#ive never met this man nor did i exist at the same time as him but i miss him terribly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

floralseokjin · 4 years ago

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⤑ made-up love song iii.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, lots of lasagne talk, flirting, kissing, fluff 🥰 words; 9,340

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

After you had time to calm down, of course you ended up telling Soojung about what happened on the date. You kept some things to yourself, mainly about how giddy you had felt throughout the whole thing, but you were sure she could see that for herself – she kept looking at you knowingly, and for once she kept the teasing down to a minimum. You ended up staying awake quite late, Soojung opening a bottle of wine. You were still excited from the date and the thought of what was to come next, but somewhere along the line, you and your best friend started getting into your feelings. (Was it really a Saturday night until you and Soojung ended it with slightly drunk sappy heart to hearts and hugs? Obviously not…)

For the first time in a while you felt comfortable enough to open up about your love life (or lack of one) and felt it easy to talk about the past and to even bring up Donghae. He was a forbidden topic for the most part, no matter how much you were over him, but tonight had changed something. You didn’t know how to explain it, and no, it wasn’t because Seokjin was somehow the man of your dreams who had magically made things better with just one date. That was dumb and only happened in cliché Hallmark movies.

No, it was because tonight had shown you that life goes on. No matter what rock bottom you hit, or how long it took you to get over it, no hurt was forever. You’d been single for a long time, and happy at that – after you’d gotten over the heartbreak of Donghae cheating on you – but tonight you’d had fun. You’d enjoyed yourself, enjoyed Seokjin’s company. You didn’t know what would come of your second date, or if there would be a third, but you were okay with that. You were just living in the moment, and right now you really liked that infuriating-not-so-infuriating bastard.

You were taking a chance, just like he was, and it was actually pretty exciting…

You woke up late the next morning, something you didn’t reprimand yourself for because it was summer break after all, but also, you had a raging wine headache that had needed all the shut eye it could get. Your head was still throbbing slightly as you reached for your phone on the bedside table but seeing a text from Seokjin waiting for you made it miraculously disappear.

Seokjin (10:28am) Hi Y/N, Thank you for such a great time last night. I can’t wait until Saturday. Would it be alright with you if I kept in touch throughout the week? Seokjin

You giggled to yourself at his insane formalities. Why was that so adorable? But most importantly how could he be both cute and sexy at the same time? He was hellbent on making you lose your mind. You thought about teasing him, asking him when he’d grown comfortable enough to drop the Regards from yesterday, but despite how well last night had gone, and despite how much you loved joking around with him in person, over the phone seemed different. You were still a little nervous – giddy nervous, but nervous, nevertheless. Your conversation from last night with Soojung came back to you, reminding you that this was all too real. You were potentially catching feelings for this man, and it was new, and exciting, but equal parts terrifying now that you’d woken up with a hangover.

Everything you typed out in reply seemed way too stiff, so growing frustrated, you settled on an emoji to cut through the formalities.

You (10:49am) I had such a lovely time too, Seokjin. Of course it’s fine to keep in touch. I’m looking forward to Saturday night! 😊

What did he mean exactly about keeping in touch?, you wondered as you got out of bed, padding your way down the stairs and into the kitchen for a much needed glass of ice cold water. A good morning text? A how are you? You knew he was busy with work all week, so you weren’t expecting too much, but just knowing he wanted to stay in contact until next Saturday made you smile to yourself as you waited for his response.

You didn’t have to wait long.

Seokjin (10:55am) Great! I’m so excited to try your World famous Italian lasagne 😁

Cute. He’d followed your lead, ditching the last of the formalities and even signing off with an emoji instead. You instantly felt more at ease, but –

Oh no.

Why did he have to bring that up and remind you of your humiliating blunder? You knew what would be taking up all of your time for the few days – you needed to perfect this goddamn dish.

Soojung on the other hand was unbothered by your predicament. Mind in the gutter as always. “Do you think that’s a euphemism for something else?” She asked straight away once you’d shown her your messages a few hours later.

“Soojung!” You exclaimed, feeling yourself get a little hot in the face. You wish she’d stop bringing up sex, it was stressing you out. You told her as much.

“You’re the one who’s invited him to your house for a second date.”

You stared at her, greatly unimpressed. “You know why I invited him here.”

You’d told her last night. You’d been hit with a surge of confidence when you’d suggested it was your turn to decide on something. In truth though, you didn’t know the first thing about restaurants, you hardly ever ate out, and when you did it was either fast food or at the food court in the department store Soojung worked at. You knew he wouldn’t have minded any choice you’d made, but that didn’t stop the slight apprehension you felt.

It was normal, given your difference in lifestyles, and whilst that seemed to be no issue thankfully, that difference was still there. However really, that’s why you’d chosen to cook for him. Seokjin had shown you something close to him last night – the restaurant he owned with his brother, and now you were to show him something close to your heart. Something that was you. You loved cooking and baking in your spare time and you wanted to share that with him however small. Granted it was things you were confident with, but lasagne couldn’t be that hard, right? A true perfectionist, you’d master it quickly enough…

Soojung rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you could suggest McDonald’s and Dilf would be insanely happy.” She nudged you, squealing like a kid. “He’s just so into you!”

You wouldn’t bite. She was making you nervous again. “Stop calling him Dilf, he has a name.”

“Geez, sorry.” She held up her hands in apology. “Didn’t mean to offend your man.”

You pushed her shoulder, silently telling her to quit it.

For the next few days it became your life’s goal to master the art of lasagne. Sunday night was spent googling recipes, trying to find the most authentic one. There seemed to be a lot of fuss on the right type of pasta. Flat edged would be fine, but the wavy edge was best. You made note of that. Next was the sauce. Two types. The tomato based one and then the white one – which you learned was called Bechamel. That seemed pretty easy to cook up, but the former seemed a little daunting. Every time you’d had pasta sauce in the past it had been premade, starting from scratch was giving you anxiety. Seokjin thought this was your expertise so you had to make it believable. What if you made it too salty? Too bland?

…Possibly you were thinking way too hard about this. Soojung thought the same.

“Just buy it in a jar, Y/N, for Christ’s sake. You’re taking this way too seriously. You don’t need to learn fluent Italian to make your little white lie believable. It’s a goddamn lasagne.”

She had a point.

“He’d be happy with a sandwich. He’s coming over for you, not the shitty lasagne.”

“Don’t call my non-existent lasagne shitty, you’re setting me up for failure.” You grumbled, looking at the ten tabs you had up on your laptop screen, all claiming to be the best most authentic recipe around.

On Monday you went shopping for ingredients. You knew a small world foods store that was just outside of town, you’d been there a couple of times when you’d been baking with the children for class. With help from signposted aisles, you found what you were looking for in no time at all, so that night, you and Soojung both tucked into your first (sort of) homemade lasagne. Only the Bechamel sauces was harder to master than you’d first thought.

“I think you added too much flour.” Soojung’s nose wrinkled as she spoke. “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but the white stuff… I don’t know, maybe it’s supposed to taste like that?”

Nope, she was definitely correct, too much flour, which was odd because you were pretty positive you’d followed the right measurements…

Tuesday you had a day off from the sight, and even the word lasagne. You met for coffee with your mom but kept the date with Seokjin a secret. Not that she pressed about your love life anymore, she’d long given up on that topic. It was nice to catch up and you made plans for a trip soon. It was hard to find time to visit her when you were in work so you were always thankful for the summer and Christmas breaks. You were her only child, so it made your time together even more precious. She’d only remarried ten years ago, and while Jonathon had kids from his first marriage, they lived abroad. They were older than you and had families of their own. You weren’t particularly close for no other reason than the distance. You’d only met them a few times but they were lovely people. Your father had remarried while you were still in high school, having two more children (a son and daughter) with his wife. You were very close to them despite the age gap and saw them as regularly as you could. Your extended family had long been the norm and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Wednesday you were back on the lasagne. You purchased more pasta sauce and decided on the pre-made Bechamel sauce too, just to be safe. This time around everything went smoothly, Soojung had no complaints and neither did you, but you still invited Taehyung around on Thursday for a third go. He was way more enthusiastic than your best friend, singing your praises all night.

“Y/N, that was amazing!” He exclaimed, leaning back in his chair to pat his belly. “Dilf dick – Uh, I mean, Seokjin, is going to love it.”

“Guys, is that what you really call him when you’re alone together?” You whined.

“Blame Soo,” Taehyung shrugged. “She’s rubbed off on me. But, I’m right,” he smirked. “He’s going to want to give you his DD once he tastes this, if you know what I mean.”

Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, you looked on unimpressed. Maybe if you gave them no reaction they’d stop?

“Oooo. I wonder what his dick even looks like. I bet it’s as handsome as his face.” Soojung squealed, sat beside her boyfriend.

“SOOJUNG!” He cried, mouth open in disbelief.

“Can we just stop talking about his… y’know…” You sighed, unable to say the word aloud. “Imagine if it was the other way around and he was wondering about what I looked like naked.” Soojung wouldn’t be impressed, that was for sure.

“Fine, you’re right,” your best friend sighed. “I’m just way too excited because you finally like someone!!” She was getting loud now, she always did when she was excited. “And I want it to work out because you deserve it!”

You chuckled. “Soo, calm down.” But you had to admit her words were sweet. You reached for her hand across the tiny table, giving it a gentle squeeze of thanks.

“What about Barman dick?” Taehyung asked randomly, totally oblivious that you and she were having a moment. “Huh? Soo? You want my Barman dick tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows again, a playfulness to his voice as he nudged her.

She giggled but wasn’t having any of it. “It doesn’t really have the same ring to it, babe.”

Highly offended he pulled away, pursing his lips. “Whatever.”

“Okay guys, let’s not have a domestic at the dining table.” You laughed. Which was a mistake because now Taehyung’s attention was back on you.

“So, Y/N, when are you going to invite Mr. Dilf to my bar?”

You sniggered. “How about never?”

“Hey, you ladies are being very mean tonight. I complimented your lasagne.” Hm. That was true, you guessed. “What’s wrong with my bar? I think he’d love it. What does he drink? I see him as a dark rum type of guy.”

You shrugged. “He was drinking red wine on our date last week.” It still made you feel funny to say the word date. You’d gone on a date. You were dating. A flurry of excitement found its way to your stomach, your excitement for Saturday growing.

“Interesting,” Taehyung mused.

Soojung stood up, starting to collect your plates. “Okay, I’m washing, who’s drying?”

“Not me,” you sang. “I’ve cooked nearly every night this week.”

Soojung eyes were wide when you met them, as if she was silently begging you. For what? “Just please promise me there won’t be any lasagne waiting for me after work tomorrow night? I’m going to turn into one at this rate.”

Saturday arrived soon enough. You woke up the same time your phone went Bing and you knew exactly who it was. Seokjin had been texting you Good morning every day since Monday. He was no longer signing them off with his name, which was progress, and he was even adding more emojis, so you guessed you had rubbed off on him.

Sometimes he’d drop a meme with the greeting. They were mostly to do with early mornings and workloads to which you’d tease him about because it was your summer vacation after all, you didn’t need to worry about work. But you always sent a Hope today runs smoothly his way too. You didn’t want to rub it in too much.

Yesterday’s meme had been about dating, something about the guy trying to flirt but being garbage at it and asking if she liked cheese. You didn’t agree that was like Seokjin though – you were gradually learning that he was incredibly modest – but it had made you laugh. Only Seokjin could send you lame memes and you’d find it adorable… You were possibly whipped.

Seokjin (8:01am) Good morning. [Image sent]

Today the meme was about lasagne, which made you question whether he was googling these every morning because no way had a lasagne meme popped up on his social media – if he used any at all. The realisation that he was searching for memes every day was even more endearing and your heart got a little gooey. You read the text on top of the image of lasagne. Dude, is that your new white shirt? Lemme just hop off this fork for a closer look. You genuinely laughed at that one, still wrapped up in your bed sheets. So incredibly lame, but equal levels funny.

Seokjin (8:01am) I will not be wearing white… I can’t wait to see you later. Just a reminder that I hope you omitted the garlic for tonight’s meal. I don’t want to embarrass myself by itching all night 😅😂

Immediately the smile dropped from your face and you shot forward, horror washing over you. Oh no. He was allergic to garlic. With the stress of perfecting the world’s best lasagne you’d totally forgotten. What were you going to do? Find a plain tomato sauce? Where the hell were you going to find one? Was that even a thing? You needed to leave now. Jumping out of bed you almost forgot to message Seokjin back. Looking at your phone again the image of the lasagne mocked you…

Two hours later you were back at home, in need of a sit down after you’d rushed around town looking for a pasta sauce that didn’t contain garlic (very hard, by the way.) The stress had aged you about ten years. Soojung of course found it highly hilarious.

“You’d have been in ER before 9pm,” she chortled, still in her pyjamas on the couch. She’d been still asleep when you’d dashed off, a woman on a lasagne mission.

You ignored her. It wouldn’t have been that bad, right? He said himself he’d only be itching… Clawing off his own skin was probably better than his throat closing up… maybe…

“How did you manage to forget?” She was still laughing. “AND you said you’d make a lasagne. Italian food always uses garlic. He must think you’re trying to kill him.” At this point you could hardly understand her, words blurring into one as she lost her shit.

“We went over this. I wasn’t in my right mind when I said I’d cook lasagne.”

She stopped her laugher immediately. “No way, you’re not blaming me again.”

“Ugh.” You sighed, suddenly remembering something. “I was going to make my homemade garlic bread.” Now that was a speciality of yours. This night was going to be a disaster.

“Skip the garlic,” Soojung suggested.

“So, just bread then.”

She tried her best not to laugh again, not wanting to make it worse. “Yum.”

It didn’t help.

What did help though, was making her clean the entirety of the downstairs of the house. As the day went on you started to get more and more nervous, which was silly, but you couldn’t help it. You realised that your place was a shoe box in comparison to his, what the hell were you thinking when you’d invited him here?! It needed to be spotless, to distract him from the fact you would be eating dinner in the same place you would be cooking it…

You knew there was no need to worry, it was just like last week when you’d grown self-conscious only to be fine once you’d set eyes on Seokjin. No doubt tonight would be just the same, he didn’t give a crap about stuff like that, so why would you even think he would? He’d probably be hurt if he knew… You just couldn’t help those little bubbles of insecurities from floating around inside your brain. You were a law unto yourself, and the garlic-less lasagne wasn’t helping. You’d had no time to prep for it. What if it tasted like cardboard?

“Lasagne is lasagne,” Soojung reassured you, in the kitchen as you got all the ingredients together. “It’s not going to taste gross just because there’s no garlic in it. Put it this way, at least you can kiss without needing to pop a mint.”

You whined, shaking your head, you couldn’t even dare thinking about kissing him right now. You’d spontaneously combust from anxiety.

“Should we clean your room too?” She asked, picking up the jar of pasta sauce absentmindedly. You’d already read the label approximately fifteen times, double checking it was indeed garlic-less.

“What? No,” you told her, voice all high-pitched. There would be no going upstairs besides from bathroom usage. “But hey,” you exclaimed, rounding on her with the spoon you were holding in your hand. “My room is always clean, bitch.”

She was the messy one.

Soojung left for Taehyung’s place at half 6, ready for Seokjin’s arrival at 7pm, a hug for good luck before you waved her off. You’d calmed greatly now, nothing like some table laying to ease some nerves. The lasagne was prepped and ready to oven cook, you had a fresh key lime pie in the fridge and you were dressed and presentable with ten minutes to spare. Wonderful.

The doorbell rung not long after you’d made your way downstairs and you were quickly finding out that Seokjin was a very punctual man. Opening the door to reveal him stood at the porch your heart instantly warmed, skipping a beat when he gave you a dazzling smile and a soft Hey. You felt a little weak at the knees. Nope, you were not ready for tonight.

In your tiny entryway he offered you a silver gift bag. “I didn’t know what to bring, so.” He said with a shrug as you pulled out a bottle of red wine.

“Oh, thank you, Seokjin.” You hadn’t been expecting him to bring anything at all. It was a lovely surprise.

“You probably have some waiting already. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you reassured him. “We’ll use this one.” You were going to use a bottle of white wine you had laying around, nothing special at all. Red wine seemed better, fancier, maybe it would go better with the lasagne?

“Are you sure?” He asked. “I was gonna get you flowers but I didn’t want to freak you out or anything.”

You laughed. What was he going on about? “Why would that freak me out?”

His smile was crooked as he chuckled quietly. “I don’t know. I’m new to this, I thought they would’ve been too forward.”

You gave a small shrug, voice barely there when you replied. “I like flowers.”

He gazed at you, warm eyes softening as he stepped forward. “Next time.” He smiled. “Next time I’ll get you flowers.”

You swallowed fairly loudly, averting your gaze as you outstretched your arms. “Let me take you coat.” Was it hot in here? You felt a little stuffy.

He shrugged off the beige wool blend, revealing the tight fitting black shirt he had on underneath. It stretched over his shoulders, accentuating how broad they were, how hard his chest was and how much his waist curved inwards. The pants he was wearing didn’t help matters too. He looked effortlessly gorgeous, hair parted to the side, a piece curled above his left eye, softening the blow of his exposed forehead. You moved to hook his coat on the rack, realising you could’ve been gawping. Not that you could help it, the man was trying to kill you.

As you turned to face him again, he smiled. “You look really nice.” His voice was soft which just made it even more dangerous. “I think this may be the first time I’ve seen you in pants.”

“Really?” You wondered. You were partial to a dress in the summer, so he was probably right. You’d chosen a pair of black skinny jeans and a patterned chiffon blouse. Nothing too fancy, but he looked at you with awe-filled eyes. Unless you were imagining it. You cleared your throat. “You look good too.”

He stepped back, arms outstretched as he looked down at himself. “Thanks. No white.” He chuckled.

You forced yourself to laugh too, nerves creeping back just because of your stupid damn lasagne. “No white.”

Moving forward again he took your hand. It was warm and soft, just as you remembered from last week. Who cared about the lasagne when you were this close to him? When he was looking down at you with those brown, twinkly eyes? Not you anymore.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week, Y/N.”

Oh.

You invited him inside the living room first, pouring him a small (and his only because he the car) glass of wine as you chit chatted for a few minutes. Sat next to him was RJ, who you’d taken from your bedroom to join you both for the night. He wanted to say Hi, had been your opening line and Seokjin had found it hilarious, cracking up instantly. Although his “I missed you buddy, how have you been?” went rudely ignored. Maybe the alpaca was nervous…

Ever the gentleman, he complimented you on the house, noting the décor with a fond eye. That surprised you, maybe he had played a part with the interior of his home. Well, you’d only seen the cosy family room – but it suited him very well. You knew there had been no need to be nervous when it came to inviting him into your home. There wasn’t a judging bone in Seokjin’s body.

You talked about your weeks, yours had been fine, but of course you left out all the stress over the lasagne. Seokjin’s week on the other hand had been quite demanding, but that was nothing new he told you with an accepting shake of his hand. He was used to it by now, but he had to admit tonight’s date had made it easier this time around. He was full of the charm, not that you were complaining…

Misook was babysitting Arin tonight, he told you when you asked how she was. It was his weekend this week, he and Nana took it in turns – when she didn’t cancel, he added as an afterthought – but he seemed a lot more relaxed talking about his ex-wife this time around seeing as last weekend she hadn’t broken any promises. He was happy if his daughter was happy, and that made you smile. You remembered Arin’s sorrowful face that day her mom had cancelled on her, so you were glad they’d found time to spend time together. You also remembered how irritated Seokjin had sounded when he was opening up to you on the bench at the school fate… You wondered just how often Nana cancelled plans, and couldn’t imagine how frustrating that was for both Arin and Seokjin… You hoped this marked the start of things being easier for them now.

Soon after that, you served him your starter (“garlic – wait, no I mean, no-garlic bread.”), and you chatted some more over that and while the lasagne baked. It was surprising how little you’d touched the sides on your first date, so tonight you covered even more bases. Family mainly. You told him about your half and step siblings, your parents’ remarriages of course coming up too. He seemed interested in that, wondering about your views on it and if it had affected you as you grew up. As a divorcee you understood the relevance to him and because he was so easy to talk to you found yourself opening up freely.

His parents were still married and Seokjin was the youngest out of their two sons, so it was quite unheard of for the second born to take over a family company. In fact, it was the first of its kind for his, which made it even harder for him. His older brother had been the rightful heir to LG Electronics but his passion had always been in culinary arts. His parents had been kind enough to let him follow his dreams, and thankfully, for Seokjin, that meant he could follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d been eager to prove himself but it had been hard in the beginning. His status as the youngest son meant that a lot of people set him up for failure, but with his family’s love and belief he’d managed to succeed and confirm himself as the rightful CEO. You didn’t doubt it. It seemed he’d worked hard to get where he was now. That was admirable.

The influx of information was so interesting to you and it didn’t feel real. While you could imagine Seokjin taking charge, visualising him in that tailored houndstooth suit he’d worn when you’d first met him, it was strange to think the smiley and soft-spoken man sat in front of you was from a long line of power and wealth. He should be untouchable, yet here you were able to reach for his hand across the table. Able to feel his forefinger stroking delicate patterns into your palm as you opened up and got to know one another more and more…

“So, if your family’s a big deal, what about things like arranged marriages? Are they still a thing?” You asked, maybe confusing fiction for fact.

Seokjin laughed at your wording. “They used to be, not so much anymore. I met my ex-wife through a friend. They concentrate less on things like that these days.” He shrugged, adding as an afterthought, “As a divorced CEO I think I’m a great example of that.”

That was true, you thought to yourself, wondering how the breakdown of his marriage had also played a part in the stress of his early years as CEO.

“I know it all sounds pretty crazy, but I like to think my family is just like anyone else’s.” He continued, smiling bashfully when you met his gaze. “That I’m just like anyone else.”

