though urging him to continue. “So if it wasn’t dancing that brought you, what did?”

Gula released her hand for a moment as they continued their dance, and put his finger to his lips. “I’m not allowed to say. That’s going to stay a secret.”

“Hey! I won’t tell!” Fox protested, and the serious girl who’d shared her political views on all of this snobbery was gone. “There’s no reason I can’t know.”

He chuckled, finding her energy endearing. “It’s not a secret if you include somebody else in on it.” Besides, it was better that she didn't know. Forgetting that she would become a liability, it’d put her in real danger. She’d be a conspirator, and somebody like her being involved in a murder plot wasn’t what he wanted.

“Sure it is. That’s what makes it a secret, when it’s shared between two friends.” Mentally, Gula cursed. He hadn’t wanted to make a friend. He hadn’t wanted to be seen. Somehow, this girl had managed to throw a wrench into all of his plans. She’d be able to point them to Lady Ava’s killer in an instant.

Somehow, none of it bothered him.

“You’ll know before the night is done, don’t worry.” He pet her on the head, watching her pout. “In the meantime, maybe I could learn more about you.” He was searching for any conversation topic. “I have until midnight before I can complete my task, and I’m sure you’ve got a lot of interesting things to say.”

And so they talked, and in spite of himself, he found himself listening to her every word attentively. About her stubborn and overprotective mother, her overbearing father with no sense of what the world needed, her best friend Ephemer who was a commoner she had befriended while sneaking away unnoticed, who told her all about the world and how hard things were. And in turn, he shared with her what he could about himself. About his older brother Aced and how they didn't talk much anymore since Aced didn't approve of his job (not that he said what that job was), how Aced’s husband would check up on him, make sure he was doing okay, and he even threw in a few tales of his more noble deeds.

A small voice in his head whispered that Fox was a liability, that she was learning too much about him, but he didn't care. She was by far one of the most genuine nobles he’d ever met, and as they continued to share dance after dance, he couldn’t bring himself to regret this friendship they’d struck up.

“Ventus, do you think we could leave the floor for a bit?” Fox smiled. And for the first time, Gula noticed how tired she looked. They had been dancing for a while.

“Of course, my lady.” The words left his mouth as a part of the character he was playing, but he still couldn’t help but wince at how they sounded. She didn’t seem to mind as she led him out to the balcony, away from the dancing party. In the distance, he could see a clocktower, proclaiming the time as 11:30. A half hour until the mysterious princess would reveal herself, and Gula could finally take out his target.

At first, they sat in silence before Fox walked over to the edge, looking down at the plaza below as she leaned on the railing. “You know, I didn’t think I’d have any fun at tonight’s party.” He was surprised at her honesty, but then again, he shouldn’t have been. The whole night Fox had been nothing but open with him.

“So why did you come?” As much as it turned out he definitely didn’t hate her, he still wished she hadn’t. He still berated himself for letting himself be so clearly recognizable to her. He walked next to her by the railing. “You could’ve been off, sneaking around with...Ephemera?”

“Ephemer,” Fox corrected him before turning to face him. “I would’ve skipped it if I had a choice, but I’m obligated to be here.” Gula remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. She chose not to. “I’m glad I got to meet you, if nothing else, it means I get to have at least one more friend.” She reached her hand out tentatively, resting it on his.

He looked at Fox, noticing her smile. “I can’t say I hear that often, but I’m glad we met too.” And it was the truth. There would be problems, but it was nothing he couldn’t try to smooth over with his boss later. They fell into a companionable silence, just enjoying being in the other’s presence.

Finally, Gula spoke once more as the minute hand slowly got closer to the nine. 11:45. He needed to get into position. “Fox I–”

A small gasp sounded from behind them, causing both Gula and Fox to separate. “There you are Lady Ava! Your father’s looking for you!”

Lady Ava!?

If it wasn’t for the fact that the servant had come in, Gula would’ve uttered every curse he could think of. What did she mean Lady Ava? That...no, that could not be right. Ava was his target. And if Fox was Ava…

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Fox...Ava? gave the servant girl a small smile and watched as she left before sighing. “I guess this means our night has come to an end.”

“You’re Lady Ava.” Gula could only repeat those words emptily, as though changing them would somehow allow him to change the fate he would be forced to give her. As though she could go back to being Fox. The worst part was, this was perfect. Ava was his target. Ava was right here. He could complete the crime, leave no loose ends, and nobody would even know. It might not be as showy as his client wanted, but it would do. Ava would be dead and it might stir up more talk about the quiet assassin who managed to kill the princess without anybody having seen her.

But she was also Fox. The girl who had approached him because she’d thought he was lonely and ended up deciding to bug him enough to show him a small piece of her life, and got him to open up about his in return. She was a noble who he was so sure would bring about change in the world, and he was going to have to be the one to end her life. End the spark before it could even begin.

“Ventus?” Evidently Ava had been talking to him while he’d been lost in thought trying to comprehend what that meant. “Ventus!”

Gula shook himself from his thoughts and looked at Ava, still trying to figure out what he was going to do about all this. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was apologizing.” After a moment of silence, she added, “For lying to you about who I was. I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just there’s so many expectations on me tonight. I’m sure you know why this ball is being held, and you know my distaste for it.” She stopped. “I just wanted to have a normal night before my anonymity is permanently ruined.”

“It’s alright.” It wasn’t alright. He now had an attachment to his target. It was unprofessional and embarrassing. Murder may not have been his field of choice, but that doesn’t make the fact that it happened any less of a problem. But he didn’t want to make any of this worse. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Ava gave him a smile, a genuine one, and he felt his heart skip a beat. “It was nice meeting you, Ventus. I had a wonderful night with you. I know you’re not really here as an invited guest, but I hope I’ll get to see you again anyways.”

Had this been anybody else, Gula would have let her walk out the door and back into her dance. He would’ve gotten into position and waited for her to be presented, and then taken her down and escaped. But this wasn’t anybody else, and in that moment, the conflict he was experiencing came to a resolution. “Gula.”

She paused at the door and turned back to look at Gula. “What?”

“My real name,” he said, “it’s not Ventus. It’s Gula.” Ava turned around and closed the door back into the ballroom, which he took as a sign to continue. “I’m not who I said I was, Fox.”

Rather than flee, Ava walked back over to him and sat on the railing. “I have ten minutes before my father starts the ceremony.” She was willing to hear him out.

He could possibly save her.

“I mentioned my brother doesn’t normally approve of my job. That’s because I don’t just do odds and ends jobs that I can find. I’m a mercenary.” Once the words left his mouth, it wasn’t long before Gula told her everything about tonight. How he’d been hired by somebody to kill her, how at midnight, when she was presented, he was to do his job. She remained silent throughout, wanting to hear him out on what he said.

“I don’t want to kill you, Lady Ava. I’ve enjoyed the night we’ve shared, and I think you might be what this kingdom needs to finally start getting things right. To fix this broken world.” And he did, he believed in Ava as hard as it was to say.

“So don’t. You don’t have to do anything.” He couldn’t say he was surprised. Ava may have had a friend or two, but her lifestyle had been horribly sheltered. It was unlikely that she would understand the choice in front of him. “You may have been hired to kill me, but you can refuse the job.”

“It’s not that simple.” So long as his client knew about him and his brother, so long as Ava breathed, he wouldn’t be safe. “If you’re still able to take the throne come the end of the night, then my client will know I failed. It would cause problems.” Problems he couldn’t afford. Problems Aced couldn’t afford.

“There’s always a third choice Gula, one that doesn’t result in death.” Well he could always kill the person who hired him, but somehow, that option didn’t seem like one Ava would approve of.

As Gula went to respond, the clocktower’s bell went off, ringing one drawn out bell at a time. They had run out of time. “It’s midnight.”

Ava nodded. The two looked at each other, unable to look away for fear that if they did, then Gula would make the decision to kill Ava.

“...What if the world thinks I’m dead?” Ava spoke so quietly, it was almost impossible for Gula to hear what she had said at first. But the moment he realized it, he couldn’t stop the small smile that appeared on his face.

“It’s perfect.” If the world thought Ava was dead, then that fulfilled his contract. It would be more difficult for her to change the world if she was no longer the crown princess of Vulpes, but it would save her life.

But it would also end everything about her life as it is now. Lady Ava of Vulpes would be dead to all but himself. “If we do this, you can’t go back. The world has to think you’re dead.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft as she acknowledged what he said. “But I don’t want you to be in danger either.” She took off her mask and looked up at him. Able to see her whole face, he looked her over for any hint that she wasn’t sincere. That she was lying just for the sake of her own life. Instead he found nothing but sadness for what she would be losing, and determination to save them both.

Gula smiled. “Then let’s get started.”

#Kingdom Hearts #Gula #Ava #GulAva #Heather Writes

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one-leaf-grimoire · 4 years ago

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Illusion (chapter 5)

Grey Deer Fic chapter 5! Here’s the link to the full story: link.

As you can see, I changed the name bc I wasn’t vibing with the other one.

WARNING: slight implication of *Sex* (but not with Julius, unfortunately...)

As always, I would really love to hear what you think of this chapter!

