#sketches while waiting for the thirteen drawings
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mosquitoking · 2 months ago
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redrawing my brother's transformers AU (part 1?)
Delta Prime
an evil tyrannical leader of cybertron. but soon, he will meet his demise...
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margotw10bis · 25 days ago
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Friendly Marriage.JJK Drabble 2
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bestfriend!Jungkook x female reader
Genre: drabble; fluff (non-idol Jungkook)
Words: 1.8k
Synopsis: You accompany your best friend for his first tattoo because, well, he can't take an important step in his life without you.
"Precious and Inked" drabble from Friendly Marriage (this takes place before the main story)
You clearly remember when Jungkook's appeal for tattoos appeared. You were six and it was summer. It was a hot day, almost unbreathable which spurred your parents to drive to the beach, willing to enjoy the faint breeze from the sea.
Obviously, you weren't the only ones seeking to cool down and the beach was full. But as your parents were settling your stuff, Jungkook grabbed your hand and urged you to go near the salty water to play with the wet sand. It's when your best friend saw him. The man was about twenty year old and he had a confidence that made people look at him with curiosity — or envy. Moreover, his black swimsuit allowed the crowd to have a full view on his numerous tattoos, something that was quite rare to witness in Korea at the time. His torso, arms and back had some ink patterns here and there, without a real coherence but the whole was harmonious.
Jungkook's doe eyes grew bigger than normal and a whispered 'wow' escaped his lips. It wasn't too hard to notice his admiration and this fact was confirmed by the uncountable times he talked to you about 'the cool drawings' the following days. 
Annoyed by his sudden lack of attention to your sand construction, you slammed his arm and yelled at him to focus.
And thirteen years later, here you are.
You should have known your best friend enough to know that he would, one day, get a tattoo on his own. Somewhat you hoped he'd wait a little longer as an unconscious fear — of this decoration on his body changing his personality — has been growing bigger and bigger even since he shared the date of his appointment.
"You know that your mom is going to kill you, right?"
Your remark provokes a laugh from your best friend. You know that there is no point in trying to convince him right now, as Jungkook has been bawling about getting a tattoo for months, strategically waiting for his nineteenth birthday to finally put ink on his skin. It's not that you don't think he hasn't thought seriously about it but you know him: sometimes, he tends to make decision too quickly and you're afraid he'll regret.
"With the look in your eyes, I feel like it's you who's going to kill me" He teases you, his wide bunny smile on his adorable face
You sigh as you don't understand how chill he is about such a big commitment while you, a mere witness, are stressing. A lot.
"Kook"
"I know, I know" He reassures you — just like he is able to read your mind — and wraps his arm around your shoulders "I swear I'm not going to change my mind. And it's just a tiny tattoo, I'll stop after that"
You both know that he won't — and the future will give you right. You throw him a doubtful glance but how can you resist his cute pout? You cannot. And Jungkook knows it way too well.
You don't have time to argue as the tattoo artist steps in the small and dark room you've been waiting. He calls out your best friend's name and a single look at him tells you how excited he is. Just to see him as happy makes all your worries vanish and in one second, you don't care if Jungkook decides to cover his whole body with black ink if it means he'll get to smile like that.
"You wanna come with me?" He offers right before entering the room at the back
You hesitate but finally accept in case Jungkook would like to squeeze your hand if the pain is too much. Yet, you regret when you move the black curtain away and discover a dark room filled with a chair similar to the one in medical centers, a small stool with wheels and a table full of small cup of inks — black, blue, red, pink and every other colors. The walls are covered with sketches and the skull ones are terrifying, sending shivers down your spine.
"You want one?" The tattoo artist asks you when he notices you are looking at his art pieces
You have no problem admitting his talent, yet you absolutely don't want a skull on your skin! You are quick to shake your head and take place next to your best friend who has taken off his shirt. You are trying your best not to look at his defined torso, not that you haven't seen it already anyway given your numerous afternoons at the beach but Jungkook has been hitting the gym very diligently lately and well... he is hot — and this is a thought that you should absolutely not have about your best friend so you choose to focus on the material the tattoo artist is preparing.
Jungkook and the tattoo artist talk for a while, trying to find the right spot and size for the tattoo and they finally settle for the junction between the shoulder and the biceps. With that, Jungkook is pleased to lay down.
"Are you okay?" He asks and you suddenly feel stupid: you should be the one asking
"Are you?" You reply
"Yep!" He exclaims, offering you one of his reassuring smiles
The tattoo artist informs your best friend that he is going to start and the buzz sound of the machine fills the room. You are watching with attention his movements, trying to detect any unusual thing — just like you know anything about tattoos. You just want to take care of Jungkook, he is your best friend, that's normal.
Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn't seem to care at all about the needle in his skin. He is looking at you with an amused smile, especially when you wince as the tattoo artist stretches out a spot to apply more ink.