You wondered how many people had immediately judged him because of his status… You’d been one of them, right? Even if you hadn’t known any of the details, you’d written him off as some obnoxious, rich guy who flaunted his wealth… You felt guilty thinking back. He was the complete opposite.

You nodded in agreement before grinning. “I’d have liked to see what college Seokjin was like.”

“A complete nerd, to tell you the truth.”

He answered so seriously, you didn’t know how to react, and then he was laughing loudly, cracking up at himself. You couldn’t help but join in. That’s when your stove alarm went off, shrill and incessant, signalling the arrival of the dreaded lasagne…

It turned out he loved it though.

“This is amazing,” Seokjin praised, mouth still half full as he chewed. You did have to admit it was good. It tasted just like the original, despite the lack of garlic. Seokjin quirked an eyebrow, smirking your way. “So, how lucky am I to be able to try this World famous Italian lasagne?”

“Very lucky.” You kept your answer short. Hoping he’d just drop it.

He didn’t.

“How lucky?” He tried to pry from you. “How many people have tried it?”

You gave him a small smile, hovering your fork over the plate. Technically he was the third, but you couldn’t tell him that, could you? “I can’t disclose that.”

He emitted a short laugh. “What about the recipe? Care to share?”

You brushed him off with a soft chuckle. “A chef never tells her secrets.”

“Not even me?” His bottom lip jutted out as he looked across at you.

Your heart did a little dance. He was being unfair. “Don’t pout like that, it’s making me feel guilty.”

Thankfully the lasagne topic fizzled out after a couple more minutes, your cold sweat having time to dissipate while you chatted and ate together comfortably. However a few minutes later you noticed Seokjin fidgeting slightly in his seat. You politely ignored it to begin with, unsure if you were just imagining it, but then he started itching the back of his neck. You put your fork down, a sick feeling washing over you. “Is anything wrong?” You asked, now watching him itch up his forearm. “Seokjin?”

He looked at you in mild confusion, eyebrows creasing together as he opened his mouth. “Are you sure there wasn’t any garlic in this?”

You swallowed away the panic racing up your throat. “I’m sure.” You’d read the back of that jar and then read it some more. “I’m positive.”

… Weren’t you? You watched him scoot his chair back, leaning down to start scratching the back of his calves. He made noises of discomfort as he did so.

“Oh, no…” You were up before you could stop yourself, racing around him to start hunting in the recycling for the glass jar.

“Wait, where are you going?”

You could hear Seokjin’s voice behind you, sounding alarmed, but you were too panicked to really take it in. You needed to be sure. This was just your second date, you couldn’t ruin things already. Turning him into one giant itchy red blob had not been your intention.

“I was only teasing you.” Still, his words didn’t sink in. That was until you felt a hand on your elbow, tugging gently for your attention.

You spun around, worried eyes wide – even wider when you found him so close. He was on his feet too, bent a little to level with you, pretty much within kissing distance. His voice was soft when he spoke, you found yourself distracted by his mouth. “Y/N, I was just messing around.”

You blinked, not truly understanding with all those annoying distractions zooming around your mind, but slowly you pieced his words together. Oh. Despite the relief you felt, now you just felt silly. Plus, he was still so close to you…

You took a step back, the small of your back pressing up against the counter. You needed a clear head. “Don’t freak me out like that.” You told him, but you still sighed in relief, hand against your chest. “I thought I’d poisoned you.”

He looked a little concerned, but you could tell by his eyes he found your reaction amusing. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I just wanted to make you laugh.”

“Make me laugh? You nearly gave me heart failure.” However, you gave him what he wanted, a laugh that sounded weak and shaky, but it was something – you did see the funny side.

He joined you, shoulders relaxing now that he knew you were okay. He looked behind you, eyes on the trashcan, a bemused smile on his face. “What were you looking for anyway?”

“The jar.” You answered, as if it wasn’t obvious. You turned, deciding to fish it out anyway. Holding it up to him, you were adamant. “See, no garlic. Check.”

He chuckled. “I already said I was joking.” He took one look at your desperate expression and gave in, taking the jar from your hand. “But if it makes you feel better…” You watched him as he read the label, silently soaking in his handsome features. He looked softer tonight, the curve of his jaw rounding as he smiled. It took you a moment to realise he was done. He handed the jar back to you, and you prayed to God he hadn’t caught you staring at him all gooey-eyed. “It’s fine.” He confirmed. “I’ll be itch free tonight.”

You smiled and plopped the glass back inside the can. “I looked around town for hour trying to find lasagne sauce sans garlic.”

He looked guilty. “I’m sorry for being awkward.” Then he paused, eyes narrowing, the hint of a smirk itching at the corners of his mouth. “But… Y/N, are you a fraud?” Huh? What did he mean? You didn’t need to wait long for an explanation. “I thought a certified chef would cook up a batch of her own tomato sauce.”

Oh. You’d gone and put your foot in it, hadn’t you? It was probably time to explain yourself… “I have a confession,” you began, sounding wary. Seokjin looked interested albeit it mildly confused. “I… may have told a little white lie.”

He shook his head, a puff of laughter leaving him. “You’ve lost me.”

You took a deep breath, knowing you were going to have to spell it out for him. “I’ve never made lasagne before. Ever. In my entire life.”

He looked confused as silence spread out between you. He sounded it too when he spoke again. “Then why did you say it was your speciality?”

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands for one dramatic moment. “I panicked.” Peeking at him, you babbled on. “I know it sounds stupid but Soojung was curtain twitching and it was stressing me out and then you were asking me what I cooked and lasagne just popped into my head!”

Seokjin blinked, his mouth twitched and then he was laughing – loudly.

“You find it funny?” You asked, relaxing a tad.

“Very.” He laughed harder but seeing the look of bafflement on your face he tried is best to still it.

“I’ve been practicing it like crazy,” you whined, happy you could finally tell him all about your lasagne struggles. “This is my fourth time eating it this week. Soojung nearly killed me.” You snorted at the memory. This started up Seokjin again. “And then I forgot you were allergic to garlic. Your text reminded me this morning and I had to rush out to the grocery store.”

He was weak at the knees at that, and you were laughing just because he was. It was contagious. “Stop,” you wailed, attempting to get a hold of yourself. This week had actually been quite traumatic. “I’m glad you find it funny, I’ve been in constant stress ever since you drove off last week.”

“I can’t help it.” He chuckled, although he did sound apologetic. “You’re just so adorable.” The air that settled around his effortless admission made your skin prickle. When he carried on, his tone was gentle. “You know I wouldn’t have minded if you changed the menu to something else, right?”

You pouted ever so slightly. “But you were looking forward to it.”

He gave a small shrug. “True, but… that was more so code for ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you again.’ The food was just a bonus. I’d be happy with a Big Mac.”

You felt your cheeks burn and you tried to shake yourself out of it. “So embarrassing,” you murmured. You didn’t know what for… The lasagne mess or the fact he could have this much of an effect of you? You were inclined to go with the latter.

“What about the no-garlic bread?” Seokjin asked, changing the subject a little. Maybe he’d sensed your embarrassment and didn’t want to make it worse. He was sweet. “Did you make that?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Well, I didn’t bake the bread. I just toasted it.” It was still a speciality of yours though. “It would’ve been much tastier with the garlic.”

He gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. This body wants to turn me into a miserable old man.”

Pfft. Old? Miserable? He was anything but.

“Sit,” he prompted you, smiling as he motioned with his head to the table. “Finish your World famous Italian lasagne before it grows cold.”

As you moved he delicately cupped his hand around the curve your waist, giving it a soft squeeze before he got to his chair first. Your stomach flipped, head dizzy as you sat and tucked your chair in. Last Saturday popped into your head, the way you’d loosely held hands outside and how you were sure he’d been leaning in to kiss you – properly.

You knew one thing. You really wanted to kiss him tonight.

Trying to get a hold of yourself, you glanced at him, catching his eyes. He was already tucking in again, and he grinned bashfully, as if embarrassed. “This really is great. All that practice paid off.” A pause. “You should show me how you cooked it sometime.”

Your face lit up in surprise. “You cook?” In the back of your mind you were aware that he’d probably been hinting for a third date, but you were so shocked by the possibly of Seokjin cooking you couldn’t stop yourself from asking.

He chuckled quietly. “I mean, when I have time and can be bothered. I like cooking but it’s just easier to go to a restaurant or get it delivered.” He looked sheepish before adding, “Or Misook does it for me.”

There was no shame when it came to that. Seokjin probably worked all hours of the day, no one could expect him to tie on an apron when he got home and start pulling out pots and pans.

“Do you cook a lot?” He asked.

You nodded. “Soojung and I take it in turns.”

“So what is your speciality?” He smiled.

This time around you were in your right mind and able to answer properly. “Veggie tacos.”

He raised his eyebrows, impressed. Then he tried again. “Can you make them for me sometime?”

He was persistent, you’d give him that. You shrugged, trying your best to sound impassive but the little smirk gave it away. “Maybe if you say please…”

He laughed, leaning forward, a hand clasping yours as he tilted his head. The piece of curled hair falling into his left eye. “Please?”

Your heart did another little dance inside your chest.

After dessert you both made your way back to the living room, settling on your couch with two pomegranate mocktails Taehyung had prepared for you yesterday. All you had to do was add the pomegranate juice and lemonade to the ice cubes and crushed lime segments and mint before serving, easy-peasy. Seokjin was highly impressed, but of course you couldn’t take the credit. It was all down to your best friend’s very helpful barman boyfriend.

You were glad Seokjin wanted to stay as you didn’t want the night to be over yet. It had flown by so fast and you’d had so much fun. You already felt like you knew him better, even after only two dates. It was strange to you, how you could feel so relaxed in a stranger’s company, but then again, you guessed he wasn’t a stranger anymore… Plus, he was so easy to talk to, so interesting to get to know…. Everything between you two came easy.

Like opening up to him, being a bit more vulnerable…

“I’ve been slightly nervous all week,” you admitted, clutching your drink to you before chuckling softly. “– and not just about the lasagne faux pas…”

“There was no need to be nervous. I thought we left all that behind on the first date,” Seokjin reassured, smiling warmly your way.

You were sat together, turned to face one another. It was intimate and cosy. He had one leg lifted, the ankle resting on the knee of the other leg, and where his pants had ridden up, you could see an inch or so of his calf before it met the black cotton of his sock. For some reason, you found that very, very sexy. Maybe you had been single for far too long.

“We did,” you agreed, hesitating slightly. “It’s just… I haven’t done anything like this in so long.”

You didn’t even think you’d ever invited someone around for dinner before. You were still quite young when you found yourself in a relationship with Donghae so your dates before him had been very basic. Your dates with him hadn’t really classed as such just because you became official fairly quickly, and your dates after him, well, it was already known that they had been few and far between.

“You already know we’re in the same boat,” he smiled before chuckling bashfully. “No, but really, when I asked you for dinner that day at the fate I was expecting you to turn me down.”

“How come?”

He looked down at his drink, lifting a shoulder. “I thought you’d think that I was crossing a line… or maybe the spark I was feeling was all in my head and in reality you just found me really annoying.”

That was cute. He’d been doubting himself. Human after all. Not that you’d ever thought he wasn’t. You still didn’t miss the opportunity to joke around though. “I mean, both can exist simultaneously.” He taking a sip of his mocktail when you replied so he ended up snorting into his glass, amused by your wit.

A moment or so passed and Seokjin gazed at you, smiling softly. If he kept this up, you’d be a puddle on your parquet flooring. “So, tell me,” he hummed. “How did I luck out so good?” You raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant. “How come an amazing person like you isn’t married or in a relationship?”

He must’ve seen the slight shock on your face and panicked instantly. “Is that a weird thing to ask? I feel like it is. I apologise.”

“No,” you insisted, sitting up a little straighter. He followed. “No, it’s not.” You wanted to open up to him. You really did. You just didn’t know where to start. Although, it was pretty simple. “I’ve been single for a while.”

“How long?” Seokjin was instantly focused, attentive, noticing the change in your body language.

“Three years. My last relationship didn’t end very well.” You paused, wondering if you should continue. But then… It had been a massive part of your life. No matter how much time had passed and no matter how okay you were now, it had still happened. And Seokjin, he had trusted you enough to open up about his divorce – even before you’d gone on your first date. You wanted to talk about it. You really did.

“I found out my fiancé was cheating on me.”

Seokjin’s eyes widened, unable to cloak his surprise. He hadn’t been expecting that. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely.

“It’s fine,” you smiled. “It was rough getting over it. Took me a while, but it is what it is. It’s in the past now.”

“Did it put you off dating?”

You were pleasantly surprised to find it was actually easy to talk to Seokjin about this. Your mouth was opening before you had to think about it. “I mean, at first. I was still very much in love with him, even after he broke my heart. But I got over him and I started dating again – briefly – It just didn’t feel right.” You stopped to smile. “It’s been over a year and I can’t say I missed it… but you…” Nerves growing, you pushed them away. “You’ve changed that. I’m having fun.”

Seokjin’s face lit up and he chuckled. “I did hit second date status after all.”

“You did…”

“So,” he leaned closer, a small smirk on his face. “You could say, hitting your car that day wasn’t actually my fault because it was supposed to happen.”

You snorted as you laughed, head falling against the back of the couch. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

He made a sound. “But we wouldn’t have met otherwise.”

“We would!” You exclaimed. “The parent-teacher meeting.”

He blinked, feeling dumb. “Oh, yeah.”

It wouldn’t have had the same effect, granted, but you would have become acquainted with one another regardless. “Would you have still liked me?” You asked without thinking, surprising yourself.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “I was instantly attracted to you after all, it’s just…” Instantly attracted? Definitely a charmer... “There would’ve been no way for me to get to know you like I did.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re really adamant that you had to reverse into my car to make this work, huh.”

He shrugged casually. “It was the only way.”

You laughed quietly, finishing the last of your drink. Time was getting on, it was pretty late, Seokjin had already finished his, you watched him sit up to lean forward and place the glass on your coffee table. His shirt tightened across his shoulder blades and you could see his back muscles as he stretched. Oh.

Settling back into the same position, he looked over at you and grinned. His teeth were perfect. Did this man have zero flaws? Why were you so whipped? It was embarrassing.

“I had fun tonight,” you told him, trying to keep a lid on whatever was going on with you right now.

He seemed pleased with that, nodding his head. “I’m happy to hear that you think I’m a fun person.”

You scoffed, body falling closer to his. Your shoulders brushed together. Seokjin didn’t take his eyes off you. “Hm. I don’t think I said that.”

“Hey, don’t be so mean.” He murmured, one side of his mouth quirking up.

Like you couldn’t stop yourself, your hand reached for the collar of shirt. He had the top two buttons loose and your pinkie finger brushed against his collarbone. Sparks flew, but you tried to ignore them. “I thought you liked it when I was mean.” You teased, voice low.

Seokjin hummed, his eyes still twinkled like they always did but there was something else to them, a depth that made you feel funny. He sunk closer to you. So close you could study the thick curve of his eyelashes, notice that both his eyelids were different. He really did have beautiful eyes. You could stare at them forever.

Preoccupied, you slowly realised that he was watching you too, studying your features in the golden glow of the floor lamp that hovered over the couch. His lips parted, you heard them rather than saw it, but then your attention was on them again. Just like it had been earlier on in the night. He was staring at yours too as he spoke. “I wanted to kiss you last week.”

You heartbeat quickened but you tried to keep cool. “You did kiss me.” You laughed.

He sighed. “On the cheek.”

You lightly tugged his collar, fingertips now brushing the skin of his chest. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted to do?”

You could feel his own heartbeat against your forearm that was pressed into him. It was definitely running a little faster than it was supposed to – stronger. “Yes, but…” He glanced up to your eyes. “I was just being polite. I wanted to kiss your lips.”

It felt like you were holding your breath. Maybe you were, you just couldn’t think straight. Time seemed to stretch out, but you knew what you wanted. So you went after it. Giving him a small smile, you replied. “Maybe I wanted that too.”

He swallowed, voice so low now it was barely a murmur. “Is that an invitation?” His eyes bounced to your lips again, then back to your eyes as he asked permission. “Can I kiss you?”

You ever so slightly dragged your bottom lip beneath your teeth as you nodded, breath catching in your throat as Seokjin leaned forward and closed the distance between you. The hand in between your bodies moved to delicately hold the wrist of your arm against his chest, holding you there as his other hand reached for your jaw, angling your face to press a kiss to your mouth. His eyes were already closed so you followed.

He hummed at the contact, his lips soft and warm and you let yourself sink. His actions were light at first, faint as he kept constant pressure, as if he was familiarising himself with the sensation. You couldn’t even let yourself think about how this was the first kiss you’d shared with someone for a very long time. All that was going through your mind was how good it felt to be touched like this by him.

He readjusted the hand on your face, tucking some hair behind your ear to cup your cheek. You liked that. You liked it when he touched you, and he eased from your mouth completely before coming back with a firmer pressure. It was your turn to make a sound; a tiny gasp as your lips began to move together ever so slowly. He liked that, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against the soft skin of your lips. You clutched at his shirt, gathering the crisp cotton in your fist, that would surely turn it creased, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was too preoccupied with reaching for the glass you’d forgotten was hugged to your body by your free hand.

He unclasped it from your fingers and had no choice but to break away from your mouth to put it next to his on the coffee table. You whined, attempting to tug him back to you, and he chuckled, taking a hold of one of your hands. “I’ll be back,” he whispered, leaning forward to place the cocktail glass down.

And he was.

This time he used both of his hands to grasp your face and dive back in. He was more confident this time, moving in such a way his lips pried yours open. You reached for his shoulders, grasping them to hold him closer and this time you both made noises – sweet, quiet ones that worked beautiful together as your lips moulded with gradual urgency.

When your hands found the nape of his neck, fingers through his hair, he had to drag the tip of his tongue across your bottom lip, seeking entry. You met it with yours, tasting hints of pomegranate and lime with each wash of tongue. A hand of his slipped down to your side, stroking up and down the curve as if he couldn’t help but to touch you. He settled at your hip after a moment, the other splayed against the side of your neck, his thumb rolling small circles under your cheekbone.

This was getting addictive. You could tell by the way you moaned softly against each warm, wet curl of his tongue. This was everything you’d imagined and more – because you had imagined it. Late and secretly at night when you were trying to drift off to sleep and thoughts of lasagne were banished… You were glad your first kiss was here, inside, on your couch, because this wasn’t something for the open, your knees wouldn’t have been able to hold you up.

You could have kissed him forever, you mean, you definitely didn’t want it to stop but you pretty much had to. Breathing was a necessity, right? If you couldn’t breathe you wouldn’t be able to ever kiss Seokjin again and that would be absolutely awful…

You did it the right way though – gradually. Seokjin slowed it right down, only hints of his tongue left as he hummed indulgently, like he was savouring your taste before he had to inevitably pull away. It made your insides jump around like crazy, hearing him enjoying himself, and you tried your best to come to when he started easing the pressure of his lips, pressing small, chaste kisses to them instead as you ultimately (but slowly) broke apart.

You opened your eyes, blinking up at him, hands falling from his hair, aware you had become one with your cushions. You struggled to free yourself as he sat back and you watched him smile fondly at you. His breath was shaky – so was yours, and you were sure his hands trembled slightly as one reached up to scratch the back of his neck. His neck that was blotched with red, flushed, travelling to his cheeks. They were rosier than you’d ever seen them before. Your gut stirred.

“I’ve been dreaming of that,” he told you, before making a face at himself. “Too cringey?”

You giggled – it sounded foreign. “Just a bit.” But didn’t deter the fact you loved it.

You warmed when you felt him squeeze your hip, realising his hand was still there and you reached for it, tangling your fingers with his. He pulled them to his mouth, kissing your knuckles softly. His expression was thoughtful when he lowered your hands. “In all seriousness, thank you for giving me a chance, after well, you know, everything.”

You smiled, touched by his earnestness, but it was hard to keep a sane mind when his lips were as kiss bitten as they were – deep pink and glistening. You wanted to kiss his face off.

“It’s no problem,” you quipped, as if you were doing him a favour.

He chuckled tenderly, and luckily for you he was unable to stop himself from kissing you again. He reached forward, hooking a finger under your chin to press his mouth to yours softly. “I’d really love if we could keep on doing… this.” He murmured.

“The dating or the kissing,” you grinned, stealing another kiss in the process.

“Hm,” he contemplated. “Both preferably.”

And then you were on one another again, eager once more.

Although, you did manage to pull away briefly to tell him something, his mouth moving to the side of your face to kiss there instead as your hands dragged down his back. You were somehow able to get the words out – ones that made him laugh against your wet jaw.

“I’m so glad you hit my car.”

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

#seokjn fanfic #bts fanfic #jin fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:mls

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juchumice · 4 years ago

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ive been thinking abt this avatar au for SO LONG!! i know some other exists but i still really wanted to put my spin on it and make them younger so it could be a bit more contextually different, so they’re roughly 14 during the au!

AIZAWA: aizawa’s a waterbender from the northern water tribe. initially, many believed he was a nonbender as it took quite awhile longer for his bending to reveal itself than the other children. he has zero talent concerning waterbending, none at all. in fact, he was absolutely terrible at it initially. but, if there was one thing he was certain about in youth, it was being an excellent waterbender. when first applying to waterbending classes, he was considered far too inexperienced to join. the instructor was a stern type. he told aizawa that he had, “no potential,” and should focus less on waterbending and more on hand to hand combat to waste less time. instead of listening, aizawa practiced terribly. everyday, every moment, he would be waterbending from dusk to dawn till he stumbled from lack of sleep. he even founded his own method, drenching his scarf of spongey material in water and bending it as a weapon. after further practice, he finally got accepted into the course with pure hard work. the issue was that everyone in his class was younger than him, talented and brilliant. none of them worked as hard as he did. they all were children just playing around. as the bending moves increased in difficulty, aizawa began to fall behind again, so his whole day would be absolutely swallowed in practice, practice, and practice. he would be beaten constantly by his peers: during spars, general displays of moves, and learning, so he couldn’t rely on his own power, instead focusing on strength in addition to strategy and observation. it was this adjustment of tactics that led him higher in his studies. he was able to graduate the minor classes, but his instructor thought it was best to get more experience in bending rather than continually relying on his other strengths, so he was sent away from home to study abroad among the other kingdoms and view their bending techniques.