"Captain, do you have a minute-"

I stop talking as soon as I poke my head into Captain Hervey's office. It's a sizable room, with rich wood paneling and blue wallpaper making it seem cozy. Several stuffed deer heads are hanging above the severe man's desk, where he sits across from his vice captains. Both Malota and Julius turn around to look at me; obviously I'm interrupting a meeting. "A-Ah, sorry, I'll come back later-"

"Nonsense, spit it out. But make it quick." Hervey gestures me closer, and I gulp and enter the room, a paper clutched in my hands. "What's that?"

This is always a little awkward, even though I've given several of these requests to him over the years. But it's his fault for having the "only registered guests only" rule for our base. "Lawrence wants to come visit tomorrow, can I get your approval?"

Hervey lets out a snort of laughter. "Your fiance? He was here pretty recently, wasn't he? Why do you keep inviting him here, just go visit him yourself."

"Ah, well, he insists. I can't really say no to him..."

But you can, sir. I watch as he takes the paper and looks at it carefully, as if he's making up his mind. Meanwhile, I'm praying that he says NO so I have a good reason to avoid seeing Lawrence tomorrow. Malota looks bored and lets a sigh out through her vulture-like nose. Julius stares at the Captain's table silently. Another reason why I wanted to avoid asking in front of other people is because it becomes awkward like this. Neither of our Vice Captains want to hear about my personal life, I'm sure.

"Very well. But he better be gone by dinner time, I'm not feeding him, even if he is a prince!"

Fuck! I force a smile as he signs the paper, a magical chill moving through the room as he does so. Somehow, Hervey can manipulate the barrier spell he cast around the base to let authorized guests enter after he signs off on it. His ice magic is some of the most powerful I've ever seen, and he's able to upkeep such a potent spell all day and night, subconsciously. He really is amazing, despite his faults, and it's easy to see why he's captain. "Thank you, sir, sorry for interrupting." With that, I turn and shuffle out of the room, feeling a small weight of dread in the pit of my stomach.

Why, though? Why are you dreading this? Lawrence is your Fiance, your future Husband! Shouldn't you be happy to see him?

That's probably what you're thinking, but it couldn't be farther from the truth. I tolerate Lawrence Kira, and that's all. He's 5 years older than me, always acts like he's my superior (which he is, but come on!), and really isn't the most considerate person. He always talks about how great things are expected of him, and how he needs a supportive wife to help him achieve those things and continue the Kira line. "One day." he always tells me. "One day, our children could be the King. Wouldn't you like that?"

No... Not really, actually.

But I can't tell him that. If I show any disrespect, he'll bring the hammer down, on both me and my parents. We're already on thin ice, and this marriage is supposed to save my family. When the engagement was first decided, I was only 5 years old and had no idea what it even meant. As I grew older, I was told how romantic it was going to be. Doesn't every girl want to marry a prince? I was excited to live out what seemed like a fairy tale.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. It soon became clear that Lawrence would never actually love me. At least not all of me. Not only that, but like I said, he's older than me, and as we spent more and more time together, he started to force me to grow up a bit faster than I should have. I'm sure you can guess what I mean.

If I didn't have Alice, I don't know what I would have done. But when I came to her and revealed that I didn't want to marry this prince, she didn't shun me or say I was crazy. She held me, and told me that we were going to get out of this, together. And so, I joined the magic knights, as the first step of my plan. The wedding that was supposed to be when I turned 18 was postponed. Luckily, the Magic Knights are a very esteemed and legitimate career path for both Royalty and nobility, so I was able to get away with it. Lawrence's family even said they were proud that their son would be marrying a magic knight.

Well... it's been 7 years since then. There's no plans for a wedding yet. This engagement can only go on so long before Lawrence decides to break it off. By that time, I'll be able to support my family myself! I don't need a marriage, and I'll finally be free to do what I want.

That's my secret, the secret only Alice and I know. My one hope for tomorrow is that Lawrence will coldly tell me that he can't wait around any longer, and will break it off right then and there.

Of course, it's never that easy.

"Hello, Lawrence."

I stand outside the base to meet him as he transports in with the help of a spatial mage. He brushes himself off before looking up, his grey eyes quickly meeting mine. Unintentionally, I feel a cold chill down my back, something that's always happened when he looks at me like that. "It's been too long, have you really been that busy?" Lawrence asks as he walks over, pulling his cloak a little tighter around himself. The snow has long melted, but its freeze still hangs lightly in the air around us.

"Er, yes, pretty busy." I let him take my hand and pull it up to his lips, not bothering to bend over. A royal shouldn't bow to anyone, after all. His lips are cold on my skin as he kisses the back of my hand, before dropping it immediately. "I actually had a pretty big mission a few days ago, I was able to beat five guys-"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You can tell it to me over lunch." Lawrence dismisses my story kind of quickly before turning to walk towards the base. I wince and hold out a hand to stop him. "Uh-er, we can't eat here!"

"Hmm? Why not?" Lawrence throws a glance over his shoulder.

"Captain Hervey said, uh... we can't spare food right now for outsiders."

"Hmph. Fine. We'll eat in town." Lawrence sighs and turns to walk back to me, grabbing my hand as he does. "Also, what did I tell you about using filler words? Stop saying um and er so much."

"R-right, sorry." I let him pull me along, away from the base.

"Man... are they really in love?"

Giles leans on the windowsill as the others gather around him, peeping down at me and Lawrence as we walk off out of sight. "Every time he comes, she looks like she'd rather be somewhere else."

"It's true," Alice pipes up, leaning against the wall and not bothering to look. "He's a real piece of work, you know."

"How can that be? He's a prince." Elia crosses her arms. "Who wouldn't want to marry a prince?"

"She just wants to live a normal life, I think. She's not cut out for that royalty stuff anyway."

"Nigel, shut up."

Meanwhile, Lawrence and I reach town and make our way towards my favorite resteraunt there. "There's really no other place to eat?" Lawrence asks, pulling his hood up over his head, his eyes darting around the street.

"It's my favorite! I think you'll like it, too." I squeeze his hand, causing him to smile for a moment. "You're afraid of being recognized."

"Yeah... I have a pretty big fanclub you know!"

... I doubt that...

Our base is located in a forest right outside the limits of the noble realm. We're close enough to town so we can get all of our supplies, but secluded enough that Captain Hervey is able to put up our barrier. It honestly feels like a little sanctuary for the squad, but I still like going in to town to see the usual hustle-and-bustle of civilization.

"You know, this type of place does have a little charm." Lawrence talks to me as he quietly sips his beer. His eyes keep darting around the restaurant, as if he were analyzing everything in sight. He's always been like that, cool and calculated, always scheming or sizing the world up. He's really an intelligent man, someone who can keep a level head in any situation. His magic is very strong, too, and it's interesting that he never joined the Magic Knights. When I asked him why a long time ago, he simply said that it wasn't his style. I have a feeling he'd rather be involved in the government down the line.

"I'm glad you think so. I guess not all Royals are so stuffy," I answer, playfully nudging his foot under the table. Lawrence narrows his eyes at me but can't conceal his smile. Ah! I need to stop being so cute around him, remember?

"I'm not that stuffy, am I? I can have fun... what do you and the squad do for fun, anyway?" Lawrence yawns a little, scratching his chin under his hood.

"Hmm..." I think over the past for a moment. "Well, we have little parties in our base now and then. Oh, also, the Captain lets us go to the beach on our days off! We also like to come to town to go drinking some nights."

"Ah... that sounds like fun. A little crude, but fun." Lawrence nods along with my words. "Maybe I'll take you to the beach sometime, just the two of us."

Just the two of us.

"...yeah, sure."

By the time lunch is done, it's obvious to me that Lawrence isn't about to break up with me or anything. In fact, I've somehow managed to warm him back up to me after more than a month of absence, and now...

"Let's go back to the base."

"Huh? Er- Lawrence, I told you before-"

"Stop saying ER! And I don't want to eat. Is your roommate around?"

"...probably not..."

"Good."

This is my least favorite part of his visits. Lawrence hates showing affection out in public, but as soon as we're alone and away from prying eyes, he basically pounces on me. I can't really do much but hold on as his lips crash into mine hungrily. We were each other's first kisses, but I'm pretty sure he's pretty good at it. The way he moves his lips against mine always makes me dizzy, at least. He pushes me until we're both flat on my twin bed, one of his hands bunching up the sheets next to my head. The biggest drawback of avoiding him for so long is that he gets... needy.

However, his affection doesn't last long. As soon as he's done, Lawrence simply pulls the covers over me and gets up. I roll over, feeling a bit sore, and watch as he starts to re-dress himself. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah." Lawrence buttons up his shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly. "I assume I'm not allowed to stay for dinner." He sits back down on the bed to start pulling his shoes and socks on. "I'll come back to visit soon, don't avoid me any more, you hear?"

"...yeah. No guarantees, though." I gulp nervously, pulling the covers over myself more as he looks down at me again. "I'm a magic knight, you know! I have a duty-"

"Your duty should be our future," Lawrence cuts me off, his gaze moving away from me again. "...do you really feel like this is where you belong?"

I open my mouth to respond the answer that I always do: Yes, of course. I'm meant to be a magic knight!

But... I can't say that any more, can I?

Because, for whatever reason, someone on my very own squad wanted me gone.

"Hey... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

I didn't even notice the tears trailing down my face until Lawrence reaches out to cup my cheek gently. I look up into his grey eyes, which are filled with warmth, for once. But I still get that chill.

"If something's bothering you... you know where to find me, okay? You're going to be my wife one day, hopefully soon. We can put all this Magic Knights business behind you, but you'll always carry that honor. I'll take care of you, I promise."