"Can I hold your hand?" Jungkook asks you
You immediately squeeze his fingers, worried that he is in pain.
"Does it hurt a lot?" You can't help but question
"Yes"
Your heart tightens in your chest. However, Jungkook is not in pain at all — he only feels a mere tickling on his skin. He can't even explain why he lied. He simply noticed that he has looked for any opportunity to hold your hand lately. Maybe it's just because he is stressed about leaving Busan to head to the capital with you, afraid that something will change between you two, that you won't be as close as before even if you attend the same university.
You bring Jungkook out of his thoughts when you gently pat his head, trying to soothe the imaginary pain away.
"I swear I won't tell anyone if you cry" You whisper to him, deadly serious
If Jungkook didn't want to expose his lie, he would have scoffed to that. Instead, he nods and thanks you. Actually, his gratitude is real: he does feel lucky to have you by his side. He knows that you are always here for him, even when he is in trouble. And most importantly, you are always here when he faces a new important step in his life.
You stay for a few hours next to him, holding his hand, caressing his black silky hair from time to time when you notice that the tattoo artist insists on one particular spot. What you don't notice is that your best friend has not once looked at the tattoo artist: his eyes were left on you. He can't explain — neither does he want to. He just wants to appreciate your presence next to him while he is taking such a big decision as marking his skin for life.
Turning off the machine, the tattoo artist states that he is done and he invites Jungkook to look at the artwork in the mirror. At this moment you realize that you were so focused on your best friend's well being that you didn't really look at the tattoo itself.
You try to tilt your head, contorting your upper body to have a peak too but Jungkook's body is way too imposing for that. It's only when Jungkook says that he is very satisfied and turns around that you finally get to see the freshly made tattoo and your eyes grow big.
"Kook" You whisper, breathless
"You like it?"
Jungkook notices that he really, really wishes that you do. Growing up, he's learned not to bother about people's opinions but you, it's not the same. It's not that he is seeking for your approval but he knows that he is disappointed with himself when he disappoints you. Equally, he tends to like something more if you like it too. And for this tattoo, his first tattoo, he truly hopes that you like it as it is very important for him.
"It's... stunning!" You say after trying to find the right word but you are too moved for that
The ink piece is very delicate, objectively very beautiful but what touches you so much is the pattern: a crane. The top of its head is red, just like the one saw with Jungkook when you were young. It is one of your most previous memories. The winter of your five years old, your and Jungkook's parents took you to the mountains. It was the first time you saw snow and you were so excited that you couldn't sleep the first night. You spent hours looking through the window, watching the tiny snowflakes falling from the sky. At some point, a huge white bird appeared and landed close to the window. You wanted to wake up your parents so they could see but you were afraid to make too much noise and scare the bird away. And when you turned your head to spot anyone with whom you could share the show, Jungkook was there, all sleepy, rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists. You guested that he wanted to go the bathroom and you whispered-yelled his name, urging him to join you but in silence. Your best friend was amazed, just like you. His black doe eyes were so wide and shiny that you could almost see the reflection of the crane in them and, for the first time, you found your best friend cuter than all the other boys you knew. You watched the crane together, elbows touching each other's, until it flew away. The next day, you told the story to your parents but they didn't believe you, stressing that cranes only come rarely to Korea and even less in winter. Since then, the crane was like a secret between Jungkook and you, a precious, almost intimate moment you two shared together outside the rest of the world.
"I don't even know what to say, Kook, it's just... perfect" You add with tears in your eyes and reaching out to squeeze his hand to share your gratefulness to have immortalized this ephemeral and secret instant
"I think it was the most magical moment of my life, and it was with you. It's always with you, Y/N" Jungkook says with a voice thick of emotion "Thank you for coming with me today" 
Read "Steal My Girl" Drabble here
I'm sorry for being inactive, this is just a little something to thank you for your patience 🩷
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jenscx · 1 year ago
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LET ME IN — yu jimin
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you return to your hometown after being overseas for years. there was no possible way for you to anticipate your old high school sweetheart waiting at the airport.
tags angst, fluff, exes to lovers, happy ending, high school sweetheart, cursing
wordcount 5.1k
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the sweater that you had picked out today, feels unfamiliar on your skin. it’s the one which reads, ‘seniors of 2018’. it’s the one you had never gone near, leaving it to rot in your closet. it’s the one that holds the most painful memories for you. how could a piece of clothing cause you so much pain?
frankly, you know why. it’s the one jimin had given to you as you left for the train to the airport. “something to remember me by,” she had stated after pulling it over the top of your head.
you had huffed, playfully asking, “how could i ever forget you?”
your closet had witnessed your stares— or rather glares at the sweater. not until an hour had passed, when you finally heaved a sigh and grabbed it off the hanger that was situated at the corner of the closet. it’s just because it’s comfortable, you had reasoned before. and it didn’t matter what you wore underneath the puffer jacket, it would end up covered.
of course, these were all excuses, trying to deny the very fact that it just reminded you of jimin. and you were very welcoming towards such reminders.
reminders of what?
you shake your head, picturing a blank canvas before the melodic laughter filled your ears. jimin’s laugh.
the screeching of your luggage’s wheels distract you. aeri’s standing at the door, a hand on your suitcase.