YAMADA: yamada is an air nomad, but he is one of the very few who does not appear to be capable of bending. due to the spiritual nature of the air nomads, there are very few who are unable to airbend, and yamada is one of them. but, everyone else was very supportive even without his bending. he was able to have many friends, however couldn’t join in their air bending games. that’s where he learned his talent for announcing. as the other kids would play their games of air ball and pie toss, he’ll be there on the sidelines, narrating every single thing with his peculiar flare that led to his popularity among the northern air temple. though, even with everyone’s supportive nature, yamada was unhappy with his position. ever since he was but a toddler, he really wanted to be an airbender, streaking across the sky on a glider and riding on air scooters, only to be sorely disappointed. sure, he was able to ‘fly’ with his flying bison’s, baito’s, help but it just wasn’t the same. after a bit, he ran from the northern air temple, sick and tired of living in such a small space. with far too many fantasies on his mind, yamada wished to explore the other nations. it was then he stumbled across the fire nation. they were fascinating. their own fierce power, their sense of fashion, their culture, everything drew yamada closer. he would watch their shows with undisguised excitement, even announcing for a couple of them. while announcing for one of the firebender shows, yamada was required to choose a volunteer from the crowd, which just happened to be aizawa. this led to the beginning of their interactions.

so that’s it i guess! my main ideas for the avatar au! yamada has a glider, but he uh... stole it. just carries it around a lot to ‘feel like an airbender’-- and it’s a great umbrella when it rains!

the au itself takes place before the 100 year war so no worries abt any firebenders just yet!! i might develop it more but this is where its at so farrr

also i wrote a lil small thing while i was playin with the idea:

...

“You know… I always wanted to bend,” Yamada said. He kicked up the dust with a shoe, frowning at the cloud that billowed around his feet as if it could disappear with a simple scrutinizing look. But, it didn’t. Merely floated to and fro without a care of his whims.

Aizawa examined him carefully. There was no sound made, just an invitation to continue.

Yamada blew at several pieces of hair that loosened from his bush that he called a hairstyle. “Yeah. Sounds ‘crazy’! But, it made total sense! Look, look, look, I would be an EPIC airbender. You have to admit. I mean, look how cool my poses are!” He proceeded to strike several different ‘airbending poses’ that neither suggested coolness nor airbending.

“You’ve watched too many firebending shows,” Aizawa replied.

“But that’s what makes it so cool! The fire just exploding into the sky like Pompeii, but you can only see these red sparkles and nothing goes wrong… Imagine doing that… Imagine…” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Being a bender must be fun, huh…” His staff loosened from his fingers to slide and clatter to the floor. “Don’t even use this DUMB thing! I dunno why I keep it all the time… Maybe, oh! Maybe every time I hold it I get a 1% increase in being an airbender or something! Yeah… tough luck. You know? You know how stupid it is when EVERYONE in the temple’s an airbender and you’re stuck being the only kid around-- believe me they’re all super nice about it-- BUT ME?? THE ONLY ONE!! Don’t feel bad for me or I’ll strangle you or something, but it still freaking sucks. Man, air scooters? I totally would’ve invented those if I was an airbender…”

On and on he jabbered. He could have done this if he was an airbender, or maybe he could have done this! Aizawa was unsure what to respond with. He never understood. Sure, he understood hardship and running raggedly through the critics and holding one’s goals to heart. A waterbender who couldn’t bend water for crap? That’s what they called him, might as well give up they had said, but he powered through and became skilled with pure hard work. No luck, no cheats, and no talent. Yamada was the opposite case, full of supporting faces and ancient smiles, but just no bending in general. How could someone so hopeful be met with such a grisly fate? Yet, all that Aizawa could offer was a tongue-in-cheek, “Sorry.”

Yamada stopped talking abruptly. “Huh?”

“I said sorry.”

“Oh. Yeah. Don’t say sorry, man! What’s the fun in that, too gloomy Aizawa, waaaay too gloomy. Y’know, it is what it is! I got a sweet gig going on anyway, I don’t need anything as stupid as airbending. Only saps use airbending, they probably think it’s cool or something, but it isn’t haha. Waterbending, firebending, earthbending, that stuff’s cool! Airbending’s just some playing around with wind or something.”

#Avatar AU #Present Mic #Hizashi Yamada #Eraserhead #Shouta Aizawa #Erasermic #BNHA #MHA #My hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia

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allthingskenobi · 4 years ago

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Obi-Wan in Exile – Owen Lars

(Originally published on AllThingsKenobi.com January 10, 2021)

Welcome to the second in a series of looks into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s time in exile on Tatooine between Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith and Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. We’ve tried to mine as much Legends and canon material as possible to help guide you through some of the period’s most common and repetitive themes so that when the new Obi-Wan Kenobi series airs, you’ll be ready.

Not everything he ever did in the entire 19 years will be explored here, but as we said, we’ve tried our best to pick out the most prominent and impactful moments to give everyone a better understanding of exactly what one hermit had to endure out there all alone in the sandy deserts of Tatooine.

There’s no way around it: Owen Lars hated Obi-Wan Kenobi. But why? A young Luke Skywalker could have benefited greatly from the two men working together, but it was not to be so. Here we will look at just a few of the many times the Jedi was rejected by the hardened moisture farmer in an attempt to understand just how fraught with tension their relationship really was.

“That wizard’s just a crazy old man.”

STAR WARS EPISODE IV: A NEW HOPE C

Owen Lars was the very first person to ever paint a picture for us of the now-illustrious Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this is what he had to say about him. Though we, alongside Luke, quickly recognize Owen’s words for the untruths they are, we were left to wonder exactly where the animosity, and possible bad blood, between the two men began. Especially since well up until Attack of the Clones was released, Owen was Obi-Wan’s biological brother (as confirmed in original drafts of Return of the Jedi), which made the exchange all the more tragic.

“But what if this Obi-Wan comes looking for him?”

“He won’t, I don’t think he exists any more. He died about the same time as your father.”

STAR WARS EPISODE IV: A NEW HOPE C

Owen continues to try and deter Luke by point-blank telling him that Obi-Wan is dead. It’s another clear falsehood that, at the time, carried little to no weight until twenty-eight years later when we witnessed the “deaths” of both Anakin and Obi-Wan on the slopes of Mustafar in Revenge of the Sith. But that’s a story for another time…

“He makes his terms abundantly clear: “We’ll take him in, but you’ll play no part in his upbringing. If you have to stay on Tatooine, you keep your distance, do you hear? You neither see the boy nor speak to him. He must know nothing about his father.”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

“Obi-Wan was glad and relieved that Beru and Owen agreed to raise Luke, but his mission did not end there, as it was also his duty to watch over the boy. He had thought that his ongoing presence would be some comfort to Owen and Beru. He soon learned that he was mistaken.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

From the moment Obi-Wan arrived on Tatooine with a newborn Luke Skywalker, Owen made it abundantly clear that the Jedi would have nothing to do with the child. It was an unfair set of terms that Obi-Wan, while doing his best to adhere to, would breach with regular frequency, often pushing his already contentious relationship with the farmer to its breaking point.

Over the years, not only would Obi-Wan often be forced into interceding on the family’s behalf as protection (much to Owen’s chagrin), but he would also willingly cross the line to try and form a relationship with Luke from afar. Whether it was a simple gift of parts for Luke’s skyhopper (1) or a handmade wooden toy (2), the attempts would be vehemently denied and Obi-Wan would find himself right back where he started.

Star Wars 15 C

Was Owen right to be concerned that trouble would follow Obi-Wan back to Luke and their homestead? Of course. Obi-Wan understands and even acknowledges that his watchful gaze could attract attention (3), so he backs off, moving farther out into the Jundland Wastes until the time comes when he is needed. (3)(4) But Owen took his concerns above and beyond, twisting reason into a deep-seated personal hatred of the other man.

“The hut was approximately 136 kilometers from the Lars homestead—farther than Obi-Wan would have preferred, but probably still too close to satisfy Owen Lars.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

“I managed to steer clear of Owen Lars this time. The man doesn’t like me at all.”

KENOBI L

“I’d always believed – always hoped – that Owen’s anger would cool toward me, that one day I would be allowed to train young Luke in the ways of the Force.”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

“Old Wounds” – Star Wars Visionaries L

Why? Why did Owen Lars hate Obi-Wan Kenobi so much? First and foremost, he placed the blame of Anakin’s downfall solely on Obi-Wan, going so far as to accuse Obi-Wan of “murder.” (1) It’s interesting to say the least that Owen would have such strong opinions about a man he’d only met once (5), but it seems to become more clear when you take into consideration that Owen adored his step-mother, Shmi. But while Shmi no doubt loved her adoptive family, she often spent her time looking to the horizon waiting for the day when Anakin would return. (6) So for Obi-Wan to have lost Shmi’s beloved son might have been too much for Owen to bear.

We’ll discuss this more in depth later, but Owen even removed Shmi’s headstone, along with the stones of other family members, so that Obi-Wan could no longer visit the site. (7) Consequently, it also ensured that Luke would never know about his grandmother. At least not while he lived at the homestead.

“If killing me would have brought [Anakin’s] mother back to life, I know he would have killed me then and there. I could see it in his eyes.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

At some point, Owen also seemed to have distrusted the Jedi as a whole. It was a prejudice formed the day he watched an angry and unrepentant Anakin Skywalker return from slaughtering a village of Sand People. (2) That being his only interaction with a Jedi before Obi-Wan came along, Owen didn’t want Luke to have anything to do with what he saw in Anakin that day.

“Everyone was stunned when Owen abruptly told Ben to leave and not to come back. The experience had left Luke baffled. Even now, some ten years after the incident, he still did not know why Owen had been so angry with Ben. From what little he knew, he assumed that Ben’s purpose on Tatooine had been to discreetly watch over him while Owen and Beru raised him as if he were an ordinary child, not the son of a Jedi-turned-Sith Lord. But if both Ben and Owen had been responsible for protecting Luke, why hadn’t they gotten along? Luke could only imagine why Owen had so aggressively objected to Ben’s presence. Luke remembered listening to conversations between his uncle and aunt, practically spying on them, hoping to hear any small detail about his father or Ben Kenobi. Owen and Beru never revealed much but merely reinforced that they preferred not to discuss either man.”

LIFE AND LEGEND OF OBI-WAN KENOBI L

Luke cheers, running full pelt toward me, arms as wide as his smile. There is a crunch behind me and I turn, Owen’s fist burying itself in my nose. I slam down hard on the ground, the lightsaber skittering from my hand. All my training, all my experience, and a humble moisture farmer has achieved what neither battle droid nor Sith has achieved, knocking me flat on my back.

“Uncle Owen!” Luke cries in confusion as his uncle manhandles the boy toward his aunt before turning to glower at me.

“Go,” he all but spits, an accusatory finger punctuating the furious decree. “Get away from here. Haven’t you people done enough to this family?”

“TIME OF DEATH” – FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW C

Lastly, and most unfortunately, Owen never minded expressing his distaste for Obi-Wan in front of Luke, going so far as to strike Obi-Wan and send him away while the boy watched. Would Owen’s treatment of the strange desert hermit help one day drive a wedge between the boy and his uncle? Maybe. Maybe not. All we do know is that Luke, like his father before him, was already inextricably linked to Obi-Wan Kenobi. And there was nothing Owen Lars could do about it.

Citations:

Star Wars 15 by Jason Aaron C

“Time of Death” – From a Certain Point of View by Cavan Scott C

Kenobi by John Jackson Miller L

Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi by Ryder Windham L

Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones C

Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones Novelization by R. A. Salvatore L

A New Hope: The Life of Luke Skywalker by Ryder Windham L

#Obi-Wan in Exile #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Kenobi Series #Owen Lars #long post #text post #crossposted from wordpress #allthingskenobi #no doubt we will get to see this play out on screen in the show #:((((

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rogue-durin-16 · 4 years ago

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THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part III/VII)

"shock therapy"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst mostly

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @sarcasticallywitty15 @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @leovaldez37 @missmulti @weasleywh0r3s

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: language, grief, allusions to suicide, mentions of death, let me know if I missed something

A/N: okay this is... Kinda dark, but I mean, expected given the prompt I'm working with lmao, I'd say enjoy but... Well, enjoy <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part I: sleepless nights

Part II: candy floss

Part IV: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

It began with small actions, like waking up earlier than me, or taking on making breakfast himself.

I thought he was feeling better.

Then came the big actions, like deciding to switch places with me an working with the clients while I made the shippings.

I started to feel something was off the third day since the exchange; I escaped the office to visit him and he could have easily passed as the giant mannequin in our façade.

"Are you alright?" I questioned in a worried whisper near his ear.

"Of course." I knitted my brows, puzzled at his response. He noticed how odd it had been due to my face, and that forced smile fell for a second as he leaned on me to place a kiss on my crown. "Don't worry about me, darling."

Before I could insist, his attention was stolen by a couple of very confused clients.

The following night in the flat, while we were making dinner, it seemed he had gone back to his usual demeanor, so I figured he was making extra effort to look happy in front of the customers.

I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong, though, something between us; I couldn't pinpoint it, yet knew it existed.

It was that same night that I got a grip of what was going on, when the bed's weight shifted, shaking me out of my sleep just in time to hear a muffled sob followed by a shaky breath.

"George?" His eyes met my own as I propped myself on my forearms.

"Did I wake you?" He questioned, his voice as quiet as mine. "Sorry, love."

Sometimes —more often than not— when he called me that name, I would feel butterflies in my stomach, and the fact that it was normally accompanied by some kind of physical contact didn't help at all.

He extended his arm to reach my hand, his thumb caressing the back of my palm. "Go back to sleep." He commanded in a soft whisper, getting up and walking towards the door.

As the door closed, my chest ached at the mere possibility of us going back to the first week we spend together in the flat after the war.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

I went straight to the kitchen and splashed my face with water before pouring myself a glass of milk.

Y/n had the brilliant idea of throw away all the alcohol in our apartment to avoid falling into bad habits as a copying mechanism, and, in all honesty, it was one of her best ones.

Grabbing the glass, I made my way to the living room, plopping down on the couch; I wouldn't even try to fall asleep there— it was proven impossible during the first week.

I had to snap out of it and start to sleep in my own room; the war left us all scarred in s million ways, and one of them included that even the slightest, quietest movement would wake you up, and I knew for a fact that Y/n wasn't getting one single night of sound sleep, and I was the one to blame.

"Oi," Speaking of which.

"What are you doing up?"

"Checking on you." She responded, leaning against the doorframe "You alright?" I nodded, but she walked to the couch either way, sitting down and letting herself fall over my chest. "You've been acting weird." She mumbled, snugging her face on my chest and consequently making my heart swell. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

I hummed, my chin resting over her crown as my arm wrapped around her. "I know." I murmured, knowing very well it was lie.

There was several things I couldn't and wouldn't tell her ever, but I wouldn't let her know that. "C'mon, go back to bed."

"Not without you." It wasn't more than a mumble, since she was beginning to fall asleep on my chest, but it was loud enough to trigger me.

How many times I had dreamed of having her just like this, how many times had I yearned to wrap my arms around her and never let go, to kiss her, to sleep with her before the war; I still did.

I still wanted to kiss all her sadness away, to be able to call her mine; I still loved her in a way I shouldn't, and somehow it felt even more wrong now that Fred was gone.

It took me a moment to realise she had, in fact, fallen asleep. I carried her back to her bed and lay her down, carefully pulling the sheets to cover her.

I lay down too, promising myself I would face my fears the next day— I owe her that, at the very least.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n had left the apartment to go down the Diagon Alley to buy groceries and a new blouse.

It's now or never, I thought to myself, standing at the start of the hallway. I took a deep breath and made my way to my room with my bags hanging on my shoulders.

You can do this.

I reached for the knob with shaky hands and turned it.

You can do this.

My arms pushed the door open in a swift movement, my eyes anxiously scanning the room as if I was expecting to find a monster inside.

But there was no monster, it was just my room; a bit dusty and with a musty smell, but still my room.

I left my bags on the floor and sat on the edge of my bed. It wasn't scary, nor haunted, as I thought it would be, and I felt a weight off my shoulders; Y/n would be able to sleep the nights through, instead of waking up every now and then to my gasps and sobs.

Since it had been way easier than I thought it would be, I decided to take it a step further; I would have to enter there sooner rather than later to clean, so why not now?

Oh, what a big mistake I had made.

READER'S P. O. V.

"I'm back!" Somehow, I had managed to climb upstairs whilst carrying all the bags without tripping. "Did you know that Florean Fortescue's has three new ice cream flavours?" I threw the Twilfitt and Tatting’s bag on the sofa and made my way to the kitchen. "Don't be mad but I got you something at Twilfitt and Tatting’s!" Laying the groceries over the counter, I frowned at George's lack of responses. "George?" I left the kitchen and took a look around the flat; maybe he was down in the shop?

I was about to go downstairs when I saw a crack of light down the hall, one coming from a partially open door —from Fred's door.

My heart pounded hard against my chest as I made my way to the part of the house we rarely got to.

I knew George had to be inside, but the fact that no sound was coming out of the room —no sobs, no weeping, no ragged breathing— was about to put me under cardiac arrest.

What if during the last week he had gotten worse —rock bottom kind of worse— and that was why he had been acting so distant? What if those 'don't worry about me's had been foreshadowing something terrible?

I shut my eyes, my pulse hammering as I pushed the door open, dreading to find a horrifying scenario.

Open your fucking eyes, Y/n.

I couldn't help the sigh of relief when I saw George kneeled in the middle of the room, alive and breathing.

Then, I doubled checked and realized that maybe he wasn't that much alive. I circled the ginger so we could be face to face, and my heart shattered at the sight in front of me; his eyes were puffy, his cheeks pale, his nose red and streaks of freshly shed tears wetting his face. His hands clutched onto something that I quickly recognised as Fred's blazer, and my breath caught up in my throat.

"George..." I called his name in a quiet whisper; somehow it felt like we were trespassing.

He then looked up at me, eyes hollow, and spoke words so harsh that they burned, even if they weren't meant to hurt me. "It should have been me."

"George—"

"It should've been me there, I should've gone with Percy."

"Please—"

"It should've been me, not him." I felt my eyes watering, slightly blurring my vision as the man before me kept talking. "He had a life— he had you, I didn't have anything but him." His gaze was now casted down, and I no longer knew if he was speaking to me or to himself. "What am I compared to him? It should be me six feet under, not him."

That last sentence was what snapped me out of the state I was in. "Look at me." I commanded, kneeling in front of him and cupping his cheeks. "Do you think Fred would've wanted you to think that?" His lower lip quivered; we rarely said his name out loud anymore. "He would have beaten your ass. Don't you dare think like that ever again, you hear me?"

"But it's true—"

"No it's not!" I yelled, making him flinch. "It's not, George." I repeated, this time softer, my thumbs caressing his cheeks soothingly. "You're sweet, creative, caring and smart, and I'm so happy to have you here with me." His eyes closed, eyebrows knitted and lips pursed. "You're your own person, and that person is amazing." He leaned on, letting his forehead fall on my shoulder, my hands travelling to his back and hair as his arms wrapped around my waist.

"I miss him, Y/n." He confessed. "I miss him so much— it hurts."

“I miss him too, but I can’t let you lose yourself because of him.” I explained, planting a chaste kiss on his temple. “I cannot lose you too, okay?” I whispered, loud enough for him to hear.

"I'm sorry." His breath fanned on my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "I wanted to get better, so you didn't have to take care of me."

"Oi," I squeezed him tighter, if possible. "We're taking care of each other." His face buried deeper in the crook of my neck and I had to hold back a content sigh. "We can do this— together." I stated. "You can't go on your own for shock therapy— it doesn't work like that." He nodded. "You gave me a big scare."

"I'm really sorry." His hand, which, until then had been holding onto the blazer, let go of it in order to rub my back.

We stayed like that in silence for Merlin knows how long before I spoke against his shoulder, "I bought chocolate strawberries ice cream."

"Is that a thing?" I hummed affirmatively. He slowly pulled away, his hands leaving my back to rest on my waist before they held mines, pulling me up with him. We gazed into each other's eyes for an instant that felt like an eternity. "I didn't mean to scare you, love." He assured me, pulling me into another hug, this one only long enough for him to kiss my crown.

"I know." I pulled away, giving him a small smile that he managed to return, most likely involuntarily. "Wanna try that ice cream?" He nodded and I led him out of the room. "I also bought you a tie at Twilfitt and Tatting’s."

"Why would you buy anything from there?" His voice was starting to recover some strength as we walked to the kitchen with our hands interlaced.

"'Cause it was a very pretty tie." I defended myself, going to the sofa to grab the fancy bag while George went to grab a couple of spoons and the ice cream. "Look."

He walked to me and examined the tie. "Okay, it's quite pretty." He agreed, offering me one of the spoons.

"Told you." I handed him the tie and he gave it another look before leaning down to kiss my cheek.

"You didn't have to buy me anything." That small smile appeared again, making my heart swell.

"Well, I wanted to." I went to sit on the couch and he followed my lead, carefully leaving the tie over the backrest so he could open the tub.