... "Alright." I nod slowly, reaching up to hold his hand for a second before he pulls it away. "Write me some letters."

"I will. See you soon!"

Lawrence gives me a small smile and a wave, before quietly leaving me alone in my room once again.

I stay there for a while, curling up under my sheets like a cocoon. For just a couple minutes, I feel safe.

Lawrence really isn't so bad, is he? I mean... at least I know what he wants. My attackers won't show themselves again, not yet, and they won't tell me why they want me gone. Maybe... maybe I should just listen to them, and leave...

No. That's stupid. I squeeze my eyes shut as memories start to flood back.

I can't leave... because then I'll marry Lawrence. I don't want to be near him at all! Slowly, I sit up, letting the sheets fall off my body as the more pleasant chill of the base hits my skin. I'll find out who attacked me, and purge them from this squad! I'm meant to be here, I'm meant to be a magic knight.

Eventually, I get up to get dressed, cleaning myself off before heading to the bathroom. I splash some water on my face before looking up at my reflection. I look tired and a little stressed out... but alive.

"Hello there! Enjoy your day off?"

I'm on my way down to dinner when I run into none other than Julius. I haven't seen him all day, not since yesterday's meeting, but he's heading the same way as me now. "Ah, yeah. I haven't seen my fiance in a while, so it was nice to have lunch with him."

"Your fiance? Oh, right, Prince Lawrence." Julius nods as he falls into step next to me. I glance up at the taller man, not able to read any emotion other than his usual neutrally-happy expression. Even so, his presence puts me at ease, although I doubt anyone would attack me now while everyone is awake in the base. "Is the wedding happening soon?"

"Oh, definitely not. We haven't even started planning it!" I smirk a little. And if I have my way... it won't ever be planned!

"I see... I guess, eventually, you're going to outrank us all."

"Huh?" I look up to see him smiling teasingly down at me.

"You'll be a princess, right?"

"P-Princess?" My eyes widen as I realize that he's right. Then, I shake my head. "Ah! I don't even want to think about that..."

"Why not?"

"Too much pressure?"

"Ah, well, I think it suits you."

I look back up at him, aghast, just in time to catch his wink. "Hey! Jul- I mean, sir, that's a long way in the future-"

"Julius is fine-" He lets out a warm laugh before gesturing for me to keep up with him. "Come on... a princess can't be late for dinner."

..... AHHHHHH.

I swallow my pride and quickly catch up, pouting a bit to myself. Princess... I can't even imagine becoming royalty. And I don't want to! I'll never be a princess, not if I have anything to say about it.

Slowly, though, I feel my cheeks heat up, and it takes everything I have to keep from glancing back up at Julius's face.

Still...

It didn't sound so bad when he called me that...

#grey deer fic #fic #julius novachrono x reader #julius novachrono #black clover

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winchester-fantasies · 5 years ago

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An Inconvenient Flame (Part Five)

Series Summary: You’ve known Sam and Dean Winchester all your life. You find you have developed an attraction for the eldest Winchester, but Dean has never indicated he felt anything more for you than a little sister. A late night encounter causes Dean to question his own feelings for you, but with your age gap, he’s hesitant to let anything grow beyond attraction. Things come to a head when a case forces you together. Will these embers of attraction lay buried or will this inconvenient flame of desire become an inferno?

Word Count: 2154

Warnings: fluff

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

The music grew louder as you and Dean approached the room, and you could hear footsteps, as people glided across the dance floor, moving their bodies to a waltz. You and Dean stopped, taking it all in. You could feel the nervousness creeping back into your stomach. How would you ever be able to pull this off? You had never been a prissy girl and just seeing everyone dressed in designer clothes, jewels dripping from every body, and the overall opulence of Windsor's mansion, made you feel overwhelmed and even vulnerable.

Seeming to sense your uneasiness, Dean extended his elbow to you with a smile. You took it gingerly, placing your hand in the crook of his arm. He lowered it to his side, pressing your hand comfortably against his rib cage, and the warmth from his body began to soothe your frazzled nerves.

Dean walked into the ballroom, making his way through the crowd. You were thankful you had taken Dean's arm, for you were sure you would have lost him in the sea of dancers. However, Dean navigated through them with ease despite being shoulder to shoulder with everyone.

Finally the mass of dancers began to thin out as you and Dean reached the other side of the room. He lead you to a table by the wall where several couples sat conversing. Dean took out your seat, and you sat down reluctantly, looking up at him as you did.

"You sit here, darling, while I go grab us a couple drinks," Dean said, touching your shoulder, his persona already in place. Your uneasiness returned as you watched him walk away and disappear into the crowd. You were brought out of your worry; however, when you found a voice addressing you.

You turned back to the table to find an elderly couple staring intently at you. You felt your cheeks redden as you realized they had asked you a question, and you had failed to catch it. "I'm sorry?" you asked.

The elderly woman smiled. "I asked you how you were doing this evening," she said.

You smiled in return even though you felt like getting up and running as far away from the table as possible. You were horrible at small talk, and the last thing you wanted was to have to carry the conversation. However, you found yourself responding to the woman, your voice clear and genteel, clashing with the tension roiling in your stomach. "I'm doing good," you said. "And how about you?"

"I'm very well, thank you for asking," the woman replied. "Barbara Ostenberg," she introduced herself, extending her bony hand across the table.

"Jessica Fleming," you returned, the name rolling off your tongue as if it had been yours your entire life.

Barbara nodded her head in greeting and turned to the balding man beside her. "And this is my husband, Mark," she said, motioning to the rotund man. You shook his hand as well and sat back down.

There was a slight pause as you and the Ostenbergs sat in silence. You felt the awkwardness setting in and was about to excuse yourself to go in search of Dean who had still not returned, when Barbara addressed you again. "So, Jessica, tell me. How do you know Windsor?"

You felt a coldness settle in your stomach. You hadn't discussed this backstory earlier, and you realized you would have to come up with something and quick. If you waited for very long, the Ostenbergs would sense something was wrong and the whole operation would come tumbling down.

You swallowed the lump that had risen in your throat and found your mouth incredibly dry. You reached out and took a sip of the water that had been placed out earlier in the evening, perspiration trailing down the glass. The lukewarm liquid slid down your parched throat and settled heavily in your empty stomach. You hadn't eaten since breakfast and nausea rose, causing your stomach to roil, only further adding to your discomfort.

When you retracted your hand, you found it shaking and quickly hid both of your hands in your lap, clasping them tightly together. You thought for certain your cover was blown as your thoughts jumbled together. However, you found yourself speaking once more, hardly able to recognize the distinct and confident voice as your own. "My father has been a long-time acquaintance and business partner of Windsor's," you lied.

"Ah, I see," Mark Ostenberg said, now taking over the conversation. "And what is your father's name? Perhaps I know him!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up in interest.

Another ruse to come up with on the spot. "George Harrington," you said.

"Ah, yes.... That name does sound quite familiar..." his voice trailed off, as Mark nodded his head slowly, trying to place the name to a face but coming up empty.

Before the older couple could ask you further questions, Dean returned to the table, sitting down beside you. You let out a breath, relieved that you wouldn't have to be the only one being forced to endure the onslaught of conversation and line of questioning.

Dean sent you grin before placing a glass of punch in front of you. "Here you go, dear," he said, placing a light kiss on your cheek before settling back onto his chair. It was so quick, you barely had time to register what had just happened. You could feel your skin tingle where he had just placed his lips, and you felt a blush rising in your cheeks, hoping that none of the other occupants at the table would notice.

You cleared your throat. "I was just telling Mr. and Mrs. Ostenberg about Daddy being an old business partner of Windsor's," you said, giving Dean a pointed look and hoping he'd catch on to your ruse.

He seemed to understand as he leaned across the table to shake both their hands. "Daniel Fleming," he introduced himself. "I'm Jessica's husband."

"Very good to meet you!" Mark huffed out. "What brings you to the party?"

Dean told him the ploy you had settled on, the lie falling effortlessly from his lips. You listened as Dean smoothly integrated into the high-class environment and easily took on the character of Daniel Fleming. You were amazed at the suave air that he had assumed, and you were almost certain that if he hadn't been raised to be a hunter, acting would have been his calling.

Dean and the Ostebergs continued to converse for well over an hour, you interjecting here and there. Finally the conversation settled and the older couple excused themselves, Barbara complaining of a headache, while you and Dean remained at the table. You turned and watched the couples dancing. You wondered what it must be like to live with such wealth. You had never been raised in a wealthy home and several times throughout your childhood, you had no home to call your own.

You suddenly felt eyes on you and turned to find Dean watching you. You felt butterflies rise in your stomach at his intent gaze. He got up from his chair and held out his hand. "Would you care to dance?" he asked, his tone still refined.

You enjoyed dancing. In fact, it was one of your favorite things to do, but your dancing was wild, untamed. You let the music guide your body, your moves never quite the same. You glanced back at the dance floor. This. This kind of dancing was elegant, rigid, uniform. You didn't know if you’d be able to follow along.

You looked back up at Dean, who still had his hand held out to you. He smiled gently. "I'll still take the lead," he reassured.

You nodded timidly before taking his hand reluctantly. "Okay," you whispered uncertainly. He lead you to the dance floor as you melded together with the other dancers. You felt Dean take over as you placed your right hand in his left as his other hand came to rest at your side, yours placed on his broad shoulder. You started to relax. It wasn't so bad actually.