“hey girl,” she checks the watch on her wrist, “we gotta go. flight’s at 2.”
you nod, ignoring the fact that you had spent almost two whole hours thinking about the repercussions of returning back to… home? could you even call it that?
aeri seems to notice your inner turmoil, since in the taxi, she places a comforting hand over yours, sending you a small smile. while it didn’t really settle your nerves, you appreciated the effort nonetheless.
the journey to the boarding gate is like a fever dream. your airpods betraying you, randomly shuffling to a girls’ generation song. it was like a cry back to the past, when you and jimin would listen to girls’ generation songs together.
for jimin, you had complied.
you open your eyes, you can only see the back of someone’s head above the aeroplane’s seat. if you keep your eyes closed for too long, you might start to envision a blur of jimin’s perfect eyes, her nose, her lips that were always pursed in disappointment when she caught you and minjeong stealing her snacks…
the realisation that you can’t remember the face that once made you the happiest girl on the planet hits hard. it hits harder than the guilt and misery you felt when jimin, a week after you had left korea, sent a flurry of messages that went unresponded.
“i didn’t know you liked girls’ generation,” aeri comments. startled, you stare at your phone, the lock screen wallpaper being jimin’s back displaying girls’ generation’s holiday night baseball t-shirt. the girl had forced you to buy matching ones with her, you recall bitterly.
“i don’t,” you answer coolly, swiftly turning off your phone. aeri eyes you weirdly but eventually lets you off the hook and leans back into her seat.
the rest of the thirteen hours flight, you busy yourself with work— leftovers from the time before break, drafts of sketches, thesis statements and long-winded essays. while a plane was not the best environment to finish a full drawing, you could at least make some rough sketches. somehow, your pencil graphite gravitates from sturdy, concrete buildings to soft cheekbones, hooded eyes, pouty lips.
shit, you blink, taking in your subconscious sketch of a woman, familiar to your past.
almost instantly shutting your sketchbook shut, you ignore the implications of what your mind was telling you. the crew neck sweater itches at your neck. it’s almost like the words embroidered on the cotton burn into your heart, to always make you remember and recall the time before messy relationships, longing feelings and just enjoying the present time.
time. you didn’t have much of it anyway.
maybe this trip would allow you to make peace with the past. you wouldn’t flinch whenever your friends would talk about league of legends champion, ‘katarina’, or you wouldn’t immediately decline movie night with aeri in fear that one of the actresses would look eerily similar to jimin.
allowing your brain to wander past your comfort zone, you wonder what she's doing now. was she a flight stewardess? did she manage to finally get better at pubg? was her favourite colour still blue? did she still have that sparkle in her eyes when food was brought up?
the last thought makes you chuckle, reminiscing how excited jimin was whenever food was involved. when yizhuo would bring back mala snacks from china, jimin would be gone in a flash.
(so would yizhuo’s snacks, you can’t count the number of times you were forced to lie about who the perpetrator was.
maybe it was worth it when jimin would beam at you, flashing a bright smile that rivalled the shine of diamonds).
with bittersweet memories, you drift off. sleepless nights made up for, by just giving yourself permission to think about her.
you dream of crashing waves, two people on the shore, just sitting down and gazing at the scenery. the sunset’s everlasting in this timeline. like time doesn’t exist and all they did was stare at the deep ocean.
before you even get to see their faces, the announcement rings throughout the flight.
you sigh deeply, catching the attention of aeri.
“you okay? you slept so soundly, i thought you died,” the japanese girl asks worriedly. you laugh, it was the best sleep you ever got, and it was on an aeroplane.
strange how our consciousness works.
“i’m good,” this time you weren’t lying.
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you stare at the glass doors, wondering if minjeong had told anyone else to come fetch you. it wasn’t a far fetched thought, maybe the girl had asked yizhuo to come as well. the chinese girl would kill minjeong if she didn’t tell her about your arrival back in korea after what? three, almost four years?
“hey, i asked my friend to pick us up and she might have brought someone else,” you warn aeri.
“oh that’s fun… why do you sound so scared?”
“because, the other girl is a little overbearing,” you scoff, “she might try to climb you, just a warning.”
aeri widens her eyes as you two drag your luggage to the gates.
she gapes, “no kidding? is she a koala or something?”