"Sweet." He commented, dipping his spoon into the ice cream and handing me the container. We ate it in silence and, once we finished, his voice filled the room. "I think I might go for a nightwalk."

"It'll do you good." I nodded, bringing my knees to my chest and curling up in the couch after he took the spoon away from me and got up to leave it in the sink.

"Do you wanna come?" His quiet, almost sheepish question made my head turn to the kitchen door. "I mean— you've just come back but—" He left the kitchen, staring at me expectingly, scratching the back of his neck. "uh... if you wanna come, I could use some company."

"I'd love to." I didn't even notice the way my gaze lighted up until I saw it reflected on his own features, that shone with the slightest tinge of joy.

The fact that I was able to do that only by smiling at him made my tummy flutter.

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cienie-isengardu · 4 years ago

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The Development of Law and Zoro relationship: Wano, ...and Law Is Not Happy About That

<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard: The Alliance (A)__(B)>> <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>> <<Part V: Zou, The Kindred Spirits (Traveling Together)__(Searching for Nakama)__ (Reunion)__ (Ninja-Pirate-Mink-Samurai Alliance)__(The Last Moments before War)>> Part VI: Wano, Against Emperors (The Untold Journey)__(Luffy & Zoro Means Troubles…)__(…and Law Is Not Happy About That)

The fight between Law and Hawkins was stopped; Law didn’t manage to eliminate the enemy nor prevent information leakage about alliance presence in Wano. He almost was run over by a speeding cart with stolen food (another “crime” against Orochi & Kaido, which Straw Hats committed in his absence). No wonder why Law was so pissed of at Zoro (chapter 918):

➽ Up to this point, Law never have been so openly angry at Roronoa, nor aggressive toward the other man. Now, Law vented all frustration and anger while Zoro kept silent… and maybe felt some embarrassment(?) about Trafalgar’s unusual outburst, considering bubble speech with three dots and “sweat drop” expressing Zoro’s reaction in a more visible way.

➽ Another interesting detail is how calmly Zoro endured Law’s angry rant. He simply let the other man scream at him, and even tolerated grabbing his kimono and invading his personal space. When it comes to scolding, Zoro reacts differently, depending on the seriousness of the situation and who is scolding him. He either fights back in such situations or doesn’t respond to angry rants and taunts. For example, if Sanji started screaming and pointing his faults, Zoro most likely wouldn’t be so tolerable because those two like to antagonize each other. Seems like Roronoa opted for the calm approach with Law. Maybe Zoro knew that Law was right and his anger was justified. Maybe he simply figured it will be better if Law got all the anger and stress out of him. Or maybe he was just taken by surprise by the sudden outburst?

↪ In all fairness, I think he perfectly knew what Law’s reaction will be, especially considering this ambiguous frame:

At first it seems like Zoro talked about Kinemon, what honestly would make perfect sense. He already mentioned Kinemon when repeated samurai’s warning to Luffy but couldn’t really say his name in front of just met Kiku. At the same time, he could also talk about Law, because at this point he was familiar enough with the man to predict his angry reaction. Law seems to be prone to stress and he likes planning everything ahead and Zoro not sticking to plan (letting Luffy smash enemy) would definitely earn Law’s ire. Righteous so. Then what was the point of arguing with Trafalgar? Even more, when the man, despite stress and rage, doesn't hold on such emotions for too long. Which really seems like the best way to deal with a pissed off Heart Captain was just let him scream until he cooled down and adapted to the new situation.

➽ Because Zoro did not stop Luffy as he should - as Law hoped he would - Trafalgar was blaming Zoro for the whole situation, even though Luffy was as much guilty, charging into unknown without care for consequences. Zoro not once tried to excuse himself or Luffy, did nothing to stop Law’s outburst nor remind Law he wasn’t his captain (superior) thus he wasn’t obligated to listen. He simply let Law scream and blame him for the mess.

Anime expended this moment by actually giving Zoro a chance to explain to Law why he screwed so badly. Which literally was “I met Luffy” what immediately refocused Trafalgar’s anger from Zoro to solely Luffy:

This extended scene fits well with already existing Law’s personal experience from Dressrosa - the usually stoic and reliable Zoro will throw away rational thinking in the favor of Luffy’s whim and craziness. Monkey D. Luffy has that kind of effect on Roronoa.

Also, another funny thing anime did with that scene is when Law was scolding his fellow Supernova, Zoro was maintaining eye contact.

But when he was saying “sorry”, he was clearly looking to his left, instead at Law. Which makes the apology feeling insincere. Zoro wasn’t really that sorry about the mess but he said it, most likely to placate angry (stressed??) Law. Seems like Roronoa is bad at lying; not on Luffy’s level of bad, but still not really into telling lies.

Law most likely could tell Pirate Hunter wasn’t sorry at all, which explains grabbing Zoro’s kimono and screaming more at the other man’s face.

➽ Zoro’s patience and lack of response makes an interesting contrast to Law’s unusual aggressiveness. We may only wonder if Roronoa already had some experiences with such an outburst from the other Supernova. Once again, there is little to no information how their relationship was affected by the journey and situation in Wano, nor why Zoro was so indifferent while Law’s level of stress so high.

➽ Manga and anime versions of the scene give us valuable informations. One: Law was aware that Zoro promised to not cause trouble, like not fighting with samurais and Kaido’s men. That of course was a rational thing to ask of Zoro, because the man is too bloodthirsty for his own good and is always up for a good fight. The manga translation makes it look like Law personally witnessed Pirate Hunter swearing to not cause any trouble. Yet Law’s screaming sounds a bit confusing. On one hand, he knew Zoro A) became a wanted man and B) was supposed to be in Flower Capital. So it seems Law was informed about Zoro’s mission of pretending to be ronin. Whatever Kinemon initiated him from the start or after the wanted poster was made public, Law understood the danger of drawing the enemy's attention to the alliance. Which may be the reason why he was so mad at Zoro and referred to him by surname or called in his mind an idiot. On another, asking Zoro - a wanted man - why didn’t he stay in capital sounds, well, kinda stupid (and interestingly, the additional symbol of irritation was added to this specific question / bubble). Roronoa killed in broad daylight an important person (magistrate), and either killed or injured the magistrate's samurais, so it is not like Zoro could wander through the capital or any city without causing more problems. Of course, wandering directless did not help the alliance at all but it was still the best outcome. As a wanted man, Zoro could either stay in capitol and draw enemy’s attention to himself - and in result, endanger Franky, Robin and Usopp’s missions and even alliance’s presence in the Wano or wander through the wasteland in which was easier avoid unnecessary troubles and, in case of fight, hide dead bodies without increasing the vigilance of Beast Pirates or Orochi’s samurais. As a wanted man, Roronoa wasn’t really in position to come back to Kinemon because of possible pursuit - though he managed to wander into Kuri region, but that is more lack of direction sense than anything intentional, I guess. Unless this is why Law was the most angry? That Zoro came too close to their main secret base of operation? Anyway, Trafalgar for sure did not hold back and vented all his anger and frustration at still passive Zoro.

Soon, the group made it into Okobore Town and gave the stolen food to starving locals while Luffy brought the fresh water with himself. Straw Hat told the happy people “I’m Luffytaro! If anyone asks, you tell ‘em my name!” (chapter 918). For the first time Luffy also noticed Law - now much calmer than a moment ago. Law made clear, that what Luffy and Zoro did was ultimately an act of rebellion against Wano (Orochi and Kaido) to which Luffy responded he was “repaying the favor” to Tama, who fed him, once again getting into additional trouble just because someone gave him free food. The serious note disappeared right away, when Luffy started screaming at the starving people to not eat all meat without him:

➽ The meeting between Luffy and Law is drastically different from meeting of Law and Zoro. Like was mentioned, Trafalgar didn’t show any anger or frustration, so either screaming at Zoro calmed him down or he already gave up trying to reason with Monkey D. Luffy. Taking into account all previous adventures from Punk Hazard to Zou, what in universe happened through what? One or two months at best? Law’s resignation makes sense. Luffy wouldn’t care nor bother to apologize for the pulled stunt, while Zoro, well, didn’t care much either, but at least didn’t try to argue back.

➽ Once the serious talk was done and Luffy literally jumped after the meat, Zoro and Law shared the same reaction (visualed by bubble speech with three dots, though the “sweat drop” symbolising embarrassment(?) is only on Zoro’s part). Despite the previous intense moment, both men were again on good terms and even in agreement toward Luffy’s idiotic/childish behaviour.

The next time we see Zoro, Law and Luffy, Trafalgar kept his distance from everyone else. He stood the closest to Luffy yet with back turned to him. Was that sort of ostentatious expression of dissatisfaction or did he keep watch in case of an enemy's attack, hard to tell.

Luffy loudly declared his intention about Wano to Tama (“By the time we leave this country, it’ll be a place where you can eat as much as you want, every single day!!!”). With a sigh, Zoro noted how because of Luffy’s action, the enemy will come after them for real. Law did not take such a comment from Zoro kindly, because the man ignored(?) his own part in the mess.

➽ Surprisingly, Law still was angry more at Zoro than Luffy, who was the main culprit. But it may be just Zoro’s uncaring attitude that provokes Law so much.

➽ Despite the still fresh feeling of irritation, Law decided to focus at the best course of action - moving on to safest place. In this case, to the ruins of Oden’s Castle, in which Kinemon and the rest of the alliance stayed in hiding.

The group said goodbye to Tama who was taken to home by Horselina (a former enemy-turned-into-her-loyal-servant thanks to Tama’s devil fruit powers). Like always, Law kept his distance from others (in manga on one frame, he kept close to Zoro, on another, to Luffy). In anime, between sharing food and saying goodbye to Tama, Trafalgar was shown usually close to Zoro, similar like he did on Zou:

At this point, there is something to ponder a bit about Law and his (lack of) interaction with people. Like in the scene above, does Law keep close to Zoro (or Luffy) because of their bond (trust?) alone or is that partially due to his minimal social skills? As in, he keeps close to people he at least knows and doesn’t make contact with strangers unless it’s necessary. Zoro and Law both have some asocial traits (seen especially in their tendency to isolating themselves from too large group), but in contrast, Zoro and Luffy were shown through the Wano arc to interact and even befriend the local people while Trafalgar was interacting only with his crew, Straw Hats, samurai group (extended of Shinobu person) - the people he already knew for some time. Law isn’t going out his way to meet new people (like Luffy) nor bonds with accidentally met people (like Zoro with Tonoyasu). It seems in Law’s nature to avoid interaction with strangers as much as possible. Which makes me wonder if that comes simply from his introverted nature, general distrust for people or maybe even some social awkwardness created by childhood trauma and growing up in criminal organisation (Donquixote Pirates)? Because Law’s way to interact with people he just met is either ignore them (seen above) or act in cool manners around them, like in Punk Hazard with Straw Hats… but frankly, Straw Hats freaked him there on so many levels it really makes Law looks like social interaction is not his thing.

This reflection actually comes close to another detail. Namely, Law’s general feeling about Straw Hats helping starved people. Because the locals were truly happy and expresses that just before the departure of Three Supernovas (chapter 919):

Law has strong opinions about pirates, it seems. And it comes from a man that admitted he doesn't like to kill but yeah, doing nice things for (poor) people makes him sick. Was he so annoyed by the cheering people, or did he simply didn’t know how to react to such situation so he went with a grumpy approach?

Law expressed a lot emotions; the outbursts of anger departs from the image of stoic captain but at the same it makes me think that Law must feel okay around Zoro to be so open about his frustration (and lack of control over situation?). At the same time, Zoro let him take out all anger on him without a word. But the most important thing, no matter how much Zoro’s screwed up, no matter how much Law’s screamed and accused and was unhappy about, it didn’t change their already estabilished relationship. Once the situation calmed down, Law again kept close to Zoro and shared the same opinion about Luffy’s antics and in general they were okay in each company.

Next part: Separated Again

#one piece #The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro #roronoa zoro #trafalgar law #wano arc #law & zoro #zoro & law #i loved so much this chapters #all law's frustration and anger #and zoro's calmness about the whole situation #my analysis

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joachimnapoleon · 4 years ago

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“Aim for the heart, but spare the face”

The 4th and final part of my narrative of Murat’s last days. (Part 1: Murat’s Fateful Decision) (Part 2: The Capture of Murat) (Part 3: Prelude to a Show Trial)

***

The commission chosen to enact the farcical trial of Murat convened on the 13th of October. A Sicilian named Captain Starace was to selected to serve as Murat’s advocate, and pleaded with Murat to change his mind about appearing in front of his judges to defend himself. Murat replied that the members of the court were not judges, but executioners; he ordered Starace to say nothing in his defense. Shortly after, the commission sent in a rapporteur to interrogate Murat, asking him his name, age, and homeland. Murat angrily declared: “I am Joachim, King of the Two Sicilies; get out, Monsieur!”

The trial concluded around four o’clock in the afternoon. He was unanimously found guilty, ironically on the basis of a law regarding insurrection which he had enacted himself in June of 1810. Murat received the news of his death sentence with, writes the Marquis de Sassenay, “a disdainful calm.” The sentence was to be carried out, he was told, in a quarter of an hour. He was permitted to write a final letter to his wife and children.

My dear Caroline,

My last hour has come; in a few moments I shall have ceased to exist; you will no longer have a husband, and my children will have no father. Never forget me; my life has not been tainted by any injustice. Farewell my Achille, farewell my Letitia, farewell my Lucien, farewell my Louise; show yourselves to the world worthy of me. I leave you without kingdom and without property, in the midst of my numerous enemies; be constantly united, show yourselves superior to misfortune, think of what you are and of what you have been, and God will bless you. Do not curse my memory. Know that my greatest pain, in the last moments of my life, is to die far away from my children.

Receive my paternal blessing; receive my kisses and my tears. Always have present in your memory your unfortunate father.

[Murat writes his final letter, by Jacques Onfroy de Bréville]

Into the envelope along with the letter, he placed several locks of his hair.

Completing this final task, he was met by Canon Masdea, the septuagenarian priest to whom Murat had bequeathed some money for the San Giorgio church two years prior. The priest prevailed upon Murat to sign a written declaration stating that he was dying as a Christian. He also managed to persuade Murat to make confession, standing firm on the matter when the officer on guard attempted to object due to a lack of time.

“Let us go,” Murat declared after receiving absolution, “and God’s will be done!”

At six o’clock in the evening, he was led out to the narrow courtyard of the castle. He coldly refused both the blindfold and the stool that were offered him. Scarcely ten feet separated him from the twelve-man firing squad. In his hand he held the miniature likenesses of his wife and children, which he now pressed to his chest.

“Soldiers,” he addressed the firing squad calmly, “do your duty. Aim for the heart, but spare the face.”

He gave the order to fire himself.

Details of the aftermath of the execution vary, with one account claiming three pistol shots were discharged into Murat’s head after he fell, which, if true, is excessive enough to appear as more an act of malice than a standard coup-de-grâce. There seems to be no doubt that he was killed instantly by the firing squad’s volley, fired at such a close range that his body was described as “mutilated.” His body was placed into a plain coffin and buried without ceremony in the yard of the church that had benefitted from his kindness two years earlier. Today a marker lies within the church, commemorating the spot where Murat’s remains are said to rest.

[Plaque marking Murat’s final resting place in San Giorgio church in Pizzo]

Caroline Murat had received no news of her husband’s whereabouts or well-being in months. Eight days after his execution, she wrote to Catherine, wife of her brother Jerome, that “this uncertainty is becoming unbearable.” Her older sister Elisa learned that Murat had ended up being apprehended in Calabria. Both sisters expressed the hope that he would be allowed to continue his journey from there to Trieste, but Caroline remained riddled with anxiety. “Oh, my dear Elisa,” she wrote, “loss of fortune seems nothing beside the agonies which oppress me and I would be happier completely destitute if I could thereby spare my husband and myself the cruel sufferings… until the hour when he can arrive and I can know him safe.”

The same day that Caroline wrote the letter above—November 2—news of her husband’s execution was printed in the Wiener Zeitung, the newspaper she had taken to reading daily since arriving in Trieste. Her servants endeavored to hide the paper, substituting another in its place; but she insisted on receiving it. It was yielded to her with reluctance. Catherine Davies, an Englishwoman who had served the Murats since 1804, describes the ensuing scene: “Upon reading the account of her husband’s melancholy death, she was attacked with violent fits which lasted until morning. The dear children were asleep, and knew nothing of their mother’s grief, nor of their own loss, till the following day, when seeing every one looking sad around them, Prince Lucien said to my late English companion, ‘Mimie, what is the matter, that you all wear such sorrowful faces: is papa dead?’ She replied she feared he was. At this moment, they all wept bitterly, for they were tenderly attached to their father, and he equally to them.”

While the Bourbon courts in France and Naples rejoiced at the news of Murat’s death, there were many who responded with horror, grief, and anger. General Guglielmo Pépé, who had come to love and admire Murat even in spite of his political differences with his former king, fell into this latter camp. “The tragical death of Joachim,” he writes, “plunged me into the deepest grief, which I only mastered after a long lapse of time: the whole country was horror-stricken by this sad event. Even to this day, when the inhabitants of Pizzo have occasion to travel the kingdom, they carefully conceal the place of their nativity, so great is the stigma it casts upon them.” Lord Byron, who had, years earlier, written a poem about Murat, likewise lamented the legendary cavalier’s sad fate. “Poor, dear Murat, what an end! …. His white plume used to be a rallying point in battle, like Henry IV’s. He refused a confessor and a bandage; so would neither suffer his soul or body to be bandaged.”

Napoleon, arriving on Saint Helena two days after the execution of his brother-in-law, did not receive news of it until months later. Writes Barry O’Meara, who briefly served as Napoleon’s physician on the island, “Some short time after his arrival at Longwood, I communicated to the Emperor the news of Murat’s death. He heard it with calmness, and immediately inquired if he had perished on the field of battle? At first I hesitated to tell him that his brother-in-law had been executed by military law. On his repeating the question, I informed him of the manner in which Murat had been put to death, to which he listened without any change of countenance.” This sangfroid was typical of Napoleon, who disdained outward displays of emotions (except for anger) in front of his subordinates. But his valet, Marchand, who had been with Napoleon longer and knew how to read him better, remarks in his memoirs that “This news had saddened him, and I heard him talking to Dr. O’Meara, which renewed this pain as he spoke. He said nothing of the King of Naples’ wrongs toward him, adding that to go down to Calabria with fifty men was the action of a madman, but those who had ordered his death were monsters.” General Gourgaud, in his diary, describes Napoleon, later in the evening after learning of Murat’s death, as “sad, preoccupied, plays mechanically with some coins during the reading. He suffers, we see it clearly.” Murat would remain a recurring subject of the Emperor’s conversation during his time on Saint Helena. His reflections on his brother-in-law were as conflicted as his feelings towards him had been throughout their relationship, ranging from fond reminiscences of Murat’s battlefield gallantry, to bitterness over his defection in 1814, to ridicule of his outlandish attire and poor judgment. He never ceased to regret Murat’s absence at Waterloo.

It is impossible to know for certain what Murat’s true intentions were as he began taking the road towards Monteleone prior to his arrest in Pizzo. He was indecisive by nature, but also stubborn. As appalling of a prospect as he found the idea of a life in exile in Austria, his desire to be reunited with his family was genuine; his children were never far from his mind. Yet equally abhorrent to him was the idea of living the rest of his life in a state of dishonor, having relinquished, without a fight, a throne he had never abdicated. The accounts of Galvani and Franceschetti both make it clear that his mind changed throughout the journey between Corsica and Calabria, his natural optimism and faith in himself repeatedly overriding the reality of the hopelessness of his original enterprise. Perhaps he truly had resolved to go on to Trieste by the time his party encountered Trentacapilli; if so, this only renders the outcome all the more tragic.

Some historians have theorized that his voyage to Pizzo was a deliberate act of suicide. This ignores not only his repeated insistences that he intended to join his family in Trieste, but also the resistance and attempt to avoid capture he made prior to his apprehension. If Murat was seeking death, he was not seeking it in the manner of a common criminal. He had been a soldier for his entire adult life, and would have preferred to die like one. Upon his return to Naples from his final defeat at Tolentino, where, like Ney at Waterloo, he appears to have been attempting to get himself killed, Murat dolefully remarked to Caroline that he had been unable to meet death.

“Thus,” writes his former aide-de-camp Macirone, “fortune was again adverse to courage, and the blood of a hero was permitted to be lawlessly, uselessly, and inhumanly shed, by a sovereign who had never been wronged by his victim. His death was ignominious only to his enemies. Those who had been his subjects will revere his memory. France may reproach it for the evils to which he unintentionally contributed… but when the book of truth shall be unfolded, it will appear that the errors of Murat were not errors of the heart.” It is as fitting an epitaph as that of Murat’s childhood friend Agar, the Count of Mosbourg, who devoted to him a monument listing his military exploits and achievements, closing with the declaration: “He knew how to conquer, he knew how to reign, he knew how to die.”

***

Sources:

-Atteridge, A. Hilliard. Joachim Murat: Marshal of France and King of Naples, 1911

-Bear, Joan. Caroline Murat, 1972

-Cole, Hubert. The Betrayers, 1972

-Colletta, Pietro, General. Histoire des six derniers mois de la vie de Joachim Murat, 1821

-Davies, Catherine. Eleven Years’ Residence in the Family of Murat, King of Naples, 1841

-Franceschetti, Dominique-César, General. Mémoires sur les événemens qui ont précédé la mort de Joachim Ier, Roi des Deux-Siciles, 1826

-Galvani, Mathieu. Mémoires sur les événemens qui ont précédé la mort de Joachim-Napoléon, Roi de Deux-Siciles, 1843

-Gourgaud, Gaspard, General. Sainte-Hélène - Journal Inedit de 1815 à 1818 en 2 volumes

-Macirone, Francis. Interesting Facts Relating to the Fall and Death of Joachim Murat, 1817

-Marchand, Louis-Joseph. In Napoleon's Shadow: The Memoirs of Louis-Joseph Marchand, Valet and Friend of the Emperor 1811–1821, 2018

-O’Meara, Barry Edward. Napoleon in exile, or, A voice from St. Helena, Vol 1, 1827

-Pépé, Guglielmo. Memoirs of General Pépé, Vol 2, 1846.