"You doing alright?" Dean asked quietly, Daniel Fleming fading away.

You smiled gently. "Yes, actually. I'm surprised at how well I've kept my shit together," you said and Dean chuckled.

"You've done good," he said, giving you a proud smile.

Suddenly, the classical music stopped and a jazz piece came through the speakers. It surprised you, but you welcomed it as the tension in your body began to ease even further. You had never cared for classical. It always gave off a stuffy and uptight feel. Jazz on the other hand.... It was like speaking your love language. It always helped your body to loosen up. You closed your eyes and listened to the notes as the remaining stress left your body.

You felt a slight tickle at your temple, and you opened your eyes to find Dean's face beside yours, his cheek nearly pressed to your own. Your bodies had closed the distance, and your chests touched as your chin grazed Dean's right shoulder. You could feel his soft breath on your ear, causing shivers to run down your spine. You closed your eyes again, enjoying the intimacy of being so close to Dean.

Suddenly, Dean stopped and lead you gently through the crowd to a pair of French doors that led out onto a balcony overlooking the sprawling grounds. You hadn't realized just how warm you had grown until the cool night air hit your face. Night blanketed the landscape, the only light coming from the moon above. The sky was completely bare, laying out all the stars in its dark, empty canvas.

Dean stopped and you turned to face him. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized just how close he was to you. The light from the open door illuminated the side of his face. You could see the slight stubble on his cheek, the cleft in his chin, his eyes a dark, cavernous green that you felt you could easily drown in.

You felt his hand come to rest lightly on your hip as his eyes briefly darted to your lips, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You watched in both terror and desire as he leaned forward gingerly, almost as if he was afraid you would run if he moved too quickly. You could feel his warm breath on your mouth as his lips gently grazed yours, gauging your response. When you made no move to deflect his advances, he closed the distance, pressing his lips fully onto yours, his lips soft and warm and inviting.

The kiss ended all too quickly and he slowly pulled away. His face was still close to yours as his hand made its way up to your cheek. His touch was tender, so different from his rough, calloused palm. He gazed into your eyes, searching for your reaction. Searching for an indication that what he had just done was all right. You placed your smaller hand over the one on your cheek. That was all he needed.

Dean moved back to your lips, capturing them again, his actions more confident this time. Your stomach warmed as the kiss deepened. His tongue slid over your lower lip gingerly. You welcomed him in as your tongues slid over one another. It wasn't frenzied or filled with lust as you had expected after seeing Dean with Amanda. Instead, it was slow and gentle, like velvet on skin. His hand moved from your hip to the small of your back as he pulled you closer to him. You wound your arms around his neck as his other hand snaked its way to the back of your own. The jazz song drifted outside, adding even more emotion to the kiss.

Dean finally pulled away, as the last musical notes faded into silence. You stood still, not daring to move. Not daring to say goodbye to the moment. Crickets chirped in the night, and you lightly shivered as goosebumps rose on your arms as a slight breezed tickled your bare skin. Dean leaned away from you, causing you to instantly feel alone even with him still only feet away from you. You wanted him back; his hands on you; his warmth melting into your body; his lips on yours as your tongues danced.

He took off his jacket and gently placed it over your shoulders before leading you back inside, his hand lingering on the small of your back as you went first. As you stepped through the doorway, you were suddenly shaken from your euphoria when you realized the music was still not playing and the entire room had gone silent. You looked around and your heart dropped to your stomach. The large crowd of guests all stood uniformly, facing you and Dean. Every one of their eyes were black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags:

Everything:

@divadinag @mogaruke @calaofnoldor @defenderrosetyler @coffeebooksandfandom @emoryhemsworth @satans-0-spawn @fandom-princess-forevermore

Dean Girls:

@weepingwillowphoenix

An Inconvenient Flame:

@tranquility-or-chaos @parinarain

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction series

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razberryyum · 5 years ago

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The Untamed/陈情令 Rewatch, Episode 2 (spoilers for everything)

(covers MDZS chaps 6 - 10 and a bit of 13)

WangXian meter: 🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰🐰

(a 🐰 is earned every time there is a WangXian scene or even when they’re just thinking of each other)

I always tell people when I’m trying to get them to watch The Untamed that when they get to this particular scene in the second episode, they’ll know if they will be into the show. To me, this is the game-changer moment: you’re either in or out after this. If this scene doesn’t emotionally move you enough to at least continue on with the drama, nothing else will. It is seriously one of the most romantic scenes I have ever seen captured on screen. This was the moment that made me realize not only was I now fully committed to CQL, but that I had also found a new obsession and was ready to devote myself to Mo Dao Zu Shi. After all, something that can lead to the creation of such a beautiful scene MUST hold other invaluable treasures. So into the MDZS rabbit hole I went, happily diving head first.

Even now I’m still amazed that this scene exists in the intact form that it does. I started The Untamed with little to no expectations, especially knowing the restrictions it was under AND having just finished Guardian and experiencing how poor creative decisions can arise due to censorship (or at least, using that as an excuse for their dumb story choices). As I mentioned previously, the first episode was a hard sell since they definitely did not put their best foot forward first, but I liked Xiao Zhan immediately and Wei Wuxian as a character was interesting enough that I wanted to learn more about his past that led to his death and rebirth. The small glimpses we saw of his relationship with Lan Zhan also fascinated me, but then with this second episode, the weak points of the pilot still remained: there was still bad CGI (the statue) and very amateurish technical mistakes (in the recognition scene, at one point, in a close-up shot they’re holding onto each other, but in the next far away backside shot they’re clearly standing apart from each other, only to return to holding each other once again once the camera cuts back to a close-up...whoever the editor is on CQL probably should dunk their head in the toilet every time these editing errors pop up) that made my initial viewing of this episode a frustrating one for most of its runtime. I think I spent most of my initial viewing just distracted, playing on my phone or something, until the big WangXian moment happened and then I was shocked and awed. I know I wasn’t paying close attention that first time because when I rewatched the episode later on, I realized I missed a lot of dialogue and details. I have since revisited this second episode numerous times more, and I do feel bad about how dismissive I was initially. It’s a pretty loaded episode: it has funny, poignant, creepy, mysterious, and cool moments while still feeding us bits of the overarching plot. I definitely have developed an affection for it since my first viewing and it’s become one of my favorite episodes in the series.

Of Pining & other Heart-achy Things

This simple line from Jiang Cheng is enough to make my eyes well up with tears: I can’t help but imagine Lan Zhan traveling around the world for sixteen years, most likely all alone, stopping at different places to play Inquiry, fervently hoping that maybe one day he’ll finally receive an answering chord from Wei Ying, only to be confronted by a deafening silence again and again and again. How utterly sad and disappointed he must have been every time, and yet still, he never gave up and just went to the next location to do the same thing and experience the same heavy disappointment all over again. If that doesn’t make your heart ache, I’m sorry to tell you, your heart is no longer functional.

It’s a detail I don’t remember if the novel covered, but I’m assuming that Lan Zhan was the one to bring Wei Ying’s inventions like the spirit attraction flag and the compass back to Gusu and incorporate them for use in his sect’s normal cultivation practices. I know other people have use his tools as well since that nameless cultivator at the start of the episode was also using the spirit compass, but I feel that with Lan Wangji, he probably purposefully acquired and adapted WWX’s techniques so that every time they’re used, they can serve as a reminder of Wei Ying for him. Though it does make me wonder how Lan Zhan managed to get those approved by his uncle; I can’t imagine Lan Qiren being ok with using anything that was created by the man whom he blames for the corruption of his beloved nephew and model student. Did LWJ just pretend he created them instead? That doesn’t even sound right. Maybe Uncle Lan decided to be merciful and just let Lan Zhan win this one since he was probably obviously miserable after Wei Ying’s death. Yeah, I can buy that scenario, especially since the flag and compass are pretty useful tools.

I wondered did LWJ already suspect “Mo Xuanyu” was Wei Ying before he started playing Wuji on his flute. It’s curious that he happened to be in that part of the forest at that time. I’m guessing his Wei Ying senses were tingled when he heard about Mo Xuanyu’s skills from Sizhui and the boys so that’s why he was hanging around the vicinity just in case MXY reveals his true identity. After waiting 16 years for this reunion, it’s no wonder Lan Zhan had no qualms about holding onto WWX’s wrist in public for much longer than socially appropriate.

I actually get a little emotional every time I rewatch this episode and watch Jin Ling display his mad archery skills because I would always think of how much he takes after his dad. His parents would’ve been so proud to see him all grown up like this; Shijie would’ve been so happy she probably would get teary-eyed as well every time she saw her boy in action. Sure, he’s a spoiled little princess, but he is also a pretty skilled princess with a heart of gold and I just wish they had more time together as a family.

They looked so happy, look at all those smiles. It really makes me so sad that Wei Ying will probably never be able to hug JC like that again, and of course he’ll never be able to hug Shijie period. Great now I want to cry again.