#the last days of Murat #Joachim Murat #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Caroline Murat #Caroline Bonaparte #Lord Byron #history #19th century #1815 #today in history

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irene-sadler · 4 years ago

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Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

aka “The Tournament”

n: this is by far the longest thing ive ever written, if u read the whole thing and liked it i appreciate u. (also if u read it and didn't like it, tbh.) thats all folks see u next time <3

By morning, she had the answer; she leaned on the fence next to the empty lists, contemplating precisely how to bring her scheme about and studying the clouds overhead as they blew in on a damp, western breeze.

“Do you think it’ll rain, later?” Gascon asked her, coming up from behind; she returned her thoughts to the present and said, “Isbel says it ought to. So, are you ready for your fight?”

“Is anyone, truly, ready to fight Reynard?” he asked dolefully; the man in question glanced their way from across the green, briefly locked eyes with Meve, smiled slightly, and then returned to carefully directing his squire. She smiled back, somewhat dotingly. Gascon glanced at her and rolled his eyes skyward.

“At least Ethan’s getting on well with him,” he said. “Much alike, those two.”

Meve shrugged noncommittally.

“Anyway,” he said, “Who are you supporting? Sir Reynard or the black knight?”

“Firstly,” she said, turning a sarcastic glare his way, “I’m not fighting, so there is truly no black knight to support. Secondly, I am a neutral party in this and any contest between my loyal subjects.”

Gascon considered a moment, then, suspiciously, asked, “So am I expected t’ believe you and Reynard don’t have one of your little wagers on my head, then?”

“Oh,” she said, realizing in mild surprise that they hadn’t even approached the subject, the night before, when they ran out of important things to talk about; she’d been too busy explaining the play she’d seen in the city’s streets to think of it. “No. No, we don’t.”

He appeared mildly skeptical.

“I still owe him on our last one, anyway,” she said; Gascon showed no sign of believing her. “Not to worry, Gascon; I’m sure you’ll do as well as anyone else, which is -”

“Badly,” Gascon finished for her. “All things bein’ equal. I don’t know why I agreed t’ this; I wasn’t even drunk at the time, for once.”

She regarded him, contemplatively, and then asked, “Do you remember when I knocked you off your horse, last month?”

“How could I forget, since you and Reynard insist on bringing it up every few hours?”

“Look, Reynard is - I love him very much, but I have to say he doesn’t have a drop of guile in his blood, truly. It would never cross his mind to pull a trick like that in a fight, or, for that matter, at any other time. Nor would he expect someone else to do so.”

Gascon stared at her.

“Good luck,” she said to him, turning back to the lists, as Reynard signaled his readiness from the other end of the barricade; Gascon sighed, mumbled, ungratefully, that nobody who said good luck ever actually meant it, and wandered reluctantly toward his horse. Meve leaned against the fence and waited.

She would never openly admit to not really watching the first, desultory pass the combatants made, but the predictable maneuvers on display bored her, and her thoughts drifted toward the day’s upcoming legislative business. However, as Gascon discarded his lance before the second attempt, she frowned, refocusing on the field. Reynard paused for a moment, evidently perturbed by the Duke’s unexpected behavior; Gascon, meanwhile, quickly booted his horse to a gallop and covered behind his shield. Reynard’s charger had barely achieved a trot when the Duke came barreling down the barricade and met with him. To his credit, the Count was as prepared as decades of experience could make him - lance couched, shield ready - but Gascon turned the point of the weapon aside with his own shield, grabbed the pole near the middle with his free hand, and yanked himself and Reynard off their horses and onto the ground at the same time. The lance struck the barricade in between them with an echoing bang and cracked in half.

Meve grinned, hopped the fence, and strolled down to where Reynard had fallen; he sat up, raised his visor, and glared at the splinters of his lance. Gascon heaved himself to his feet and popped his helm off. Reynard’s sour gaze traveled up to his face. He shrugged innocently.

“Tricks,” he said, winking at Meve; she fought down the urge to laugh at Reynard’s expression.

“It wasn’t cheating, my love,” she said, heaving him to his feet. “It was - creativity.”

“Oh, no, it was definitely cheating,” Gascon said, to the knight’s cross, remote frown, “You win, Sir Reynard. Congratulations on yet another victory. Carry on with - with whatever it was you had planned for after my defeat.”

The Count sighed, yanked his own helmet off, and mastered his obvious annoyance.

“I was going to say that it’s time the black knight retired.”

“Oh. Yes, well, you may be right,” Gascon said, easily. “I believe he’s served his purpose, anyhow. In any case, I think I’ve had all the jousting I can stand for quite some time; all these falls can’t be good for my back.”

“Both black knights,” Reynard said, looking toward Meve pointedly; she stared back with casual arrogance and asked, “Oh? Are you sure that’s what you wish?”

“I’m quite sure, thank you.”

“It’s just that, really, you’ve yet to defeat the true black knight; an unfinished rivalry is something of a shadow over your record, I’d think.”

He shook his head at her. She let him wait in suspense for a few seconds, then smiled at his strained frown and said, “Oh, fine; I’ll let it go if you will.”

“Good,” Reynard said, stiffly, relaxing slightly at last.

“I don’t really like jousting, anyway,” she added, unable to resist a last teasing dig; his resolute sternness finally broke down and he rolled his eyes at her. She grinned brightly at him.

“Thank the gods for that,” Gascon said, “Else we’d have no peace at all. Anyhow, now this is over and done, I suppose I ought to go home. Although, first, there’s still the matter of Holt and Gaheris, which some of my men are tied up in; I’d like them back, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, right,” Meve said, as if she’d forgotten. “Yes. Send Gaheris to the throne room this afternoon; I’ve various matters to bring before the court, and he may as well be one of them. Sir Holt’s of no consequence; you may let him do as he will. Feel free to leave whenever you like.”

“Well - maybe I’ll go tomorrow,” Gascon said. “It does look like it’ll rain, this afternoon.”

Gaheris presented himself as commanded, appearing absolutely unsure whether or not he was attending his own execution. The Queen took no notice of his existence, until the end of an unusually short session with her court, she finally turned her distant stare to him, giving no obvious sign as to why she’d summoned him.

“One last thing,” she said, cooly. “This fellow is Gaheris, the son of Gors, a stonemason; he is a dependable and competent man.”

The court studied him, briefly, some dubiously, others with approval - one Baroness in particular nodded, pleased - as the Queen continued, in the same tone, “Because of this, it pleases the crown to attach him to our service, should he pledge his fealty to us.”

Gaheris blinked, stupidly; Count Odo, standing slightly behind and to the right of the Queen, nodded once, sharply, at him. The man started a little and regained something of his usual confidence.

“I - yes, my Queen,” he said. “I swear it.”

“Kneel, then,” she said; the Count handed her a sword, and she tapped on one, then the other of his shoulders, and declared him Sir Gaheris of the Fen.

“If I’m any great judge,” Reynard said later that day, referring to the new knight, “You won’t find a more loyal soldier than him.”

“Except for you,” Meve said, blithely.

“And, I do believe that settles all th’ affairs remaining from Gascon’s tournament,” he added quickly, turning slightly embarrassed. “At long last. I hope he never has another.”

They were sitting together on the floor of one of her private rooms in front of the sole window. He watched rain drip down the outsides of the thick panes of glass; Meve, not particularly interested in the view outside, lounged across his lap.

“Well, almost all,” she said, significantly. He looked down at her, warily.

“Oh?”

“There’s just one more thing,” she remarked, idly brushing her fingers along his jawline. “I believe I promised a prize, should you win my jousts, and I don’t easily forget my debts, as you know.”

“Ah. So you did,” he said, and returned to staring out the window as he considered. She sat up and waited, almost patiently.

“I can’t think of anything,” he finally said, looking back at her; her heart lurched as a gentle smile crossed his face, but she maintained a sardonic tone.

“Really? There’s nothing at all that you’d want from the Queen of Lyria and Rivia?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied, seriously. “You see, I already have all I could ever ask you for.”

She nodded, satisfied, and kissed him; he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close; there really was nothing left to say, even if either of them had any interest in talking. Gascon strolled in through the door behind them, stopped short, and noiselessly backed out again, unnoticed. Afterward, they had, for once, no interruptions.

#thronebreaker #witcher #action #romance #humor #fanfic

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sailorbellewrites · 5 years ago

Text

Fools Rush In... I

characters — yoongi x reader (ft. members of bts and other original characters)

summary — min yoongi, music executive and perpetual bachelor, marries a las vegas stripper he’s only known for six months. chaos ensues.

inspiration — fools rush in (1997 rom-com starring salma hayek and matthew perry)

information — a drabble series loosely based on the 1997 movie fools rush in. drabbles not posted in any linear order and written as a creative writing outlet.

warnings — mentions of sex work; age-difference; light sugar daddy themes; smut (in some drabbles) ; light angst.

I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI

I — arrival.

Yoongi fucked up.

Or at least that’s what he thinks as he stares at you standing in the middle of his living room, five tattered and mismatched suitcases standing by your side. You look out of place in his high rise, both in appearance and comfort. You fidget with the edge of the Burberry coat he got you in New York City, when you stood in Times Square shivering your ass off because you didn’t own clothes for the weather. “Las Vegas,” you insisted as he dragged you into the store the next morning, “doesn’t get this cold, but I’m fine. I don’t need it!” However, you didn’t put up much of a fight when he told you to pick anything in the store because he wasn’t going to have his vacation ruined by you catching hypothermia, nor did you bat an eyelid when the sales clerk read the price and Yoongi swiped his card.

Getting married was never in the cards for Yoongi. He spent most of life staunchly focused on work, building a music production company from the ground up almost entirely on his own. His keen eye for detail and smart business sense made him a quick success, but he never slowed down for fear that it would all fall apart. He didn’t have time to date anyone seriously—though, no one in his industry really did. He didn’t mind though. Yoongi was content with being alone.

Until he met you.

“So… where should I put all this?” You start, waving a manicured hand at your luggage. Your nails are white, as Yoongi had requested when you messaged him asking for his opinion on a color. He loved the color on you, a stark difference from the black leather lingerie set you were wearing when he met you. He had swiped that set from your bedroom and destroyed it two months ago, though you didn’t know that.

“Spare room. You must be tired.” You don’t verbally respond to his words, instead nodding your head and looking down at your shoes. They were the sneakers he sent you as a gift for your birthday, custom painted with the words SUGA BABY on the tongue so that everyone at the club knew who they belonged to (and in turn, who you belonged to). He still had the video you sent unboxing them saved on his phone, watching it in between stressful meetings. You looked so much happier in that video than you did now, so much brighter and taking up so much more space. You looked small and dull now. Yoongi hated it. Walking over to you, he placed both hands on your shoulders and squeezed them lightly, feeling you tense up. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“It just… your apartment is very… big.” He could see that you wanted to say more, words sitting on the edge of your tongue that you refused to let out. It was unlike you, to keep quiet when you had something to say. He still remembers that time in Tokyo when you brazenly asked if there was a sex shop nearby your hotel because you wanted to look at specialty condoms in front of that poor concierge. The man turned a bright shade of red, though you didn’t apologize even when Yoongi berated you in the taxi for your lack of shame. “Oh who cares about shame when Sailor Moon condoms exist?” He remembers you saying in response, before sticking your tongue out at him and laughing when he did the same to you.

“Did you expect something different?” Yoongi found himself asking, genuinely curious.

“Maybe… smaller?”

“You know how much money I have.” Yoongi started, confusion at your words evident in his voice. His hands dropped to your waist and you automatically took a step towards him.

“I do.”

“And you’ve traveled with me before. You have seen the places I choose to stay.”

“I have.”

“So then what’s the problem?”

“It’s just… you’ve seen what my place looked like.” You mumbled. Yoongi had, remembering the small cream colored building you called a home. You shared the small house with another dancer known as Rocki Rotten that regarded him as a sex obsessed creep. Your room was painted a hideous salmon color and seemed to always be five degrees hotter than the rest of the house, but you didn’t mind it at all. You called it quaint. Yoongi called it a travesty.

“Did you expect my apartment to look like your house?”

“No!” You let out quickly, voice rising although your eyes stayed trained on the floor. “I just… feel like I’m gonna mess something up or break something. I’m not… I don’t belong in a place like this.”

Yoongi frowned, pulling you closer to him until you were chest to chest. He lightly rested a hand under your chin and tilted your head up until you were both making eye contact. “Baby,” he started, letting out a gentle breath when he saw you smile at the pet name. You were such a sucker for pet names. “You are my wife. Anywhere I am is where you belong. Don’t ever believe anything different.”

“Okay.” You responded quietly, though Yoongi knew he won this battle when you wrapped your arms around him tightly, tension slowly leaving your body.

“Let’s get you in bed yeah? We can get you settled in the morning.”

#bts scenarios #suga scenarios #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi #suga #drabbles #sailor belle writes

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des8pudels8kern · 5 years ago

Note

Ooh marriage of convenience and royalty au?

You failed to give me any characters to go with this, so I decided to pick some myself. I hope you enjoy your Aubreyad marriage of convenience royalty AU!

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The two high-set windows, each the size of both his hands put together, allowed a limited view of the sky, and with that provided Jack’s main source of diversion during his involuntary utilization of French hospitality. They allowed him to follow the passage of light and day and, by these same, tell the time, albeit not with the same accuracy as if he’d stood on the deck of a ship, able to gauge the exact position of the sun. He also tried his hand at predicting the turns of the weather, through observation of sky colour, cloud formation, humidity and air pressure, though, again, his accuracy was limited by his current unfortunate circumstances.

Steps disrupted his assessment of the cirrostratus clouds drifting slowly past.

It was not yet the time for lunch, and the tablet on which his breakfast had been delivered would not be retrieved until then. This meant a visit, either to one of his neighbors, or to him. And, while he did not know what other poor souls had been unfortunate to be caught out in the middle of France of all places when war was declared and ended up detained, he hadn’t noticed any door other than his own being opened outside of mealtime. Not for the first time he was grateful for his travel companion’s particular background; as much as Stephen’s occasional disdainful remarks on the monarchy and lack of patriotism cut at times, were he a fellow Englishman, he undoubtedly would have been locked up same as Jack, and they would not have seen each other since.

But he was not, and indeed the steps came to a halt outside of Jack’s door, followed by the clink of keys, and shortly after Stephen’s dear, familiar face peeked in through the door, quickly followed by the rest of him.

The guard stood watching as Stephen crossed through the room in quick steps to stand in front of Jack, grasping his hands between his own.

“Jack,” he said, “acushla, how have you been? You look pale. How is your appetite?”

Stephen himself looked drawn, his face pallid and dark circles beneath his eyes, and moved with a frantic, feverish energy. Still, the room seemed brighter for having him in it, and Jack smiled down at his friend with a tenderness that was not merely for the guard’s sake.

“I am well, my plum. Worry not for my sake.”

Stephen searched his face, and then, satisfied for the moment, continued in their script.

“Come, sit, sit. You, monsieur,” he addressed the guard still standing at the door, all the while herding Jack over to the narrow bed, the only piece of furniture in the room and thus the only thing capable of serving as a seat, “Privacy, please. You have escorted me in, and you may escort me out again in an hour, but you have no claim to the time I spend here.”

The guard watched them sink down onto the bed next to each other, thighs touching and shoulders brushing, scandalously close for a supposedly affianced couple, but understandably so for one with one of the betrothed imprisoned as a prisoner of war. Jack, despite the impotence of his current circumstances, glared at the man, insulted by his leering at their joined hands and close position, and finally the door closed and the steps moved from their room.

They listened for a moment to assure themselves of their privacy, and then turned towards each other.

Audience gone, there was no further need for such proximity, yet Jack could not bring himself to shift away. Stephen, for reasons that were his own, did not either. Instead he reached into his coat and pulled out the by now familiar cloth, wrapped into which were a crust of bread, sausage, and some cheese. He topped this off with a small apple retrieved from his breeches, and pushed the lot of it onto Jack’s lap.

“Here, eat, Jack. Eat, and tell me, how are you really?”

Hungry enough to be grateful for these additions to his meagre rations, which would be hard-pressed to sate a man of Stephen’s stature, and feeling damned useless, but there was nothing to be done about that, not when Stephen’s shoulders had bent with worry months ago when they had gotten news of the impending war and not straightened once since. “I am well, truly, my dear. Do not concern yourself on my account,” he said, reaching out to pat Stephen’s bony leg, and then going for the sausage.

“Your account is all I concern myself with.” A long breath, and Stephen retrieved a letter from his breast pocket. “You remember that I had written to the Spanish ambassador on our behalf?”

“Of course. That was the entire reason why you suggested we become engaged, was it not? The hope that, my betrothment to one of King Charles’ subjects would outweigh my rank in His Majesty’s navy and I’d be allowed to accompany you to Spain.” It had at least granted him the privilege of these daily visits from his friend, which were even more invaluable to his morale than for his stomach.

“Yes, indeed.” Stephen licked his lips, and he unfolded the papers, straightening them and worrying the fold cutting them in half.

Jack glanced at the pages, but made no effort to decipher the scribblings on them. He stood no chance to understand the words, but the meaning he could guess, had guessed from the beginning of this enterprise.

“It was only ever a fleeting chance, brother. Oh, a clever idea, and damned quick thinking, to have come up with it there on the spot,” he assured, “but this was to be expected.”

Stephen set to say something, but Jack barreled on.

“Stephen, I wish to express my gratitude, for your trying. And your visits, and this,” he gestured to the napkin in his lap, “Your presence has been a blessing, truly. I couldn’t have wished for a better companion to be arrested with. But it was only ever a chance, now there is nothing else to do, and I would understand, that is, I would think it the most sensible course of action if you were to depart for Spain alone. Who knows how this war will turn, and I would not have you locked up in one of the rooms beside me, merely because you did not leave when you had the chance.” The bread crumbled in his fingers, but he could not have swallowed the smallest bite past the lump in his throat.

“Oh, Jack, Jack, no!” Stephen’s hands stilled his own, then one rose up and cupped his cheek. “Acushla, no, none of that! Look at me now, dear: it worked!”

Jack’s head snapped up in disbelief, dislodging Stephen’s hand.

“It worked?”

“We must marry first, of course. The priest will be here within the hour – not a word! I do not give a fig what you believe or not, but you will act the happy convert to Catholicism when he arrives, let me explain that you’ve seen the error of your ways and just not along, and not breathe one word that could endanger this marriage until we’ve crossed the border, you hear?”

“I, yes, yes, of course! I wouldn’t dream of it!” His heart soared. He did not care to think himself such a coward that he would deny his faith to regain his freedom when his countrymen stayed behind, but the mere thought of having to remain here, alone, without the balm of Stephen’s presence, had left him desolate already, and it had taken all his self-control to put forward the suggestion.

Stephen, though, still worried at the pages of the letter.

“Where is your joy, brother? Your gamble has paid off; we will be free to go within the hour, will we not?” He lifted a hand to Stephen’s face, mirroring his earlier gesture, and peered into his eyes. “Come now, Stephen, what is the matter? Is it the war? Bad news from home?”

“No, dear, no, fret not. All is well.” Stephen smiled at him, wanly. “Merely that you were right. The ambassador would not have been likely to interfere on the behalf of just any of Carlos’ subjects, nor would the French have seen reason to give in to the demand.”

He wet his lips, gaze darting around the room before settling back on Jack.

“I have talked to you of the circumstances of my birth, Jack. That my father was serving in the Spanish army when he met my mother, and of my illegitimate birth. But now you must know, my dear, that it was my mother’s family who did not approve of the connection, not my father’s.”

Stephen had talked of this, yes; always in moments of weakness, and in short words. The topic was sensitive, Jack understood, and he tried to convey as much by nodding at his friend and humming supportively.

“You see,” Stephen’s lips stretched in that same feeble smile again, “we have never met, but Carlos IV is my cousin. Third cousin, once removed. But the connection exists.”

Jack blinked. He felt utterly flabbergasted, but refused to show it.

“Is that how you came to be in possession of a castle?”

That horrid smile on Stephen’s face stretched into something more real, and a croaking laugh escaped him.

“Yes, my dear. That is how I came to be in possession of a castle.”

Jack smiled back at him, and noted with satisfaction that the weight on Stephen’s shoulders seemed to finally have lifted.

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

Day 10 of my 500 words challenge! 1597 words today. And a return to an old, old fandom. I haven’t read any Aubreyad, canon or fanfic, in, oh, surely a decade at least, so my fannish sea legs and familiarity with POB’s writing are long gone. Also, I am operating in an AU where same-sex marriages were apparently a thing during the Napoleonic era, so I think we have already reached an area where we are operating with suspended disbelief.

#aubreyad #aubrey/maturin #nsfr #500 words challenge #not!fic

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cainfm · 5 years ago

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『BILL SKARSGARD ❙ NONBINARY』 ⟿ looks like CAIN ROMANOV is here for THEIR SENIOR year as a LITERATURE student. THEY are 25 years old & known to be RIGHTEOUS, TRUE, EVASIVE & GUARDED. They’re living in MORIS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ JAMES. 21. EST. SHE/THEY.

hdsjnf hello all ... it is james again ... here with another ... replacing noelle with cain bt it’s fine im fine. i’ve hit muse limit u wn’t hear frm me again ... so hit tht like button .. this isnt the best intro ive done bt mostly bc im just kinda like ... taking an old one n rewriting it as i go

TW CULTS, HEROIN USE / ADDICTION, DRUG ADDICTION / USE, ABUSE, PSYCHOLOGICAL / EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, PTSD, ANXIETY, TRAUMA.

aesthetics.

dangling limbs from tree branches, yellowed book pages, opened bottles of vintage wine, oversized sweaters and deep under eyes, bleached denim, worn leather gloves, cat hair against black cloth, fields of wheat, broken windows, descending staircases, tight-lipped smiles during public appearances, golden skies, light spilling from windows, stumbling over one’s own words, wire-framed beds, linens, wool scarves, making the wrong decisions; running, from others and yourself.

basic info.

full name: cain alexei romanov

nickname(s): n/a

b.o.d. - feb 19th, pisces :) happy birthday!

label(s): the connard (previously), the escapist, the facade, the fallen, the lothario (previously), the pariah, the phoenix, the puppeteer (previously), the sybarite, etc.

height: 6′4″ ... bruv.

hometown: stratford, connecticut

sexuality: bisexual uwu?

stats

inspired by: i feel like i did ... have an inspiration for him but i don’t ... remember ... so ur not getting this one ... i might edit this later if smth pops into my head but. alas.

biography.

born to connecticut senator vaughn romanov and well known philanthropist adelaide romanov, they were born into a life of privilege in a very prominent new england family. they’re the eldest of five in a very nuclear, picture perfect, preppy chic family.

was brought up to be a class a, outstanding, perfect citizen. golden child to the all american family (willfully ignoring the fact that his father came from russian immigrants). cain listened, obeyed, never strayed outside the lines.

it was always intended for cain to take on after their father, to follow in his footsteps and become a politician too. there were several expectations for them, including joining model un, debate, deca, splitting time between soccer, track, basketball, lacrosse, becoming class president, and all while maintaining a valedictorian - worthy gpa.

even volunteered on the weekends at homeless shelters and food banks, proving to everybody in their community just how much of a gem they were, darling, perfect member of society.

always eager as a child, eager for approval, eager to impress and wow and dazzle authorities and adults alike - cain never really had a problem with any of it? always attended church on sundays and sometimes even wednesdays. participated in family dinners and christmas photoshoots and new years eve parties, easter egg hunts and family reunions.

born and raised in stratford, super close to lovell to the point where it’d always been expected that the romanov children would simply just go to radcliffe, as did their parents. their home in stratford is a big, fancy, seven bedroom eight bath house with two fireplaces and an expansive dining room. no pool, but a sturdy treehouse made by scratch.

however. their model citizen persona was just that, a persona - a charade. in the community and to his family, cain was a hardworking citizen who upheld standards, a leader. to classmates and peers, from elementary to college - cain was the devil themself.

arrogant, harrowing, an outright bully who tore down others when they felt like it, often unprovoked. they were the senator’s son, and a rich one at that - rules never applying because they simply never existed for them, the upmost privilege because of who their family happened to be and their place in society. tattlers of their behavior faced far more consequence than cain ever did, or would.

the sort of person who’d genuinely look down at someone if they had less than them - a narcissistic dickhead who cared about two or three people, tops, outside of their family. was never physically violent, nor did they raise their voice, but that’s what made them all the worse. made them all the scarier. spewed classist bullshit with ease and was addicted to the power high it gave them.

their only redeeming quality was their protectiveness over their family - never the best person, but family is family, and they thought it ought’d to be protected.

went into political science and business to please their father, mainly, every step they made - every path cain went down, every choice from the electives they took in high school to the brand of shoes they wore, was to build them into the ideal presidential candidate.

probably joined a frat though cain never participated in parties too often, known for keeping their composure even when others resorted to violence, or got too drunk, or caused any public commotion, because they didn’t like to leave a bad image for the press. did their drugs in private but left nothing to the imagination, publicly.

but alas. during college, two very important series of events occurred.

seeking thrills, searching for fun in all the wrong places - cain became a middle-man between dealers and producers. never dealt it, and never produced it, but simply transported it between one another; the less everybody knew about each other the better. it was always a very hushed operation. one that they could’ve profited much off of, though money was never the motive for them.

and then he met earl and may meyers, fellow volunteers at a thanksgiving food drive; an older couple immediately drawn to cain, reasonable considering just who their father was, and cain to them. they can’t tell you what about the couple was so appealing - the air around them was something else entirely; some called it unhinged, others would call it comforting. but they were kind folks, down to earth - very religious, and very warmhearted. liked his name, a lot - like in the bible, they’d say, and laugh, and pat his arm. they would say, on occasion, that they reminded them of their late son.

it’d happened towards the end of their junior year, a few years after they’d gotten involved in the drug business - and the meyers were volunteering more and more, always at the same places as cain. the same times, too, as if they were learning his schedule. in retrospect - it was odd, but cain’d never suspected a thing. they kept talking, and it became a genuine friendship - a secured vote in the next election.

it only took a few months into this that they’d begun to talk about religion more. the sin of wealth, and god choosing only a select few when he cleanses the earth. only the worthiest souls. they’d eventually get into the rhythm of telling cain they were special - that they could see they’d be selected, see it in their aura, in their dreams, god sending them messages, etc. most would find it to be absolutely ... bonkers.

but it was oddly appealing to cain - like, maybe i am being constrained by capitalism. maybe i am disappointing god - aren’t i a devoted follower? it felt nearly ridiculous, but it seeped into their mind. psychological manipulation, lasting over months and cain unsuspecting. as if they could ever be the one manipulated. but the meyers could ask cain to jump, and they’d simply say - how high?

soon enough, earl and may told them that they were moving. that there’d been so many more like them and that it was time to join them, time to prepare - to get ready for the rapture. cain held off at first, finishing up their first term of their senior year and their life planned right before their eyes. everything they’d ever worked for. their loyal companions and close-knit family, their side-business that’d only gotten stronger - a long-term girlfriend and the engagement ring that burnt in their pocket, made their heart beat twice as fast at the very thought. still the same as before, cruel without a cause, but still surrounded by those who loved them - who could find something in them to love.

but a month into their senior year, cain had a sudden change of heart. they were ready, now, if not now then never later. all because of a third event. a surprise. a shock. a betrayal.

they had discovered that they were not their father’s child - not at all, not even by an inch. they were someone else’s, completely. their mother had broken down and cracked, after a particularly straining christmas party. the discussion was long, and the heartbreak only grew. the anger only grew. the hurt - it grew. more and more, with each pitiful sob their mother gave them. it was a mistake - a one night stand in a fit of petty anger in the very early stages of their marriage. and only cain knew - like they had to carry this weight, now, that they never asked to have.

it was the kind of information that broke a person. cain idolized their parents, done everything they’d ever asked - ever expected, and beyond, let them mold them like putty into whatever form they wanted. only to find out that in the end, it didn’t matter. it never mattered, if cain wasn’t the blood child of vaughn. if their mother - a woman who hadn’t a bad bone in her body, was nothing but a cheat and a liar.

cain unraveled.

they spent the first week getting into an altercation with near anybody who looked at them wrong. physical, usually - though arguments arose frequently as well. with no explanation, only thrown fists - often drunk, or high, or sober too - it never mattered. they spent a night in county jail, it’d gotten so bad. it seemed to have no end.

right until new years, just after midnight, when cain had disappeared without a word. it was treated like a missing persons case, though there was no evidence of foul play or kidnapping, and not much could be done about it.

BEGINNING OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

the only people who knew of cain’s whereabouts were the meyers - because they had left together. a last minute decision that, if they had only waited a simple minute longer, would’ve never happened. a mistake they desperately wished they could take back. a mistake that led to another event - maybe the most important one of them all.

they’d gone only hours away from stratford, and lovell, the border between new york and connecticut and not as far as cain had initially thought, but deep, deep into the woods. that was where the cult’d been. they wore white linens and cotton, but never mixed. technology banned, prayers and daily chores. it was natural, at first. for the first three months, that was.

it could’ve been grand. it was peaceful, and mind-clearing, and they treated cain as if their birth was a sign from the angels. cain come to undo his past. a potential leader. but the longer they stayed, the more apparent it became that they weren’t all that the cult had wanted, so desperately, to believe. once they began to slip up, once members became displeased - that’s when the punishments began to occur.

sometimes once a week, but sometimes - and, later, much more so, multiple. the memories are suppressed, for the most part - but there are some things they simply can’t - the hands, they can’t forget. pulling, and tugging, and gripping - begging, asking him to repent, please, repent. their head held underwater, counting seconds until their vision’d eventually darken and go out, only to be pulled out gasping and sobbing. these memories stay - these memories repeat themselves, like a record stuck on repeat, days blurring into one another.

when they tried to fight back - they were subdued. heroin was the first step. little by little, everyday - enough to leave them in a high they wouldn’t remember; enough to burn a hole in their memory. and with these dimming memories, cain’d begin to sneak paper and pencil into their living arrangement, their room, writing everyday. wrote as much as they could remember from home - about their family, their life before it all - the people they loved. they couldn’t remember what they’d written, some days.

and when those notes were found, bound by thread taken from their own clothing to form a shabby book - that’d been the final straw. dragged, kicking and screaming - mind-numbingly high, into place. the twisted reenactment, retelling of cain’s demise. how exactly he’d gotten his scar. it would’ve been near perfect, if they had only stayed still and let them brand the mark into his forehead. but instead - they settled, eventually, for the chest. then - the left cain to die in the middle of the woods. in the middle of nowhere. no trails or campsites to follow, nothing at all. nothing but trees. nothing but his notes and the clothes on their back. they hadn’t even known what day it was - almost forgotten the year, too.

cain should’ve died there, but cain got up. and they ran. and ran. and ran. until they hit something, eventually. a road. it’d been pure luck that they’d found a car near immediately afterwards, whose driver wasn’t doubling as a murderer, who took them to the hospital - and who gave cain that chance to live. they were found on new years, a full cycle - a full year in the cult that’d changed their life.

END OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. STILL MENTIONS OF TRAUMA / MENTAL HEALTH / RECOVERY / ADDICTION BEYOND THIS POINT.

after being reunited with their family in the hospital - everything went by very fast. they couldn’t recognize their youngest sibling, but they also couldn’t remember why they’d left in the first place. couldn’t remember the name of their girlfriend, but the color of her hair and the way she smelled. they couldn’t give answers to their actions.

and after being put into therapy and recovery for their addiction - that’s when they find out that their father’s a presidential candidate, that they had been - that they used cain’s disappearance as a story for the press, one to garner votes. their return is national news, and their public opinion skyrockets. it’s supposed to be glorious, and a miracle, a blessing - but cain feels restrained. confined to the role they’d always been expected to play - expected to get up and continue with their life, as if nothing had happened.

but nothing didn’t happen - everything happened, and cain’s different now, vastly so - no longer who they thought they were. they change their major to literature, abandon politics. they get some cats, start working at the library, and they put on some leather gloves - their method of staying away, of keeping a comfortable distance. they are different, now, and simply only wish to focus on their recovery.

personality.

they’re no longer who they once were. a year of trauma does things to a person - and with memory loss that weighs heavy on their mind, they are near completely different. they remember parts of their old personality, their old lifestyle - enough to know they want to be better. they’re convinced that it’s karma, what happened to them. for being who they were - acting the way they did. just ... a bunch of self-blame.

even with the massive ego, cain’s always been a quiet person. but now - now cain’s even quieter. kinder, if not a little sarcastic, like a relic from the past. they’re distant - but it’s one of fear, restrictive and tense - not one made out of their own comfort.

smokes medical marijuana but rarely drinks ... as if that’d make a difference. in an effort to beat their heroin addiction, they’ve turned to prescriptions instead.

like i mentioned ... cain has four cats. it’s basically their entire personality. two of them were from before their disappearance, but two are new to their little (school-approved) family. there is: frank (big chungus when yelled. white and gray), brock (orange. fluffy. stoic. devours food), shoelace (black furred, missing an eye and half an ear), and crunchwrap supreme (crunch for short. calico with bent ears). yes, they have photos of their cats in their wallet.

cain’s memory is fucked - like, really fucked. they forget a lot of things. short term, long term. it’s a constant struggle. they managed to keep their notes from the cult, so those help - but not always. they forget dates and names and faces and events. sometimes they wake up and don’t know where they are. they don’t sleep often, anyways. with the trauma came night terrors, and in an attempt to avoid them they don’t ... sleep often. only a few hours a night if they can withstand it, because it’s frankly terrible.

they suffer from severe touch aversion. skin contact with anybody, of any sort, is enough to send cain into a full-blown panic attack. they were leather gloves more often than not in an attempt to combat this disadvantage, without hindering their dexterity too much. even with clothes, they’re not the biggest fan of physical contact. it won’t send him into a panic attack, but they visibly flinch away. they’re very clear from the get-go, if someone is too close to them, that they don’t like physical contact.

dealing with ptsd and attends therapy every week. their therapist recommended that they keep writing their notes, after reviewing them himself, so cain does. they keep an entire journal where they write, and sketch a little, because it helps them cope and de-stress. it means a lot to them, actually.

also dealing with ptsd and attends therapy every week - therapist recommended he kept writing after looking at his notes - so he does, keeps an entire journal where they write and like … sketch a little, because it helps them cope. means more to them than it would seem. but, unfortunately, part of their coping involves getting far too involved in their own mini-investigation of the cult they’d been part of. when the cult was tracked back to where cain’d been brought, they were already gone - and cain wants to know where. wants to know how to find them. wants justice, vengeance. wants nobody else to get hurt from them.

pretty blunt ... won’t go out of their way to announce that hey, they were part of a cult, and that’s why they’re gone and that’s why that’s the way they are now - but they also won’t lie about it, if the topic comes up in conversation. they don’t like delusions, don’t like secrets, nor do they like unnecessary attention.

being at radcliffe makes cain anxious because - well, they’re surrounded by people they’ve been doing wrong by for years now and they can’t even remember which ones. who, what, when, why - distant memories, if they’re even there at all. is constantly trying to figure out how to redeem themselves. they’d leave, if it hadn’t been their parents’ assistance that they stay there. so that someone always has an eye on them.

but like ...they screwed over a lot of people when they left. from plugs / customers to their ex-girlfriend, who they are, undeniably, still in love with (you can’t forget that feeling) - to their friends. like. everybody, pretty much KBJNSDFKSNLD

is often pretty high ... i’d say it’s just the medical weed but. alas :/ take a guess :/

hates cars & swimming & crowds. hates feeling trapped and will avoid it whenever possible. doesn’t want to be seen as unsociable, but it’s difficult.

they ... have a tendency to run away when they’re overwhelmed. likes to climb trees because they’re tall enough to. there’s a tree outside of their window that they climb out to frequently, even though it’s like a ~safety hazard~ or whatever. just really likes to hide out.

used to be in perkins when they last attended radcliffe, but they gave their spot to someone else and that was like - 100% fine w/ cain tbh. lives alone in moris now.

feels the need to redeem themself ... to like, everybody. like, they want to avoid conflict and be a better person, but it’s hard, and they don’t necessarily like confrontation either - and not everybody believes that cain’s changed. it wouldn’t be surprising if people were suspicious of cain, for whatever reason, because they don’t ... really have the best track record anymore.

developed a stutter as one of the results from their trauma. their voice is damaged from screaming and they’re self-conscious about it, but they’re working on it because there’s more important things to worry about. in general, cain looks ... gaunt, too thin, and generally sickly.

repeating senior year ... fr obvious reasons ... and probably won’t graduate anytime soon because they’ve changed their major so late.

can still hold a conversation & they’re not really afraid of socialization. it just takes a toll on them. they’re pretty lowkey, as a person. soft, sorta. quiet but they won’t be an asshole (on purpose). they like people! just. very low energy.

so like ... tldr ... not an asshole anymore ... dealing with a lot of trauma ... trying to be a good person ... yes ...

wanted connections.

locals... people they’ve grown up with their entire life. people they’ve wronged, people who idolized him, envied him, despised him, etc.

enemies... would love for a bunch of these just. a hoard of people who fucking hate cain. because it fits the bill. they could’ve bullied them, or wronged them, whatever. anything works. let’s make it happen.

exes... that they’ve dumped... old hookups, ex-friends, people they got into an argument with or fought before they disappeared last year...

ex girlfriend... that connection wld b rly neat!! i have it up as a wc rn but we can take that down ... will be holding intense american idol - esque auditions. remember that cain ws a fckn classist pig and probably only dated people who were also rich with influential families. (unless u present a very good case to me ... then maybe ... perhaps ...)

family friends... family rivals... people he knows mostly thru their family.

redeemable... people they’re trying to redeem themself to... trying to prove their worth, and that they’re a better person now, etc. etc.

old clients... :) angry clients. that they left in the dust.

perkins... people he knew from perkins ... old pals or maybe enemies idk he was pretty insufferable ... people he used to go to fancy parties with sometimes ...

angery... people so so so so fucking pissed at cain, for whatever reason.

reconciliation... reconnecting... used to be friends and we can be friends again :) and i will be better this time! i’m a slut for slowburns, especially slowburn friendships ... enemies to friends ... now THAT is sexy.

victims... of bullying ... :/ of their bullying specifically.

sof...t... wholesome content ... nothing but soft, understanding friendships ... or developing friendships ... make them feel welcomed again... forgive them...

an..g.st... friends to enemies. enemies to bigger enemies. miscommunication. betrayal. whatever u want.

no hookups!!! ... please only previous encounters. nothing in the present. because it just wldn’t make sense.

unless... eyes emoji. H DSJLFJKS just kidding! i’d accept MAYBE some kind of sexual tension but like ... the sort that hurts, because it just Cannot Happen (i will not let it happen). or maybe a fun, casual sexting thing but like. nothing physical. pleasthe.

fuck politics!... mayhaps, they hate mr. romanov and his politics or smth. he’s probably corrupt in some way, so! go at it!

aggression... i feel like a lot of the conversations between cain n other ppl start out rly ... angry bc theyre Mad. at them.

ok it’s bed time please plot with me.

#radintro #cult tw #heroin tw #drug abuse tw #addiction tw #trauma tw #ptsd tw #anxiety tw #manipulation tw #abuse tw #i think thts all ...

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peach-jaehyunie · 5 years ago

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You Were Beautiful: Epilogue

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, this is entirely angst and fluff though

Rating: 18+

Words: 2k

Previous: Part I, II, III, IV

It’s odd being back in school after a couple years off, but it’s a distraction from the heartbreak you feel. For a couple of months you cried; privately sobbing into your pillow, or excusing yourself to the bathroom if the feelings became overwhelming. Your friends asked if you had dated anyone seriously while you were in Korea. Of course not! You told them, insisting that embarking on a relationship like that when you had no intention to stay would have been careless. You had dated very casually you told them. Your mother had seen the letter clutched in your fist when she had seen you crying, but she never pushed you any further than you asking if you had loved him.

“With every fibre of my being.” You said to her.

Being in school felt right, being home felt right, but your life felt, otherwise, empty. You got back together with an ex. Ben was familiar and comfortable; he knew your life and you knew his. There were memories of shared teenage years and lots of shared friends. He had been your first love, and you were the friends with the great chemistry but you didn’t date until university. As friends, you had been through past breakups together. You had ended it to travel and teach for a few years, and you were pretty sure that you may have uttered the words “wait for me if you feel like it”. His parents loved you, and your parents loved Ben and his parents. You were bored and sexually unfulfilled. Ben criticized things Jaehyun had admired about you. He seemed lazier than you remembered, and you had forgotten that he was one of those people who constantly criticized other people’s thoughts or opinions. He constantly told you why you were wrong. You found out he had briefly gotten back together with a high school girlfriend while you were gone, and she had broken his heart for the second time. Neither of you said it out loud, but you both knew that the other wasn’t completely happy. At one point you had thought about being with Ben forever and having children together, now you made excuses to avoid sex as often as possible. Ben knew you well enough to know that this was extremely uncharacteristic of you.

A year went by and you still thought of Jaehyun every day. You regretted ever wasting a single second by being angry at him after the engagement announcement. You wanted one more day with him—even an hour would suffice. He was in everything you did, he was in every good thought you had. Ben knows there’s someone else, and he asks the bare minimum. Of that, you’re grateful. Sometimes, late at night, you remember the overwhelming—drowning even—sensation of love that you felt with Jaehyun. Maybe that was once in a lifetime love; maybe the regular love was all that you had to look forward to in the future. Your friends were getting married, but you were busy writing your thesis. Your friends were having babies, but you were pining over a married man in a foreign country. Things happened during the day that you wanted to share with Jaehyun, vacation spots became available but you only wanted to go with Jaehyun. A fear that you might never get over him gripped you: what if you never moved on as you had promised. An even greater fear was that Jaehyun may have completely moved on; maybe he was happily in love with someone else, what if he didn’t think of you anymore—it was selfish, that you knew. You wanted him to be blissfully happy and in love, but more than anything you wished that it was with you. You kept in touch with Johnny and Yuta. Johnny never brought up Jaehyun, and Yuta learned to as well. You accepted the love lost, but the world seemed dull. You began to avoid friends and social obligations, devoting yourself to paper writing and volunteering at call helpline centre for youth. Your professor got you involved as a counselor for an addiction group. You devoted every spare moment to others to avoid your own problems. You realized were even denying yourself the opportunity of another chance at love or happiness. You resented the stagnant relationship you were in and mentally chastised yourself for letting love go so easily. You were angry with the naive girl you had once been—who was she to walk away from love without even sparing him one last glance. You saw Jaehyun when you closed your eyes, and your heart stopped for a moment one day when someone walked by you wearing his same cologne. Little things reminded you of him, and you had never missed a person so much. Depression gradually began to settle in, and you pushed yourself to be even busier. On the outside, you were cool as a cucumber, completely together and sometimes even cheerful, but at home, you would shut down; like a computer put to sleep. You wanted desperately for someone to ask how you really were, maybe then you would tell someone. Maybe talking about it would make it feel better, but you also knew that no amount of talking or thinking about Jaehyun would ever bring him back. If Jaehyun existed in summer, then you existed in a world that had no summer—nor even a spring that rekindled the memories of the upcoming season. You cried, pitying yourself for not forgetting Jaehyun or allowing yourself to move on. It was your fault, you were doing this to yourself. “You could be happy if you wanted to be, Y/N.” you muttered to yourself when you were alone. This was never whom you wanted to become, this was not the woman Jaehyun had fallen in love with.