Lan Jingyi Appreciation Section

I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this precious boy by name so far, so I wanted to take this opportunity to show him some much deserved love. Lan Jingyi with his resting bitch face and steady stream of snark was really the MVP of this episode. He actually made me laugh out loud a few times...in fact, he almost always makes me laugh as soon as he scrunches up his face like he’s smelling something bad. I recently saw someone mention that he’s really the most un-Lan of the Lans (sorry, I forgot who posted that so I apologies for not giving proper credit) and that is really the perfect description of him. I love this kid as much as I love Sizhui and Jin Ling, and I am also sincerely fascinated by him. I mean, who raised him in the Gusu Lan sect? Cuz I cannot imagine Lan Qiren being the one since Jingyi undoubtedly would’ve had all his snark driven out of him at an early age. Hell, the amount of disciplinary action he probably had to have gone through would’ve probably killed him at a young age. Did he join the sect when he was already fully formed so that’s why he’s still breaking Lan sect rules right and left? He threatened an old man and is like rude to everyone. I don’t know all 3000 rules but I’m pretty sure being mean to the elderly and insulting to supposedly mentally unstable people are probably not allowed. If anything, his disposition would make him more suitable for the Lanling Jin sect and yet he’s with the stuffy Lans. WHY? I could watch a whole spin-off series with just him and the other juniors as long as we get to learn about how he came to be with the Gusu Lan sect. He’s hilarious and adorable, and among the many the reasons why I wish we had more episodes for the present-day arc, one of them is because I wanted to spend more time with the juniors, especially Lan Jingyi, even if it meant the screenwriters would’ve had to go off book and create new scenes for them. It would’ve been well worth it to hear LJY throw more shade at people.

Random Bits of Randomness

It’s kinda crazy how WWX just stood there with his back turned, oblivious to Jin Ling’s attack. If Lan Zhan’s blade hadn’t blocked JL’s sword, that would’ve been the end of our main protagonist. I just thought that was such an odd scene...I would’ve felt just a little better if Wei Ying had at least had a little more awareness that an attack was heading for him and made some attempt to get out of the way.

Ugh, that mask. First of all it’s ugly AF, and secondly it’s so freaking ill-fitting it was distracting. Would’ve been nice if the production team gave him a mask that actually fit his face. I mean, did it HAVE to be THAT damn big? I’m amazed they don’t have bts clips of Xiao Zhan tripping and hurting himself because the stupid mask blocked his vision.

Other than being a brilliant mastermind and Oscar-worthy actor, Nie Huaisang has got to be one of the greatest cultivators if not THE greatest cultivator of all time to be able to conjure up an illusion like that. That thing was doing real damage to people. If it was just a phantom, what the heck was holding up those two cultivators in midair like that? And what kicked Jin Ling around? I know Wei Ying was able to drive people crazy with his flute during his Yiling Patriarch phase, but his handiwork still felt more grounded and reasonable than this.

Questions I still have (please feel free to answer them):

- Who was that old man at the grave? Someone NHS paid to just hang around the graves until the juniors and WWX came by?

- So NHS basically fucked up Yan’s entire family and God knows how many other people just to get WWX to eventually play his flute to lure Wen Ning out from wherever he was hiding?

- How did JGY not know Wen Ning escaped? Or did he just leave those details to Xue Yang so he didn’t really care about what happened to Wen Ning? I’m trying if this was addressed in the book but my mind is coming up empty. I don’t think it was brought up in the show though, or I just completely missed it.

Overall Episode Rating: 9 Lil Apples out of 10

#The Untamed #陈情令 #spoilers #Untamed Rewatch #WangXian #Mo Dao Zu Shi #CQL #MDZS #魔道祖师 #Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #Lan Zhan Lan Wangji #Wei Ying Wei Wuxian #Lan Jingyi #Jin Ling #Nie Huaisang #Jiang Yanli #Jin Zixuan #Jin Guangyao

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itsclydebitches · 5 years ago

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I consider taking angsty prompts and turning them into absurd fluff to be a specialty of mine~

Wretched

Aziraphale had always had a soft spot for children’s books. One wouldn’t think it based on the antiques and religious texts crowding up the shop, but if you took your time and wandered all the way to the back you’d find a sizable collection waiting, enhanced by the occasional plush and toy truck. They were mostly books from the mid-18th and 19th century, didactic texts with (surprise, surprise) religious bents. A Little Pretty Pocket-Book Intended for the Instruction and Amusement of Little Master Tommy and Pretty Miss Polly had been a long time favorite of his, both for the brightly colored paper it was bound in and the absurdly long title by contemporary standards.

The History of Little Goody Two-Shoes. The New England Primer. Millions of Cats. Peter Rabbit, The Secret Garden, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland...that was about as modern as Aziraphale was willing to go—for now at least—with the exception of one co-authored series from the 1990’s.

“The Bailey School Kids,” Crowley read. He flipped through one at random, eyes already skittering away from lack of interest. The cover got an amused snort though. “Dracula Doesn’t Drink Lemonade? Wouldn’t mind showing that to old Bram sometime.”

“You’re welcome to take that copy if you ever pop back downstairs.”

“Isn’t he with your lot?”

“Can’t quite recall anymore.” Aziraphale’s fingers skimmed the spines until he found the book he was looking for. With a dramatic flourish he showed off this cover too: a glowing woman performing a kick in front of four children.

Crowley’s lips twitched. “Angels Don’t Know Karate.”

“I’ll admit this one certainly doesn’t.”

“‘She’s too good to be true!’ Well they got that part right at least.”

Crowley’s admiration was rarely verbal. He preferred actions over words and when something did come tumbling out it was quickly followed by an insult for balance. You’re so clever. How can someone as clever as you be so stupid, and so forth. Thus, Aziraphale waited for the blow and instead felt his cheeks heating when all Crowley did was glance up over his glasses, eyes soft. He’d bent to get a look at the book and having him in such a, ahem, submissive position did nothing to calm Aziraphale’s racing heart.

What absurdities human bodies were. His palms had begun to sweat so badly that Aziraphale feared he’d do damage to the pages.

Yet when he dropped one hand to brush against his trousers he found it caught halfway, Crowley’s fingers ensnaring his, right at the tips. He drew Aziraphale’s knuckles to his mouth and placed a kiss there, reverent.

“Too good by far,” he murmured.

“Oh,” and Aziraphale was floundering, choking a bit, trying to put the book down and pull Crowley forward all at once until they were simply a mess of limbs and laughter. They finally succeeded and as Aziraphale bent to press his own kiss into the hollow of Crowley’s throat he forgot the reason he’d brought him over here in the first place.

I was making a joke, he thought faintly. Then Crowley took his face between his hands and Aziraphale forgot that too.

***

It came to him thirty hours later when a stray cat nearly upended itself into a drain in its attempt to get away from Crowley.

That was it. The Bailey series was missing a title: Demons Don’t Keep Pets.

“Wretched beast,” Crowley muttered and Aziraphale kindly ignored that the words were spoken in the same tone as, ‘I’m not nice’ and ‘That’s ridiculous,’ and ‘Shut up, angel.’

“We merely startled the poor thing,” Aziraphale said. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

“Shut up, angel.”

Hmm.

Spending time in the company of demons resulted in all sorts of odd, but really quite predictable outcomes. The stench of sulfur and chlorine was a given. Aziraphale had long ago ceased trying to cover up Crowley’s scent with any human-made creations and after the first couple of hundred years he’d forgotten why he’d wanted to in the first place. Minor mischief was another. Not anything planned, demons simply had a sort of... bad luck that surrounded them. Minor falls, forgotten words, and lost socks followed them everywhere. There was the expected gravitation towards warmer climates—many were cold blooded by nature—and the inevitable itch to groom one’s wings once the encountered concluded. Though that was due more to self-comparative embarrassment than anything the demons actually did.

And then there were the animals. Needless to say, creatures of Earth didn’t take kindly to demonic entities from the literal depths of hell.

Over their multi-millennium friendship (Courtship, Aziraphale silently corrected himself, experiencing a little thrill) he had seen Crowley interact with every animal imaginable. Or rather, unintentionally terrorize every animal imaginable. Cats, as established, had enough sense to get out of his way. Dogs were a little dumber, but that just resulted in shaking, whimpering, and a pungent mess on the floor. The Bentley was beloved not only for it style, but the freedom it had afforded him. Over the years Aziraphale had watched Crowley get bucked off of horses, camels, donkeys, mules, and on one memorable occasion an elephant. Though there were upsides too, of course. This particular body was quite susceptible to bug bites, though Aziraphale never needed to worry about such things when on a dusk stroll with Crowley. In decades past a visit from him had been more than enough to scare off the rats and cockroaches plaguing Aziraphale’s home. Squirrels and other rodents never bothered them while eating outside. Birds wouldn’t dare to defecate anywhere in their presence (smarter than the dogs then). It had taken a hundred years for the ducks of St. Jame’s Park to become accustomed to their routine... and even today they very obviously only ate the bread on Aziraphale’s side of the pond.

In short, there was a reason that poor unicorn had bolted the moment Crowley come on the scene.

“You’re thinking about how I’m responsible for the extinction of the unicorns, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale faltered only briefly. Uneven pavement. Such a danger. “Not at all, my dear.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Zira.”

“I am quite accomplished in the art due entirely to your influence. Now hush and enjoy the sunset.”

Crowley grumbled, but slipped his hand into Aziraphale’s when they just so happened to brush. They did enjoy the sunset while strolling back from dinner and as they did not a single mosquito, bird, or daring cat came their way.

***

Crowley would have dearly loved to have a pet.

He’d never said as much, not even at their most inebriated, but the desire was clear as day to Aziraphale. Put aside how well they knew one another; Aziraphale was, quite literally, a being meant to understand and exhibit love, someone who could feel it in all its forms. He knew that Crowley loved animals with the same surety that he knew Crowley loved children. And him. The duck obsession, the drunken worry for all the ocean’s creatures, they were just neon signs pointing to an already obvious statement.

Aziraphale had briefly thought that Dog was the answer. Who better to love a demon than a hell hound? Sadly, a visit to the Young household established that Adam had been a bit too thorough in transforming Dog into a normal dog. The puddle on the family room rug had created quite the stir.

So, with Armageddon two weeks behind them and all the freedom to do as he pleased, Aziraphale went shopping.

“Angel, when you said you’d gotten me a present...” Crowley’s mouth worked for a moment, seeming to taste a whole lot of words before rejecting all of them. “Weeellll. Kinda thought it was another stuffy old book.”

“You love when I give you stuffy old books.” Aziraphale had seen the small collection in Crowley’s apartment, as loved as anything else in that minimalist space.

“Is this a stuffy old book then?”

Crowley pointed to the box. The box moved.

“No, dear.”

In truth Crowley already knew what was inside. He could no doubt smell it, but he went through the motions of surprise all the same. Aziraphale watched how hard he swallowed and the shake in his hands as he pulled back the flaps.

“...You got me a snake,” he said and Aziraphale smiled at how wet his voice had gotten.

Specifically, Aziraphale had gotten him an Eastern Hognose Snake, black with a reddish tint to match Crowley’s hair. Docile and small, the little dear had no sooner tasted the air then it was making a beeline for Crowley, around his wrist and up onto his shoulder.

He’d been right. The curse didn’t extend to one’s own species.

“I’m surprised you never got one for yourself,” Aziraphale said. He watched as Crowley ran two fingers delicately over the scales, entranced. A soft, subconscious hiss was emanating each time he breathed. “It’s rather the perfect pick for you.”

“Way to toot your own horn. But nah, just... snakes. Not very cute, are they? Not the sort of thing people want in their home.” Crowley used his free hand to sit his sunglasses more firmly onto his face and... oh.

Oh.

Aziraphale felt something in his chest tighten. He stepped forward and removed those glasses, despite the protest.

“I think they’re positively adorable,” and a laugh bubbled out of Aziraphale as Crowley spluttered. The tension in his shoulders released though and the little Hognose ended up better settled between them. “A snake will make a wonderful addition to this home, rest assured. You’ll have to give him a name.”

“Her,” Crowley croaked.

“Her then.”

“Got any suggestions?”

“Not just yet.” Stepping closer Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder, eye-to-eye with their little lady. He wasn’t at all scared though. Like with the snake above him, Aziraphale knew he was perfectly safe. “I hear these lovelies play dead when feeling threatened, so the name must be something suitably dramatic. You see? You’re perfect for one another.”

“Shut it, angel.”

“And yes, there’s a collection of stuffy old books in the second box. You must read up on how to properly care for her. You don’t really think I’d pass up the opportunity to—”

“Somebody give me strength do you ever shut up?”

Crowley finally decided that the best way to achieve silence was to get it himself, which was precisely why Aziraphale blathered on in the first place. Kissing one snake while another watched wasn’t precisely what one would consider angel-like behavior.

Although, given that Aziraphale was an angel and here they were, perhaps it wasn’t so far off the mark after all.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #which one of you lovely readers wants to name the snake #because I am bad at that kind of stuff :D

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queenborhapreaderships · 6 years ago

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rekindling the flame - chapter 1

Hey everybody! So this is that rami x reader (with a dash of freddie feels) I was talking about earlier! It’s not done, so I guess this is chapter 1? I’ve never cut a fic into chapters before because I’m a stubborn perfectionist but like. Eh. Ya know? Thanks to everyone who told me to go ahead and post this! Also, if anybody would be interested in a tag list, hit me up. I’ve never done one before but I think I can grasp the concept, haha! Anyways, here we go! (pls let me know if you like it, fr)

-description-

You're the daughter of Jim Hutton, so growing up was a roller coaster. With Freddie as practically a second father, things were never boring. But time passed and things changed. Everything changed. Not knowing how to process any of your past, you flee to the states in an attempt to write music and find yourself. It pretty much turns into instant isolation! That all changes when you get a call from your Uncle Bri about a movie being made on Freddie. Secrets come to light and you just might find yourself falling in love with the boy with the beautiful eyes along the way.

-word count- 2,987

ao3 link

You’re alone when you get the call. You’re alone a lot these days, but you work best without the distraction of friends pulling you out to party and get drunk every other night. Besides, you really want to focus on this latest song you’ve been writing. You just can’t seem to get the bridge right, the chord progression is off in the tiniest way and for the life of you, you can’t figure out why. Suffice to say it’s been driving you absolutely mad.

Your eyes light up when you strum the new experimental chord you’ve thrown in, but you’re interrupted by the harsh ringtone of your cell.

“Goddammit” you mumble to yourself and sigh as you put your guitar down on top of its case. You look over and feel yourself involuntarily smiling at the contact name. It’s Uncle Bri, you wonder what he’s up to these days. It’s been a while since you’ve heard from him. Too long, actually. That’s hardly his fault, you’re aware of the fact that you’re isolating yourself but you really can’t really garner up the energy to care, as bad as it sounds. You pull yourself out of your thoughts and reach over to answer the phone.

“Hey, Uncle Bri!”

“(y/n)! I’m glad I got a hold of you! How are you doing, my dear? We miss you!”

“Aww, I miss you guys too! I can’t complain! I’ve been working on my music a lot, so that’s been taking up the majority of my life at the moment” you sigh, suddenly wishing you’d have managed your time better. You really do miss your goofy Uncles.

“Ahhh, just like good ol’ Freddie, I see” you can hear the smile toying with his voice.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that”

“Well, I would,” he says triumphantly. “Anyways, do you have any serious, unmovable plans for the next, oh, say 8 or so months?” you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Um, not that I know of...” you say, although it comes out more as of a question

“Perfect! Then I’ll be flying you over here to the UK pronto. You’ve got work to do” he says and hangs up in a haste.

You pull the phone down and stare at it. That was. Odd.

It’s not until later you realize that this is all for that movie that you’ve been hearing rumors about for months. You weren’t sure if it was actually happening or not, you feel like you definitely should have considering who you are, but Uncle Bri certainly wouldn’t be uprooting your life for anything unimportant. You’ve settled into a nice routine over in the states. For a movie this important though, this central to who you are, you’d be upset if you weren’t involved.

~~~~

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you don’t remember as much about your father’s partner as you wish you did. Let’s be real though, he was practically your second dad, he raised you until you were almost seven. You have faint memories of calling him papa. Your dad didn’t love it at first, he was probably worried about what Freddie thought. He, of course, absolutely adored it and as well as he adored you. So, papa, he was.

The memories you do have, you wouldn’t trade for the world. For the entire world. Some of your favorites were Freddie making you breakfast and cuddling on the couch. He would always read to you before bed and find your favorite stuffed bear before tucking you in and pecking your forehead. Sometimes, your favorite nights, he would sing you to sleep. You were probably too old for lullabies, but Freddie never failed to deliver, not even towards the end. His favorite song to sing you was I Was Born to Love You. He sang it slow and soft, making sure you took every word to heart. Sometimes you dream about it, wishing for just one more day together with the two of them.

You don’t have much to do on the hellish flight ahead of you, so you pull up the folder you keep on your phone of pictures of your dad and Freddie. They looked just as happy as they were. You smile as you scroll through them, pictures the world hasn’t seen. Pictures of the two with their cats, pictures of all three of you together.

You feel your eyes mist up when you get to one of your favorites. At first glance, it appears to be the most mundane thing in the world, but to you it’s everything. Freddie’s balancing you on his hip and he’s got his other arm wrapped around your father, kissing his cheek.

“Oh, fuck” you mutter under your breath, tearing yourself away from the grainy image. You’re finally realizing just how difficult consulting on this movie is actually going to be. You miss your dad and you miss Freddie more than words can say.

You never really dealt with your fathers' death nearly a decade ago. Freddie’s death probably messed you up in more ways that you’re even able to conceptualize because you were so young at the time. He was just a part of you. A part of your history. A part of who you were and who you are.

You’ve got a lot of shit to work through, and god, you hope you’ll be able to hold it together for just a while longer. This movie is important to the two most important people to you. You’re certainly not going to ruin your chance at making it the best it can be because you can’t look at the main character of the film without losing it.

You swallow the lump in your throat and reach down to rummage through your bag for your headphones. You close the photos app and pull up Spotify instead. Zoning out and distracting yourself with music is always how you’ve dealt with the brunt of your emotional issues since practically the beginning of time. The second the first note rings out, you feel a weight lift off of your shoulders and you sigh in relief as you settle in for a long ride.

~~~

You’re pretty damn sure that finally getting off the stuffy plane and stretching your legs is the best feeling in the world. You’re instantly proven wrong though when you spot your uncles waiting for you. They’ve got a dorky sign with “(y/n) Hutton” scrawled across it with a few shaky hearts at the bottom. You can’t help but chuckle, your heart swelling at the gesture.

You quicken your pace and when they notice you barreling towards them, your clunky bags in tow, their faces light up. Their sign and your suitcases are instantly ditched in place of Uncle Rog opening his arms up for you to crash into. Of course, you do, without a second thought and you hold on tight. It feels like if you don’t, he’ll disappear right out from under you.