After two years back home, you and Ben broke up by mutual agreement; parting ways with a “see you around”, because 15 years of being a part of each other’s lives were not to be forgotten easily. You focused on yourself and began to tell yourself that you had once had a great love. “I have known love.” You say to yourself every night before falling asleep. You didn’t look for a relationship if you met someone you liked—then so be it, but your energy was otherwise spent on yourself and your work. You take up hobbies you had let fall by the wayside in university, and let little things in life bring you happiness. You tell Yuta to meet you in Osaka in the spring under a cherry blossom tree.

There is a figure standing outside your door, but you don’t notice him immediately as he slowly turns towards the sound of your footsteps as you carry your groceries, humming to yourself. You stop in your tracks when you spot him, and a wave of emotions hits you immediately filling your eyes with tears. He looks the same: his hair falls almost in his eyes, thick and soft as you remember it; his expression is neither happy nor sad, and his eyes appear to drink the sight of you in.

“Hello, Y/N.” he says quietly, his hands remain stuffed in his pockets but he offers the slightest smile.

“Hel—hello, Jaehyun” Your voice cracks loudly and you clear your throat as you set your bags down at your feet. You don’t dare move nearer to him, afraid he’ll disappear like smoke—nothing more than an apparition.

“I’m sorry, I maybe shouldn’t have just shown up.” He looks down at his feet, insecurity being apparent for the first time since he had brought you back your bra in a little paper bag.

“No,” it comes out harsher than you mean “No, it’s fine.” You continue, your voice softening. He looks at you and nods his head before stepping towards you. You’re unable to move as he comes closer to you, this was a dream, this couldn’t be real.

“May I?” He asks as he reaches for your grocery bags. He smells the same, and you nod your head as he lifts the bags from near your feet.

“What are you doing here?” Finally finding your strength and your voice, you can’t let him get away without an explanation. He can’t just come and go as he pleases, not when you’re finally starting to do well.

“Um, well...” he hesitates, standing there with your groceries, “Misook and I are taking everything over in the companies and consolidating it all. Our parents own a lot of real estate...my dad owns a lot of complexes, and one of them is only a couple hours away from here.” You’re unsure of what you’re hearing, and not entirely sure if you’re still breathing. He still hasn’t told you why he’s here, at your house.

“Misook and the baby” Your stomach plummets, “will have half of all assets, and the other half will be mine.” You feel as if you might be sick: so that’s what it feels like; that’s what the keen slap of heartbreak feels like. You can’t look at him, you feel betrayed. You grab the bags from him and rush to your door as you fumble with keys. To your humiliation, you drop them and you feel like breaking down right there, but you can’t let him see you fall apart like that. You curse under your breath as you bend down to pick them up.

“Y/N, he’s Minseok’s.” Jaehyun informs you quietly, sensing what caused your sudden outburst.

“Oh,” you start awkwardly, looking at Jaehyun; your expression embarrassed and apologetic.

“I guess what I’m saying is...I don’t need to be in Korea full time to run the company, and if you’re still interested I’m still madly in love with you.” He’s clear and concise. “We can’t get married or anything until Misook and I completely work out who owns what...so how do you feel about not marrying me, right away at least?” He walks up to you as he says this. You stare at him in front of you, was this real? Was he here asking you this? You make no reply, how do you tell him you completely failed to forget him and stop loving him as he had asked. How do you tell him you would take him back if it meant you two had to move to the moon together. He takes your silence as a negative reply, and he nods before beginning to turn away.

“Yes,” you breathe, reaching out to grab him. He’s real, he’s really here, he’s really asking you this you think as you grip him tightly.

“So you still love me?” Jaehyun asks, brushing a strand of hair off your face.

“How could I ever stop,” and the groceries are dropped again as your breaths intermingle for a moment before lips gently brush against each other. This is the only kiss that matters—it’s like a day was never missed, it was the same as it always was. This is the only feeling that matters, the swelling and feeling full and whole once again. He pulls away for a moment:

“What’s Forest Academy like?”

“Oh,” you are slightly confused for a moment when he mentions the private school nearby that’s filled with foreign students from wealthy families“It’s an excellent school, but it’s really expensive—“ you catch the look on Jaehyun’s face “—not that that will be a problem.” he grins and kisses you again, this time you pull away from him,

“Is that where our kids are going to go to school?” You ask, and you smile against his lips.

“Yes, and then they’ll spend the summer in Seoul with their grandparents. Now that we have everything figured out, all we have to do is make them--but we don’t have to rush that part.” He cuts off your laughter with the crush of his lips. Every movement and breath is as if no time had passed, it’s familiar while still being tantalizing and fulfilling. You feel complete, you feel weightless; he is your equal and you are his. Love is a living and breathing thing: it is constant and ever-changing; its heartbeat slows and speeds up; it is small and warm, and then sometimes swells and consumes you like a fire.

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reeree1500 · 5 years ago

Text

The Return- Part Three

Okay y'all so here it is!! Part 3 of the Return series!!! Ivar and reader relationship developmentttttt💕 Hope you guys like itttt :) Lemme know if you guys wanna be tagged too. And don't kill meeeee pleaseee 😂

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 part 8 part 9 Part 10

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @oceans-daughter-3 @peaceisadirtyword @laketaj24 @amy8220 @cutegyrl927 @camatsuru @cindy-exo @cainismyname @affection-rabbit

Disclaimer: My sucky writing again. Bad grammar and spelling😂 Character death. And bad plot in general.

Your POV

Excitement. Thats all I could say I was feeling at the moment. To finally be back in Kattegat with my family was something I never thought would have happened again. After my father’s grand announcement of my return, the room overflowed with happiness. People were coming up to me, asking me where I had been for the past 6 years and how I had survived. Obviously, I tried to answer everyone’s questions to the best of my ability without giving too much information. For I still didn't know, the true reason as to why I had to leave or who wanted me gone.

The happiness in the hall however did not last very long. Aslaug, the woman who was questioning Bjorn earlier that night. Was actually my father’s wife. “Im sorry? She's your what now?!?!” Aslaug screams of sorrow over my existence could probably be heard all the way in Frankia. My father however, seemed to have very little interest in her reactions at all. He had cast her to the side as if she meant nothing to him. During the course of the next few hours neither my father nor Bjorn left my side. It was as if they thought something would occur to me if I was out of their side for more than a second. “Father, if it is alright with you I would like to go outside for some fresh air.” I tell him, whilst grasping his hand to truly catch his attention. Cupping my face he says “My sweet little girl, you may do anything you please. However, I would prefer that you do not stray too far from here, as I have just gotten you back. And I would not be able to handle losing you again.” With that he gives me a kiss on my forehead and sends me on my way.

However, I can still feel the overbearing presence of my older brother. “Bjorn, you know Im not gonna run away, if thats what you're afraid of.” I tell him whilst stepping outside. “Im not afraid of you running away. Im afraid of something happening to you (y/n). Plus worrying about you is my job, always has been.” Leaning on one of the wooden beams, I cant help but to stare up at the sky and hold my cross between my fingers. Thinking to myself how different life would have been if I had not left. “ Im only a few steps away shout if anything happens. Okay?” “Okay! And Bjorn... I love you.” At that Bjorn kisses my forehead and walks back inside.

Unbeknownst to me, a certain dark haired man was lurking in the shadows. “Awwww, If I had a heart I would think that was probably the sweetest reunion Ive ever seen.” Turning to the sound of that familiar voice, I see Ivar leaning on his crutch making his way towards me. “I never thought that I would have a sister. And a Christian one at that.” The way that his eyes scan over my body makes me feel a certain way that I cannot quite describe. And the way that his features are outlined by the moonlight really gives a sense of how handsome he is. “Wait, are you implying that...”

“Well, if all Christians are as slow as you I don't think we’ll have a problem conquering them.” A smirk is displayed on his face, while his eyes show a hint of deviance in them. “Why do you think that Bjorn and Ubbe look so much alike (y/n)?” “Or the fact that we all share similar traits like our eyes?” As Ivar continues to talk down to me as if I were a child, I start to connect the dots. Why it was that Bjorn and Ubbe look alike. The way that they all seem to share the same traits as my father. The four young men that Bjorn introduced me too, are actually my brothers.

With wide eyes I come to the realization that...“You’re my brother.” “Took you long enough.” At that Ivar seems to crack what looks like a genuine smile. “You know, I always thought that I was the youngest, but now that I'm not...” The genuine smile I had probably imagined was now a devious one. “ Now, baby sister. Why don't you and I go and sit down by those steps down there. And you can tell big brother Ivar, what you've been up to all this time?” Without being able to answer, Ivar grabs my hands and takes me towards the steps. Why do I feel like this night is just getting started...

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Ivar POV

Needless to say all of us were in shock to learn that (y/n) was our sister. Especially Hvitserk, who had not only been enchanted by her beauty, but was already planning how he would take her from Bjorn. I however, knew something was up the minute I saw her in the great hall. She had no scars whatsoever on her body, meaning she wasn't a shield-maiden. And absolutely no callouses on her fingers from when she took the ale, meaning she definitely wasn't a thrall. And Bjorn wouldn't cheat on Torvi, unless he wants his balls cut off. Something intrigued me about her instantly. It was if she had been sent to me by the Gods, her sharp tongue reminded me of mine. The way that she stood up for my mother not even knowing that she had caused Lagertha and Ragnar to break up amazed me. The way she handled herself with grace and dignity was exactly what I wanted. No, what I need for in a wife.

“Ivar, are you okay? You've been staring at me for the past 5 mins without saying a word.” (y/n) places her hand on my knee to draw my attention whilst looking straight into my eyes. “As a matter of fact, Im trying to piece together, how we’re the same age, and we never met before you left.” As she goes to lift her hand from my knee, something instinctively goes over me and I grab her and hold it were it was. The initial shock she and I both had at my actions soon subsided. She let her hand rest under mine. As if we had done this countless times before, our fingers intertwined and they in my eyes fit perfectly. I could see the inner turmoil inside her, on whether these small affectionate moments between us were something that was so wrong, but that felt so right.

It was not just moments ago that I had found out she was indeed my sister. Blood of my blood. But somehow, something in me told me that we were meant to be. I felt safe and strangely loved by this person in front of me, whom I have never met before. “You know Ivar, we lived on a farm. I was 100% certain that I would be a farm girl for the rest of my life. I was content with knowing that I would spend my life tending to the animals and my family. But, this is just too much.” Looking down at where our once intertwined hands were. I see that she is now staring at the ground playing with the ends of her long braided hair. “Why? Because you feel as if you're not good enough? Look at me for Odin’s sake! Im a cripple!” At that moment our eyes connected and I saw a reflection of myself in her. A scared child who was deprived of a normal childhood. Seeking for acceptance and love from anyone.

“(Y/n), come inside father wishes to speak to you.” Bjorn says coming out from the great hall ale in hand. Clearly drunk as well. “Sure thing, I’ll be there in a second.” As she goes to stand up (y/n) turns to me and kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you for the pep talk, big brother.”

I knew that I could not be the only one feeling this way. She had to have been feeling the same about me. And I will go to the ends of the world and face the God’s themselves if they think that for a second I will not make her mine.

Your POV

What had I just done! I kissed him whether it be on the cheek or not. I kissed Ivar. My brother. Oh lord, forgive me for these sinful thoughts are consuming me. The intense feeling I got from us holding hands and from when he stared into my eyes. I had felt at home. Felt safe, felt something that I should only be feeling for the man I should marry. Not my brother! As I enter the great hall, all eyes turn on me. Remembering what I had just talked to Ivar about, I keep my head up. I shouldn't be ashamed, or feel as if I'm less than I am.

As I make my way to my father through the crowd once he spots me his eyes light up immediately. Sitting on his thrown he extends his hand and makes me sit on the throne beside his. “My beautiful daughter are you feeling alright now?” He says to me a little louder as if to make sure that people know not to mess with me. “Y..yes father Im feeling much better.” I murmur to him. At that moment my eyes trail off as if to find something that would take me out of this position right now. I have never been one to be the centre of attention. And as much as I wanna believe in myself that I can be a good princess to my people, at the moment that is not going to happen. As I scan the room my eyes land on Hvitserk. He’s eating a piece of chicken las if it were his last meal ever. I cannot help, but to laugh at him and that when he notices. He flashes a smile that could certainly melt any lady’s heart. Without realizing I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and bit my lip. Biting my lip when Im nervous is something Ive always done.

However, what did not realize was Ivar eyeing me from behind him. At that I stop and stare at the ground. As the hours go by, finally the last person leaves the great hall. Leaving only my father and brothers with me. “Sooooo, where is (y/n) supposed to sleep, father?” Asks Ubbe. Coming from behind me Hvitserk puts his arm around my shoulders bringing me closer to his body. “She can sleep with me! I don't mind sharing my bed with her.” At this Ivar scoffs. “Of course you wouldn't, you wouldn’t mind sharing your bed with anything that has a pulse.” I tilt my head trying to figure out whatever he means by that. And all that can be heard is the snickering of my father.

“I was thinking that perhaps I could sleep with Bjorn. You know since we used to share a room when we were little...” I say wishing that what I feel most comfortable with could be taken into account. “I don't know about that one baby sis, you'd have to ask Torvi. She defiantly doesn't like sharing thats for sure.” as Ivar says this he smirks at me while taking bite out of his apple. “Who’s Torvi?” “Wait! Bjorn didn't tell you? He's married.”

At that moment a scream was heard throughout the town.

“Oh My God, Mira!!!!” at that moment I shot out of Hvitserk’s arms and ran as fast as I could. How could I have been so stupid that I left my friend by herself in an unknown place. Seeing the people gathered around Bjorn's cabin only made my heart more nervous. Pushing my way past the crowd I make it up the steps in one piece. But what I saw would forever haunt me. There on the floor lied my once best friend and most trusted subject Mira. And on her back was carved the death rune. All I remember is hitting the floor and watching a pair of worried and frantic electric blue eyes.

#vikings #vikings fandom #vikings fanfiction #vikings history channel #vikings ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #ivar x reader #ivar #bjorn lothbrok #bjorn ironside #bjorn x reader #hvitserk #hvitserk x reader #ragnarsdottir #ragnar lothbrok #ragnar x lagertha #ask to tag

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hinabes · 5 years ago

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Soft Serve Cone’s Backstory

A story about promises.

I.World Demolition

It was the best of times-- Humans had bested the elves and created a new world where they ruled.

It was the worst of times-- Fallen angels, bad guys born from the curses of elves, kept invading human settlements.

“--And you food souls,” With an air of self-satisfaction, Westminster went on and on, talking about things I didn’t really understand while he struck a match.

“See, you guys are like the flame. While we humans are the friction on the match, in the end, you guys are the lit fuse.”

He turned to face me, the prancing, flickering flame in his hand putting a crafty smile on his face, eyes brightly lit.

“Little Cone, are you afraid?” “What’s there to be afraid of! Go on! Toss it in to see what happens!”

I didn’t want to listen to his boring and cryptic philosophies and pestered him to toss the match in the fuse notch of the experiment.

“Hahaha, you’re so like me!”

He let go. The burning match fell into the notch and the fuse instantly lit, its flame racing into the inner workings of the experiment. Sparks flew, and Westminster grabbed my hand, pulling me to duck away.

A huge explosion resounded, followed by Westminster’s excited chatter.

“--And so, let’s blow this world up.”

Alas, moments later.

“Ah… Another failure!”

I picked through the debris of the experiment for the thing we were refining for, to no avail.

“Don’t get too down, failure is but another step to success.” Westminster comforted me.

“This… Alright, how are you able to convince me every time?” “Because I’m a genius, best scientist in the world.”

“Say that all you want… You’re just a student… Crap! Let’s run, someone triggered the ice trap I put by the entrance! It must be the warehouse guard!” “What? Isn’t today the open house? Shouldn’t that guy be having a blast at the idol performance?”

Westminster was shoved forward by me, his shock not impeding his complaints.

“Who knows, let’s get out first!”

“Party pooper… I’ve already come up with the next experiment too… Coney, I’ll definitely become a professor here in the future and build my very own lab here! Nobody will disturb me then!”

“Alright alright, you’ll definitely get it! As long as you don’t get caught sneaking into a warehouse and kicked out of school today!”

I collected the moisture in the air to form a snowflake, making our escape on it through the skylight as always. The sparrows sleeping on a cedar tree outside were startled awake and jostled about with chirps and screeches, followed by the angered complaints of the tardy security guard.

Westminster and I shared a smile. --This was the most interesting experience I had at the magic academy.

II. Life Creation

To me, I was quite lucky. Because the first person to summon me was an interesting guy.

He was Westminster, and he often proclaimed himself the “number one science prodigy” to me. Though in reality, this was just something he said.

In the Academy, Westminster wasn’t on particularly good terms with the other students. He said that prodigies have always been alone since time immemorial as nobody understood them, so he didn’t bother with the common folk.

That was why, even though it was the celebrated open house when all the students were having fun with their families, friends and other visitors, I was the only one by his side.

“Hey, Westminster, since we can’t continue the experiments, where should we go?” “Where do you want to go?” “Hmm… We could take a look at the fallen angel weapons display? Or the master attendant appliances display?” “Those are all plagiarized off my work, what’s there to see?” “Then… the puppet show?” “That time would be better spent researching how to make puppets move by themselves.” “...Then what do you want?” “It’s getting late, let’s go back to the dorms.” “...Hey! Westminster!” “What?”

I turned around somewhat angrily to see him innocently grinning at me. We were flying above the school, wind whooshing past our faces.

“It’s my birthday!” “What did you say, the wind’s too loud!”

He played dumb, and I got ready to shake the snowflake under us--

“Hey hey hey, alright alright, I heard it!” He laughed out loud. “I remember! How could I forget your birthday? I’m going back to the dorms to get the tent and warm clothes I prepared--”

Like a conductor, he pointed elegantly towards the snowy peaks looming over the academy grounds.

“Then we’ll go there, how about it? We’ll get to see lots of stars.” “Woah! Let’s go!”

This was why I was happy to be with him; he made every new day unlike any that came before.

My birthday’s easy to remember, it’s the annual Academy open house.

It’s been so many years.

Back then, Westminster wasn’t so arrogant as to go against the proceedings. He, like the other students, was assigned a task-- To create something new that will be on display in the exhibition, that will be promoted and advertised to visitors from around the world.

Teachers and students alike were worried over what sort of “hazard” Westminster would create, but he went against his usual antics.

He didn’t create anything like the music box that could wake a dormant fallen angel, nor the perfume that could revert a food soul into an uncontrollable younger form.

Using cream made from a base of water from the Lake of Ice Tears, he created ice cream that wouldn’t melt. He then baked a thin omelet till it was hard and crispy, which he placed the ice cream into-- --That’s right, that’s the food I’m based on: the soft serve cone.

The day of the open house, the soft serve cone that was very convenient and didn’t create waste was well received and praised by the guests. Westminster managed to sell cart after cart of it.

Unable to keep up with its popularity with the visitors, Westminster received a permit from the Academy for large-scale extraction of water from the Lake of Ice Tears. He then extracted and collected the inedible magic crystal components of the water in secret.

The last day of the open house, Westminster somehow sneaked into the vault of the old enchantment furnace behind the main hall, and using ice cream infused with magic crystal energies, he summoned me.

“Hey, Little Cone. I’m Westminster. Welcome to the world of Tierra.”

He stood before me, face covered with machine oil, yet his eyes shone bright.

III. Remember the Stars

Atop the snowy peaks.

I sat in the tent with Westminster, stars circling the sky above us, and I saw in them his eyes when we first met. I never could find an apt comparison, but it suddenly came to me that night, under the stars.

“Are these stars your birthday gift to me?” “Stars are the universe’s reply to stargazers. And you, are the universe’s reply to me.”

I blushed.

“Sounds nice and all, but if you can’t take it, you can’t keep it.”

Westminster opened his eyes and reached out his right hand, grabbing nothing but air.

“We’ll come more in the future, you’ll remember them after looking at them more.” “There are so many stars, there’s no way I can remember them all.” “How will you know if you don’t try?”

Some things are only proven to be impossible when you try.

“Westminster, are we going to the mountains tonight?” “Not tonight, there’s an assignment I have to do.”

“Westminster, can we go stargazing? Even the school observatory is fine.” “Sorry, I have to record experiment data tonight… I might have to stay in the warehouse late into the night.”

… Slowly, I understood-- Change is the law of the universe, people and stars both change, new interests, new goals, new lights at the end of the tunnel. Nothing stayed the same forever.

Not excluding Westminster and me.

Not long after the trip to the snowy peaks, one day, Westminster and I sneaked into the warehouse through the skylight again. This was our secret base; besides having to avoid the security guard and covering up our traces as those of stray cats and birds, many successful experiments went on here.

But this time, we had an unexpected encounter. He seemed to be a teacher or a higher member of the Academy staff.