“Oh, love, how are you? How are you, really?” Uncle Rog says, pulling you away from him to study your face. You sheepishly avoid eye contact, aware that these two know you better than most.

“You know, we do worry about you. More than you think.” Uncle Bri chimes in, responding to your silence. He then reaches over and takes his turn to pull you into a hug. You close your eyes and bury your head in his shoulder. You barely muster the strength needed to keep your voice from shaking.

“I know. I just missed you guys, is all” you break away and get your bearings together. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the two sharing a skeptical glance, but luckily they drop it for now.

~~~

To say the studio was huge would be an understatement. You’d never dealt with anything this major in your entire life, sure you’d been going to your Uncle’s concerts since you were little. That was different though, that was second nature. Music has always been second nature. This? This is a different world, man. There are more… rules. You’ve never been one for rules.

So far, you’ve been introduced to a lot of the key players in the movie, big execs and such. They’ve all been very graceful and polite if not slightly intimidated by you, which you find hilarious. You still haven’t met any of the actors yet, but you’d been given their names and have already done extensive googling. They all seem like the perfect people for the parts.

You’d actually seen a bit of Rami, Freddie’s actor’s, work in the past. The Night at the Museum trilogy is a goddamn classic and your friends have forced you to watch a couple of episodes of Mr. Robot. So you’re definitely excited, if not a little nervous, to meet the boys.

It’s almost like the universe can read your mind because when you and your uncles turn the corner, there they are. You can tell they’ve met before because Rami, and if you remember correctly, Joe are waving and they all walk over.

“(y/n), you haven’t met the boys yet, have you?” Uncle Bri asks, and before you have the time to answer, he’s introducing you to them respectively. You do your best to remember who is who, it shouldn’t be too hard but this would not be a great situation to slip up. There’s Ben, Joe, Gwilym, and finally, you reach Rami.

His eyes are even more striking in person. You think he’s saying something but you can’t hear a word of it. A poke on your shoulder pulls you out of your trance and you realize you’ve been staring at him for a longer amount of time than would be considered socially acceptable. You glance over at Uncle Bri, a thanks for snapping you out of whatever that was.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry! Zoned out there for a second, it was a long flight” you grin and do your best to sound casual but you’re definitely rattled from your mistake. You almost let out a sigh of relief when you see Rami’s warm smile.

“Don’t worry about it, I totally understand. You flew in from the states, right? That ten-hour flight can be brutal” you nod and he continues. “Anyways, I was just saying how much of an honor it is to be playing Freddie and if there’s anything you ever need or want to talk in regards of the script or characterization, I’m always here. You probably have more influence than me when it comes to that actually, but the offer is always on the table! The same goes for all of us.” He gestures at his castmates and they all nod accordingly. He sounds incredibly sincere and it’s impossible not to grin.

“I really appreciate that, guys. I’m here if any of you need anything too! If you need help going over your lines or if you have any questions about my uncles, dad or my experience with Freddie as a father figure, I’d be more than happy to let you in on everything I know” You’re not, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but why else are you here?

You hear a chorus of thank you’s and wave at them as they rush off to hair and makeup, already late. You look down and try to swallow a smile, you’d be lying to yourself if you tried to pretend it wasn’t endearing. The three of you continue down your path and you feel Uncle Rog bump into you.

“You okay, (y/n)?” he says, trying poorly to hide his shit-eating grin. Oh god, what does he think he knows now?

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired…” you taper off when you notice the look the two give each other.

“Okaaay, whatever you say,” he says in a sing-songy voice. You groan and roll your eyes.

“Well I don’t know about you two, but I’m gonna go explore the set,” you say, trying to get a minute to yourself. It’s just all been a little overwhelming and the last thing you need is your uncles scheming over whatever it is they’re scheming over because if there’s anything you know, it’s that look.

“Have fun, love. We’ll be here if you need us” Uncle Bri reminds you for the thousandth time. You thank him and wander off on your own.

~~~

As the days go by, you fall into a routine. They don’t need you there at a specific time so you definitely consider yourself lucky in that regard. All of the actors have to be at hair and makeup typically at around 6. You shuffle in at a comfortable 10, say hi to anyone who isn’t currently working on a scene, and hide away in one of the back rooms with the writers.

The script has already been put out of course, but they still meet every day to talk about potential revisions or go over their work with the rest of the cast and crew. While definitely on different sides of the globe from each other, what they do isn’t very far from what you do. At least it’s on the same planet. Which would be a first in this new world of Hollywood. So you’d say things are going pretty smoothly. You haven’t yet had to dig deep and reveal anything about yourself or your history that you didn’t want to.

Of course, though, the universe can’t let you stay comfortable for very long. It needs to have its fun in throwing you for a loop just once you think you’ve got things figured out. This loop comes in the form of none other than Rami Malek. At first, that is.

It starts like any other day. You come into the studio in your baggy hoodie, with your messy hair strewn everywhere, and your headphones in with the volume up as loud as it will go. You yawn and scrub at your eyes. You were up pretty late working on that same damn song, it’s just been eating away at you. The day you figure out how that bridge works will be a goddamn national holiday in your book. You groan and continue down the winding hallways.

When Rami comes up behind you and taps your shoulder, you jump out of your skin and your soul just about leaves your body. You rip your headphones out and turn around to see him giggling like a toddler and you gasp, grasping your chest dramatically.

Your heart flutters at the carefree expression on his face and you swallow down and try to ignore the emotions so obviously bubbling up to the surface. You can’t help but stare though, it’s not your fault that he’s absolutely breathtaking. You’re confident that his jawline could cut steel. This time, your admiration slides and he doesn’t notice because he’s still pulling himself together after the little incident.

He’s wearing Freddie’s angry lizard jacket and he’s got the fake teeth in. He’s the spitting image of Freddie and it honestly would have been a little jarring if it weren’t for him being so warm and open, squashing any possible nerves you may have before they even have the time to fully form.

“Sorry!” he chokes out, swallowing the last of his giggles. “I really didn’t mean to scare you, I thought you heard me walking up, but I guess not,” he says and gestures at your headphones dangling down and twirling together.

“Jesus Christ, Rami. You do know that you almost killed me, right? I literally almost died right here!” you say, still playing it up a little bit. You can’t keep a straight face for long though and break eye contact to laugh under your breath. “Anyways, what’s up? I haven’t seen you in a while! You look great, I must say” you point out, referencing the outfit.

“I always look great, darling,” he says, putting on Freddie’s accent. You raise your arms in surrender and he shoots you a grin. Suddenly he’s Rami again, just like that. “So I’ve got that one big scene tomorrow and I feel like something is off with my performance and I just can’t put my finger on it. I was wondering if you were free later tonight after we’re done shooting to go over the script with me?” you’re not sure if he’s doing it on purpose, but he’s giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Oh, I know that feeling,” you say, thinking back to your stupid song. Maybe you can play it for him and get his input? You quickly brush off the thought, this is about him, not you. “And of course! I’d love to!” You can’t even pretend you aren’t honored and a little excited to see him later. Even though you’ve fallen in love with your little routine, you have a real soft spot for this boy.

“Perfect! I can’t wait to see you then” he waves as he walks off. You wave back and once he’s turned the corner, you can’t contain your giddiness. Before you know it, you’re hopping and -hopefully- internally squealing like a schoolgirl. He’s just so cute, okay? It’s not fair. It shouldn’t be legal.

~~~

You spend the rest of your day curled up in the bean bag chair in the corner of the writers' room going over a thousand different scenarios in your head, both eagerly and anxiously awaiting the end of filming. You’ve really been thrown for a loop here, going from total isolation to the midst of practically a high school crush. You’re not even entirely sure why, there’s just something about him. You’re not quite sure whether you like it or not, but there’s one thing you do know. Denying it won’t get you anywhere, you’ve been down that road before.

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yvkkao-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Blackboard Prompts

One lump post - might be in other parts of the daybook, but should all be here:

#1:

I have answered this in other entries, but the image that I had of London was one of a fantasy. London is a place where supernatural things happen. It is the setting for books and films. It must be a fantastical place, near mythical. That rather contrasted with the things people would tell me about the weather and the food in London, but I found things like the London fog charming. It gave me a visual of a city draped in a perpetual shroud of mystery. That being said, I knew virtually nothing about London beyond what I know of any big city. I have traveled quite a bit, and big cities often share some things in common, such as public transit, noise, and crowds.

I’m not expecting much of the food or the people, to be honest, but that is because I have a lot of respect for hospitality customs in America. People are often friendly and open to conversation. The food quality is dependent on the place, but usually, big cities have better food options and more diversity. This is not my first trip to Europe, so I have some idea of what to expect. I have not, however, ever been to London, so I might be surprised. I have doubts, though. I fully expect it to be as beautiful as I’ve always imagined, but my faith in people and food is not as rose-tinted. At last, though, I will be able to say that I have been to London, and I cannot wait.

#2:

My experience flying to London was odd, yet typical—an interesting contradiction, which is amusing to me in recollection. I arrived far earlier than I need to at the Pitt County airport, and I felt bad for several reasons. It was nice to meet everyone again, but I can never sleep before a big trip, especially before a plane ride. This is deliberate. I need to be able to sleep on a plane, or the discomfort drives me insane (as do the pressure changes). Usually, I try to sleep for the majority of any plane ride, from boarding through landing. However, TVs were invented, and not only that, everyone gets one on a plane. To commemorate the occasion, I admit that I watched a good deal of British-based TV/film on the way to London. It was a long enough plane ride that I had time to watch TV and catch up on sleep. It was probably one of my more comfortable long plane rides, so I have no real complaints.

As for the first day in London, the first day is always hard to acclimate to. I try to adjust to the new time zone as soon as possible whenever I go anywhere. The first day is always difficult (yes, it bears repeating). People are tired, hot, hungry, overburdened, lost, and overwhelmed in general. I did like getting out to see some of London that first day, however. I want to learn the transportation system as quickly as possible, but I’m not worried. The London Tube is much easier to navigate, from what I’m seeing, than the Metro in Italy (or most other cities). It’s quite time-consuming, I’ve noted. I try to factor in travel time when I’m planning excursions, and this might cut into my plans somewhat. We’ll see how things go.

#3:

I have to say, my initial perception of London has not really changed, even over this past week. Maybe I am jaded from an excess of travel experiences, but I have not really been shocked by anything. I wasn’t even surprised about the scaffolding mummy that is currently Big Ben, the clock tower, and part of Parliament. The same has happened anytime I have gone anywhere; it becomes a familiar frustration and feeling of resignation after a time. You cannot change your timing to such a large degree, so maybe if I ever get the chance to come back to London, something else will be in the midst of restoration.

I have been a bit disappointed by British tea, I will admit. I can be a bit of a tea snob, but I grew up with strong Chinese teas. I entertained the myth that British tea is without peer, but mainly, it seems to be unmatched in expense. At least the pastries are good, and I got a huge kick out of trying London cuisine that I have read about in books, such as meat pies and British biscuits. I think the thing about London that is superb is the architecture, the buildings and structures of old. I would never want to live in a castle—too many steps, and that’s not a mindset that will ever change for me—but I love to tour through them. Seeing a castle in the middle of a modern city never fails to make me feel like I’m standing in a fantasy land. It’s so much fun, and there is history, and more, in every stone. I want to see as many castles, museums, and art as I can.

#4:

I once got into a discussion about “natural” vs. “supernatural” vs. “hyper-natural,” and I loved that topic because the words themselves have certain connotations, and nothing is easy. For me, I make the distinction between natural and supernatural as reality versus fantasy. I try to be honest with myself and to keep separate libraries about the real world and the fantastical narratives. Nature is natural. A magnificent waterfall pouring over a cliff. A bird building a nest. These things usually happen without human contrivance. When not reading fantasy books, I often think of human designs as unnatural. We often appreciate those human constructions just as much. Things like Stonehenge and the Great Wall are precious to us because they are not naturally occurring spaces.

I looked at the London Eye, and it is incredible, but it is the unnatural mimicking something natural. If we want a “bird’s eye view” of London, well, we can’t fly, but humans can build things that will accomplish supernatural goals. We create folklore legends to explain things that defy explanation. Supernatural is something not natural but more than human. I love discussing supernatural tales, learning about where they came from and why they came about. Science often takes away some of the mystery, which can be riveting in and of itself but boring if you like narratives.

#5:

I miss air conditioning. I knew to expect it, but AC might be the sole reason I never want to live anywhere other than the U.S. That lack never gets easier to bear (unless it’s not summer). If I were to create a monster in a novel, it would be wreathed in flames and too hot to bear to be around. It would also probably be from a swamp—with roots from living in a floodplains area, but such is inspiration. I don’t think I would feel bad about acknowledging these things, either.

As for things that have gotten easier, getting to and from the Tube, and the buses, has gotten easier. It is such a common mode of transportation here that it is beginning to feel natural. I’ve only used one taxi, and that was near day two. I miss my car, though. The Underground is terribly loud, stuffy, and generally uncomfortable. I have come to associate travel with discomfort, which makes me think of Richard and Door. They can’t fly like Peter Pan. Even though Door can open doors, they often have to get around the mundane way. It’s nice to come home to creature comforts after a long time away.

#6:

The “monsters” in the novels came as no surprise to me, particularly with A Monster Calls. Ursula le Guinn and Lloyd Alexander, to name a couple, did something very similar in their writing, although I must admit that Ness’s monster was far more three-dimensional as a character, which I approved of. I love narratives and studying narrative structures, but sometimes this makes things predictable, which is also usually fine. Twisting a trope on its ear must be done right. I most enjoyed reading about the conceptions of monsters from “Monster Theory” and then applying those constructions back to our readings. That gave everything more depth, and I loved burrowing into the history, the culture, and the folklore surrounding these “monsters.”

Since I prefer the fantasy genre almost exclusively to read, I often think of going to see plays as a special treat. The play might have the same text, but the company might interpret it in startlingly different ways. I laughed so hard during A Midsummer Night’s Dream; that has always been my favorite Shakespeare play. It was shocking, and it was glorious. The “monsters” were rather more difficult to pin down in those four plays, however. I can make several arguments, but it often boils down to human nature. The same could be said for the poetry anthology. Poetry interpretation is not my strong suit. I prefer to look at syntactical strategies rather than semantic interpretation. A lyric poem is a beautiful thing, and I know that I want the poems in my anthology to make me smile whenever I hear them. Cacophonous discord can be hard to appreciate without the right context.

Time is trickling away, and there is still so much to see and do. It is hard not to be able to read to my heart’s content when traveling, but I know it is important to do all you can when visiting a new place you may never return to again.

#7:

Synthesis for Essay:

I have learned/decided that I want to dedicate myself to the study of narratives. This was not necessarily a new revelation, but the work we have done here has helped to cement the decision. Experiencing London as we read novels and other materials—often featuring London—has been a novel experience, as it were. For my synthesis essay, I plan to use narrative as my theme. I will draw in the study of our readings and class discussion and try to make connections to multiculturalism, children’s literature, poetry, and folklore. Since our readings have covered that spectrum, the difficult part may be bringing in my experiences around London. I want to discuss the bridge between fantasy and reality, and reading fantasy while standing in a real London location might be the perfect time to do so.

I have learned a lot, and I value trying new things. I would like that to be reflected in the essay. I think it is important to be familiar with the place you are trying to write about and/or include in your writing, but more than that, I treasure the little moments when something incomprehensible happens. When the bus breaks down, when the giant raven eats your sandwich, things like that. Those are the moments that make life unique and exciting. The setting is spectacular, but the people and other things in it define those moments. That’s why I think that level of attention to detail is so important in a book, even a novel that is trying to teach an overarching life lesson or twelve. Sometimes, it is the small things that happen along the way that are the most memorable.

My essay will probably include snippets from my daybook entries and speculation on narrative themes and structures. Everything has a story. Everything is a story. The plays we’ve been to, the novels we’ve read, the poetry we’ve shared, and even the London Dungeon—those all are narratives or use narratives. As participants and observers, we make connections and try to delve deeper into these connections. These, too, create some wonderful moments, and I hope that my synthesis essay will properly convey my appreciation for studying narrative using multiculturalism, poetry, children’s lit, and folklore as frameworks.

#8:

Things I will miss in/about London List:

-stunning architecture

-the Thames

-Chinatown

-museums

-parks and gardens

-King’s Cross Station

Things I will not miss in/about London List:

-London Underground and the Tube

-city noises and smells

-lack of AC

-crowds

Some of these things might seem like they clash, but I have my reasons. Why will I miss King’s Cross Station and not the rest of the Underground? Simple. King’s Cross is a hub, and you can go to many other places from there. The Tube lines tend to be more limited, and they’re packed and stuffy. Similarly, I won’t miss the city noises, smells, and crowds of pushy people. I have had to wear ear plugs every time I so much as set foot outside the flat, and the cacophony of people noises makes me want to jump out of my skin. I hate being crowded. I will miss all of the beautiful gardens and parks and historical structures, though. I love how beautiful those are. And I will miss the museums. I think if a city has a museum, it really has something that people should want to come in droves to see, and they’re often splendid buildings.

I will NOT miss the heat. I need my air conditioning, and that’s that. I did love the Thames and Chinatown. The sound of the water is always a balm, and I can never get enough authentic Chinese food. Most of all, I will probably miss interacting with people. I am a bit of a recluse, so getting to spend time with people beyond the classroom is always welcome.

#9:

I’m packing many, many, MANY photos and memories. This has been a unique experience for me. I usually travel with family members. The last time I went on a trip with peers was more than a decade ago. I had forgotten how much fun it could be. Those photos and videos might not be physically in my travel backpack, but I had resolved not to get too many souvenirs this time. In the past, I have been careful to get at least one present for my loved ones, something special. However, we’re all grown now, and we don’t need anything random. We’re all more interested in putting money towards the next big trip. Consequently, I have only a few keepsakes.

What will forever be in my London suitcase is my London suitcase, as it were. I have a travel backpack that goes on every big trip with me, and it is vital to keeping my stuff where I can keep an eye on it. However, I will be toting home a couple of very nice scarves and some books. I will not be toting home a couple dozen protein bars. We always travel with rations, but I’ve never noticed this tactic doing anything except encouraging us to eat out (avoidance). I will be different, of course. I’ve learned and done so much in London, and I think this will have a huge effect on my as a student. I now know what I want to do for research. I keep mentioning this, but it is important to me. And I want to come back to London someday. That might be the best endorsement I can offer. I will always treasure the memories, the people I traveled with, and the things we did. Those cannot be replicated, and I’m eager to share my tales of adventures when I get home.

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