“Crap, what if he’s forced to drop out…”

As Westminster was taken away, I had uneasy thoughts. If Westminster had to quit, would I have to as well? Would the outside world be more interesting than here?

But I was wrong. After a long chat with the person, Westminster returned with the happiest expression he’s ever had.

“Haha, didn’t I tell you, I’m a genius!” He showed me the key in his hand. “Coney, I’ve got my own lab from now on!”

Seeing him so ecstatic, I felt oddly worried.

IV. Promise of Reunion

From then on, it was as if Westminster became a different person. He was very, very busy, often falling asleep in the warehouse, going days and nights without food or water, mumbling to himself in front of various strange devices and data.

“Empty shell, empty shell.” Often did I find him chanting to himself repeatedly.

Westminster told me that the mysterious man offered him limitless riches and power for him to research the creation of food souls and life itself. And empty shells were what he couldn’t wrap his head around.

Westminster always said that empty shells were food souls with practically no soul power, and their existence proved that food souls were more than soul-powered weapons created by humans, that food souls were preexisting beings. Then, what power does the human’s imagination hold that is able to summon us unknown life-forms? As he got more and more engrossed in the topic, he said that behind all of this hid the secrets and origins of the world and soul power.

In the beginning, I was still able to understand what he was talking about. Later on, the lab’s security got tighter and tighter. Finally, one day, as I was flying in through the skylight, I was blocked by a strange, invisible barrier.

That day, only when it turned to night did Westminster trudge out of the warehouse, exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, his unshaven face making him seem decades older. It was as if the warehouse was a man-eating demon, having consumed all of his life force. He faced me, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“Sorry, Coney, my experiments are dangerous, so I can’t let you into the lab from now on.” “I wasn’t coming to disturb you, I just…”

I lowered my head, doing my best to hold in the sadness-- I just wanted to tell you, it was the day of the open house. Have you forgotten my birthday too?

I didn’t want to cry. I’ve never cried. The ice from the Lake of Ice Tears will never melt, and having inherited its properties, how could I ever cry?

“Coney…”

Suddenly, my hand was grasped.

“Come with me.”

I followed Westminster dazedly. We didn’t follow the usual path, instead, he brought me into the majestic main hall and after making a few turns, we somehow came to a secret passageway.

“In here, we won’t be found by anyone. Shh, don’t tell anyone either.”

He brought me into the warehouse.

It was completely different from when I was created; filled with strange, rotating devices, it had become a real lab.

Still holding my hand, Westminster led me into the depths of the lab and handed me something that looked like a telescope.

“Look.” “At what? The kaleidoscope?” “Even better”

Withholding my disbelief, I looked into the telescope. --To see a skyline out of this world, with the brightest stars I’ve seen.

It was the same sky we saw that night on the snowy peaks, stars in neverending rotation; there were two particularly eye-catching ones, swimming in irregular orbits.

“Happy birthday.”

I heard Westminster’s voice. Averting my sight, I saw his forced smile, an uneasy premonition settling over me.

“See those two stars?”

Westminster patted my head, the coarseness of his hand unfitting of a young man.

“I might have to leave this place.” “Remember, when those two stars come together… I’ll be back.”

V. Soft Serve Cone

Nevras is home to the best academy of all of Tierra, the Academy of Magic.

It is the genius’ cradle, one of whom being Soft Serve Cone’s master attendant.

He was the youngest professor in the academy and had his own laboratory, and with the support of a mysterious investor, he researched food souls in utmost secrecy.

Due to the high security of the research, for a long time, Soft Serve Cone was separated from her master attendant and was unable to see him.

Later, for the next stage of his research, Westminster left the academy for a long-term study, declining Soft Serve Cone’s request to go with him.

And so, Soft Serve Cone stayed behind at the academy, and entrusted by Westminster and his investor, she lived fruitfully and was allowed to take part in the various classes the academy offered.

Like a human student, she studied everything she found interesting.

Time flew by, until that year, that open house.

A bored Soft Serve Cone picked up the kaleidoscope on a whim, to see the two stars suddenly come together. Her heart beat fast as she dashed to the warehouse-turned-secret-lab.

Passing through the secret passageway, opening the door, she saw the absent professor.

“Is that… you?”

Soft Serve Cone hesitated. The figure of the person before her had changed far too much.

“Long time no see, Little Cone. Now… will you create a new world with me?”

TL Notes

EVERY SINGLE TIME! Every single backstory’s chapter 4 just gets me soft and kinda wanna cry! Every single time! How does funtoy keep doing this!

This one was kinda very a little bit self indulgent.......... stars.......... kaleidoscopes............. deep lore............. westminster............. the academy.............. cute gorl............ its got it all.....................

The significance of the kaleidoscope:

Soft Serve Cone in Chinese is 冰淇淋花筒 (bing qi lin hua tong, lit. ice cream flower cone, where the last 2 characters mean “flower cone”).

Kaleidoscope is 万花筒 (wan hua tong, lit. million flower cone), feelssoftman

“The figure of the person before her had changed far too much.” haha funney joaks hahah

lil coney here better not be lookin at this and thinking “omg westy is that u??????” unless he already looked like this as a human in which case WHAT THE FUCK

anyway. this entire story is a lot of feelssoftman. see ya im off to make a kaleidoscope and cry a little from the softness

also if u were wondering yes the original does swap between kaleidoscope and telescope like that one katy perry song

#food fantasy #ff soft serve cone #translations

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vampiresuns · 5 years ago

Text

Of Death And Lovers

Based on the post ‘Nine things about being brought back from the dead’. An apprentice Anatole and LI Vishal fic.

Vishal belongs to @thelazaretmakesmesad.

🔞

i. You will be cold.

Sometimes the universe works in inexplicable ways. For example, how it created someone like him. This statement applied both to Vishal and Anatole, as it didn’t matter which of the two you asked: both of them had an ambition to decode the secrets of the universe, both of them were equally marvelled at the mere existence of the other.

“Hello, mi cariño,” Vis said softly, before kissing the tip of Anatole’s nose.

They’re sitting on their bed in Vishal’s cottage in the Dark Foresk. Anatole’s on his lap, and Vis hands were running up and down his calves.

“Hola, my love,” Anatole replied with a giggle, moving closer towards Vis.

Vishal’s hands began moving upwards: from his calves to his thighs, to his hips, up his sides, to his back making Anatole’s robe slide askew of his shoulders. He kissed his bare shoulders, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on his skin. Anatole’s skin is cooler than his, it had always been. It’s a nice contrast, and an equally good excuse for Anatole to always be scooting closer to Vis.

For a moment Vishal remembers how, years ago, Asra had asked him for help with Anatole being brought back from the dead. That had been his deal, yes, but Vishal is a Necromancer, and if anyone knew how to do in these situations, it was him.

Vishal couldn’t say no, how could he? When he had missed him so much he felt his chest was hollow? No, not just his chest: the entire world was hollow without Anatole. If the sun exploded it would wipe the earth out, Anatole’s death should’ve been like that.

His skin was freezing then. Cold and with goosebumps, nothing like his skin now: colder than his but still warm, inviting, the most beautiful golden brown he’s ever seen.

Anatole tilts his head just a little, and rubs his thumb over Vishal’s lower lip, smiling before leaning forward to kiss him. Softly at first, until it turned into a firm and hungry thing, and all memories of worse times were pushed out of Vishal’s mind.

ii. You will wake up screaming, you all do.

Anatole didn’t really scream. He rarely raised his voice to yell unless he absolutely needed to do so to call someone out because there is no other option; or if he eas singing at the top of his lungs — which he only happened when he was drunk. He is only loud when they were having sex. It was only for him that he lost control over the volume of his voice.

Vishal loved it.

He loved his silences too. Whether they came from Anatole covering his mouth with his hand because they were making inappropriate yet creative uses of either of their offices (or the shop’s counter. All doors where locked and the closed sign visible, they checked), or from his concentration as he read or worked.

When Anatole came back from the dead, he hadn’t screamed. It was the only time Vis hadn’t loved one of his silences, because every living being which is brought back always makes sound, and humans always screamed for some reason. Not him. He stayed eerily quiet for a long, long time — the only signs of him being conscious were his head and eye movements, small ascents and negatives.

“Aelius,” he had said then, poking his chest, indicating himself. Asra had looked incredibly worried, Vis couldn’t blame him. “Aelius Anatole.”

It was almost as if it were a carcass of a person, instead of a whole sentient, reasoning being.

Not now, though. Now Anatole wasn’t muttering his own name, but Vis’, over and over again, like it was a prayer, his hand firm in Vis’ hair. Anatole now was alive and expressive, and so incredibly good at telling Vis what he wanted of him.

The only remnant of that catatonic, barely-a-person Anatole, was his behaviour when he had the odd nightmare. He looked exactly like he had back then, but this time it faded when he laid eyes on Vis. He also never woke up from those screaming, they were always silent.

iii. Your entire body will throb, the pain will eventually subside; being brought back is never a painless task.

His mouth hanged open, with his chin towards his chest, eyes fluttering shut. Their fingers were intertwined, Anatole’s using Vis’ hands for leverage. His thighs are burning, but he doesn’t care, he feels too good to care. He opened his eyes to catch Vis looking at his face, transfixed.

“Enjoying the view?” He pants.

Vishal moves his hips, and Anatole doesn’t even have a descriptor for the sound that just came out of his mouth.

“Bastard.”

Vishal gives him a mischievous grin: “I can do that again if you want me to.”

His legs will kill him in the morning, he’ll live. He’s enjoying himself, and Vis, too much to care.

(”Are you in any physical pain?” The man with the amber eyes asked.

“My head,” he replied, speaking slowly, as if he struggled to find the right words.

“Not your body?”

No, not his body, just his head. It felt as if it had been crushed under three tons of bricks. His body felt only a little stiff, as if it had yet to become accustomed to having joints and bones and a physical presence, but it didn’t hurt.

“No, only my head.”)

iv. Do not get up immediately, you will be nauseous and your body will need time to readjust to this realm.

Anatole didn’t remember anything from before his death. He’d been told he is about 70% the exact same person he used to be, and he had met some people from his old life — namely, his family — but he had to meet them again. He barely felt a throb when he was told memories from before, nor he minds being shown. He liked pictures, and letters, and some of the stories from he was a child were absolutely hilarious.

He obviously didn’t remember dying, nor what happened after it. He didn’t remember being in the space between realms, following Scout The Dog Guide into the Fool’s realm. Nor he remembered talking to the Fool, or how when the Fool left the realm, he told him he’d always have a home there, that he, Strength and the Hierophant were always glad to look after him, if he wanted to explore some more before returning, but that he had to go now.

“But when you’re ready, all you have to do is find your cliff and fall.”

Anatole hadn’t need anyone else to tell him when it was time, he felt it. He knew, deep inside of him — and just like he would in some of his dreams when he were alive again, he took a deep breath, thanked Scout, took his distance, ran towards the edge of the cliff, jumped and he fell.

He was falling again. He tried to turn himself and Vis over, but instead of finding more bed, he made both of them fall to the floor with a loud thump, were they dissolved into a fit of giggles between their complaining and Anatole’s apologies.

“Is your leg alright?” He asked Vis, kissing his neck.

“It, ah, is,” Vis says, his heartbeat fluttering as Anatole keeps kissing his neck.

They don’t bother getting up.

v. Ask for more blankets, you will feel very cold.

Vishal knew he shouldn’t have pressured Anatole into adjusting, just as well as he knew he shouldn’t have compated a person who was just brought back from the dead to someone who he was before he died. Even if they were technically the same person. Necromancy (and all similar rituals) was a delicate process requiring precision, time, and mastery; the body being used belonging to a Major Arcana only complicated it. Nana needed time, space and patience.

Yet Vis feels like a thousand stings are poking into his skin when he didn’t talk, barely moved, just shivered, his teeth chattering. He handed him another blanket, and another, and another, until his temperature rose from potential hypothermia levels.

Both of them were ignorant of how, in the future, they’ll be lying down in a nest of blankets by a fireplace, one of Anatole’s hands pressing down over Vishal’s stomach, holding him in place, and his mouth feeling like fire around him.

vi. You will not remember how you died, do not ask.

Some questions would always remained unanswered, sometimes because they were never asked. Anatole never asked anyone how he died, he figured it out on his own: he died of the plague, he was taken to the Lazaret; he died alone, he died apologising.

He didn’t need people telling him, not really — not that Asra, for example, hadn’t tried and with disastrous consequences at that. He just needn’t because he always found out his own answers, when it was time for him to find them. He had always been intelligent enough to figure things out by himself, asking questions to others only when he needed to. That’s what he did, he set a goal and found a way.

None of these are matters occupying his head that day either way. He had been resuming his past work in the Council of Vesuvia; maybe next year he’ll become a Council person, or a consultant, he isn’t sure. Perhaps he would rekindle his relationship with Valerius enough to consider the Consulship option; when they began to talk again, to mend what had been broken, Valerius had offered it as some sort of olive branch. Anatole had said he would think about it.

He was thinking about work when he arrived home, finding it silent as a tomb when he opened the door. It was odd, Vishal was supposed to be there, he left the Palace earlier than he did.

“Vishal?” He called out.

He appeared out of the backroom of the shop. “There you are, I have our bags right here, you have tomorrow off.”

Anatole raised an eyebrow at him. “I love you with all my heart, but since when do you take those sort of decisions for me?”

“I don’t, I just have a good surprise for you, that’s all. I promise it’s going to be okay. I asked Nadia and Valerius, Asra is taking over the shop. I made sure you had no previous commitments, nor that I did, and since today is Thursday, you’ll only miss Friday and you don’t do council meetings on Friday.”

Anatole’s absolutely perplexed. “Wow, you do know me...”

He squints at Vis before speaking again: “How did you pack?”

Vishal explained in detail how he did, his process was a perfect mirror of Anatole’s — an art he had perfected before he died. He had been told most of his education was completed by foreign tutors, so he travelled a lot from ages 15 to 18, and he had studied in a Prakran university too, so he used to be a rather efficent packer. The habit had not carried on after he died, but what had was the terror infused memory of everyone who knew him and his packing process.

So when he had to pack again, Vis and all of their friends simply taught him how again. The New Packing Process was almost the same as the previous one, with some irrelevant variations.

Anatole gave Vishal a kiss, took his bag, and extended his hand to him. “Where to then?”

vii. Do not ask the practitioner how they performed the ritual, this is considered bad luck and you will not last long.

(”What happened to me?” Anatole asked to the other white haired man, the one who wasn’t Asra, the one who avoided him.

“Never ask that again, ever.”)

Their flirting had always been borderline ritualistic. They had begun circling each other before they even realised, found their way back to each other, and began dancing around the other again. Sometimes Anatole lead, others Vishal did. They were the moon going over the sun in an eclipse, a very difficult yet exciting game of chess, or a tied sword fight.

They went to Vishal’s cottage to spend the night. The next morning Vis made Anatole breakfast in bed — served later than he’d planned to, but morning kisses went too far and he was not going to complain about that. Then they were supposed to take the boat and row through the lake, down the river that fed it, and out to the beach, but Anatole pointed they were going to have to row all the way back.

They hiked instead — also delayed, because they decided to shower together (it was Vis’ fault this time).

They had a picnic at the beach, explored the rocks and some caves, they swam, they read together, they read to each other, the kissed. Around 3 o’clock Anatole began looking at him like he was trying to figure something out. Which he was. Anatole knew Vishal, better than anyone else, so he knew when his boyfriend was planning something; he would never interrupt Anatole’s constant planning and routines unless he had a really good reason to. This wasn’t just an ordinary getway.

Maybe Vis had done this escapade too ritualistic and it was giving him away.

“You’re looking at me,” Vis said.

“Can’t I look at you?”

“You have questions.”

“You’re planning something.”

“Maybe,” he said, with feigned nonchalance.

“Fine. I’ll find out then,” Anatole said, pettily.

Oh, Vishal thought, you will.

(He never asked again, he figured it out. He tried to figure out how he was brought back too, but it was futile. He guessed you’re not supposed to look at a gift horse in the mouth, and the universe was simply reminding him).

viii. Your loved ones will be ecstatic to have you back, consider this a blessing.

Vishal never really knew if Valerius told the rest of Anatole’s family he died. He supposed he could’ve asked, but he hasn’t, and he doesn’t plan to. It’s not his memories the ones which were lost forever. They aren’t his to discover or not discover, if he wished to, if he wanted to. That was reserved for Anatole. He knows that if Anatole wants to know about if his family knew he’d ask. Maybe he already asked, but didn’t bring it up.

People weren’t supposed to ask questions about the necromancy process when they were the ones being brought back: it’s both terrible ettiquette and considered bad luck, yet Anatole worked his way around all those little rules.

When something living, animal or man, was brought back, it’s always like starting over, but more often than not the memories come back, or most of them did even if the experience of dying itself usually did not, he’s only read a couple of cases when it is remembered. People who are brought back tended to remember their relationships, even if they weren’t sure how exacly they’ve developed so far. Most practicioners recommed to treated the process like a brain injury with memory loss: calm environements and to going back to the usual routine.

Anatole was an outlier. He didn’t remember anyone.

Vishal drove himself crazy with the prospect of bringing him back, of being able to tell him he loved him too. All of his excitment and his desperate need to believe in happy endings died at his throat when Anatole didn’t remember him. For the next three years he had tried to set on fire his hope to ever make his way back to him, his hope in happy endings, resigning himself to life.

He had underestimated Anatole’s capacity to make the impossible happen, his capacity to remind him in every possible way why was it that he fell in love with him.

After they made their hike back from the beach, they took the rowbow out, and continued to read in the middle of the lake, until they inevitably ended up in the water again. They skinny dipped this time: none of them were wearing their swimming clothes, and Anatole hated the feeling of wet clothes.

When they were drying off in the boat, Anatole asked: “Just out of curiousity: what’s your happiest memory?”

Vis gave it a bit of a thought before saying: “The day you found my cottage again and you told me you loved me.”

“You were very fussy that day.”

“You were walking through the woods, alone, in a downpour, Anatole. What’s yours?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Knowing myself loved in return... though today might be a contendor to that because I think the only thing we haven’t done yet is play chess... I’ll eventually beat your ass at it again like I supposedly use to. I still think you’re planning something, and I think I may have an idea.”

Vishal kissed him to shut him up.

ix. Thank the practitioner and let them be on their way, if they do not look you in the eye consider this a bad omen.

They played chess in the deck of the cottage. Anatole won. They set aside their second game when the sun began to set, Vishal finding his way into Anatole’s arms, his back against his chest, and his chin on top of his head as they watch the sky.

“I never thanked you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For today, our new life together, being a wonderful boyfriend, your excellent abs, bringing me back from the dead, you name it.”

“Nana, it wasn’t me who brought you back.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re not supposed to tell,” he says with a sigh. “ Still, even if you didn’t, you helped Asra.”

“Not only because of that, and I didn’t help as much as I could’ve helped.”

Anatole accepts defeat. “Alright I won’t ask more questions about it. One way or another, thank you for today.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stayed in comfortable silence, until Vishal turned his head to kiss Anatole’s jaw and excused himself, telling him to wait there, he’d be right back. He kept watching the sunset alone, looking at the chages in the sky, until Vishal’s absence went from normal, to strange, to worrisome.

Anatole went back in, but he didn’t need to call out for his boyfriend. He found him in the living room, lighting candles. There’s flowers — beautiful, lucious flowers — and an opened bottle of wine, none of which had been there when they got back from the beach.

“Oh, there you are,” Vishal said with a cat-who-got-the-cream like expression, “I was about to ask you to come in. Do you want wine, my heart?” Vis was already pouring him a glass.

“If you just want to get me drunk,” Anatole teased, accepting the glass and taking a drink, “this is an overly elaborate plan to do so”.

“No, I promise I’m not going to get you drunk. I will ask you to sit, my leg is begining to hurt.”

“Oh, of course.”

Sat on the floor in front of Anatole, Vishal finished the rest of his glass in one go. He begun to speak about how they made their way back to each other, the sheer impossibility of it, about looking for a gift for him, something symbolic, but that Anatole knew he was quite the romantic at heart, so he decided for something traditional.

Anatole’s thoughts as Vishal took a small box from the coffee table were: Holy hell, Oh, I knew it, and Bastard beat me to it, in that order. The third one he voiced.

“Let me ask first, then you can call me a bastard,” he said, leaning forward to kiss Anatole, who kissed him back with an intensity he wasn’t expecting, gently pushing him back, until Vis was lying on the floor, Anatole on top of him.

“Nana, please let me ask,” Vis said as he looks up at him as he straddles him. They always end up like this. “Aelius Anatole: will you marry me?”

Anatole kissed him. “Yes, yes I will,” he replies, elated. “Can I ask you back when we get home? You see... I was going to, but you really did beat me to it. I got you a ring as well, it was a little skull—” he didn’t finish the sentence because Vis kissed him back, already taking his shirt off.

Anatole was quite sure both of them were crying a little, which didn’t stop them from undressing each other.

Later, when Anatole was too busy feeling, his forehead pressed against Vis’, his eyes fixed on him as they panted into each other’s mouth whenever they weren’t kissing each other, he will not think about how technically he has looked at all of his potential practitioners in the eye. If it was Asra, he has, if it was the Magician, he has, if it was the Fool, he doesn’t remember but he has; if the Fool is him, he has looked at himself in the eye in the mirror plenty of times.

And if it was his fiancé? He had been looking at him in the eye the longest. He had spent countless ocassions just looking at him, for he could spend an eternity fixed on his wiskey warm eyes. If his bad omen was spending the rest of his life with him, he had no idea how auspicious his good omens were supposed to be.

#the arcana #my writing #vishal/anatole #the arcana fan apprentice #apprentice x apprentice #it took me FOREVER to write this but holy SHIT #please validate me

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