“something like that,” you shrug.
the doors open. it’s your first step (not really) into korea. the air is the same anywhere else, but the feeling isn’t.
it’s the feeling of uncertainty. the feeling of fear. aeri clasps your free hand tightly in hers, sensing your hesitance.
your gaze glides over the crowd of people waiting for their own family. aeri makes a noise of recognition and she pulls you to the side, you finally spot someone familiar.
“minjeong…!” you call out, voice going silent at the sight of a girl that is most definitely not minjeong.
it’s not yizhuo either, that’s for sure.
“did minjeong get plastic surgery or something?”
you want to run.
“because… that’s not— that’s not minjeong,” you whisper, “that’s yu jimin.”
aeri deadpans, “you say that like i know who the hell she is.”
you want to kill minjeong. and maybe jimin wants to kill aeri with how hard she’s glaring at her.
jimin only trots slowly towards you.
jimin’s eyes dart from aeri’s face back to yours, her hard, cold gaze trailing down to your sweater that has come uncovered by the puffer jacket. your eyes narrow when she raises an eyebrow at you, as if asking you, “why are you wearing that?”
you don’t answer her, because you don’t know either.
“i’m jimin, y/n’s—”
“friend,” you interrupt, quickly turning away to avoid the flash of hurt on jimin’s face.
the mentioned girl recovers quickly, putting on a fake smile, “classmate of y/n from high school.”
“i’m uchinaga aeri, y/n’s roommate, thank you for picking us up!” aeri grins widely, ignoring the deadly lasers pointing her way.
“where are you staying, if i may ask?” jimin’s sharp tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
“with y/n—”
you cover aeri’s mouth, knowing how jimin gets, “it’s none of your business.”
your roommate makes a noise of indignation and licks a long strip across your palm. you groan, taking it off her mouth and wiping it on her jacket.
“that’s so gross,” you mutter in english.
“your english has gotten better,” jimin notes as the three of you walk to her car.
you don’t know what to say, so you stay silent.
“where do you stay, jimin-ssi?” aeri makes small talk to cover up the awkward silence. you thank her internally.
jimin stares at you through the mirror, “with y/n.”
you bite your lip, nervous at what jimin might say next. you had never told aeri about your complicated relationship with jimin and you didn’t plan to. only because of kim minjeong meddling in, now it seems like everything has to be uncovered again.
“she’s a bad roommate, right?” surprisingly, aeri ignores jimin’s statement and instead continues to complain about you.
you’re shocked, to say the least. you thought aeri would have started blabbing and asking probing questions about your past roommate situation. or maybe she noticed your sullen look.
“i thought four years would have been enough for her to change her bad habits,” jimin says.
you know for a fact she isn’t talking about the same thing as aeri. jimin was even worse than you as a roommate; eating your secret snack stash, never cleaning up the pile of laundry she had in her room and always invading your alone time in bed.
“many things have changed,” you mumble, “i’m not the same as before.”
the car goes silent, jimin probably analysing your words while aeri pouts, confused by the strange tension you had with your so-called friend.
“if you desire something enough, you’d want it to stay the same forever.”
you retort, “change is inevitable.”
aeri says quietly in the corner, “i know the guy who said that, his name is like john, or something.”
struggling to keep your laughter silent, you splutter in aghast at aeri’s sudden general knowledge.
“you’re so strange,” you comment.
aeri laughs, “i know, but you like me for that, right?”
(“—only had a brain the size of a walnut, that’s why the stegosaurus was one of the dumbest dinosaurs!” jimin reads out loud from your bed.
you stand at your vanity, finishing up your skincare, trying not to laugh at jimin’s absurd dinosaur facts, “you’re so weird.”
“you like that about me though?”)
you sense how intimate the conversation feels for the both of you, so you stop answering aeri and instead focus on jimin. her grip on the steering wheel has tightened significantly, eyes burning with something you can’t identify.
“you’re being annoying again, go to sleep or something, it’s a long drive from here to my house—” you halt in the middle of your sentence, finally questioning the very fact of… why?
why is yu jimin here? even if minjeong asked her to, why? the jimin you knew would never do this. the jimin you knew would never give up her sleeping time just to fetch an old friend, who she maybe had something going on with, and a stranger? yizhuo had friends from china who were visiting, and even then, jimin refused to fetch them from the airport. she was the only one in your friend group with a licence so it only made sense to ask her.
you try to bury yourself in the sweater even more. it was fine for now. seeing jimin in the flesh. but maybe you were so jet lagged that you hadn’t made sense of the situation yet.
the only sensible thing to do for now, was to let yourself escape into dreamland and wait for the morning after.
you can only anticipate it would be full of awkward silence, tension-filled gazes, hesitant actions.
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it’s difficult to fall asleep. you decide to blame your insomnia on the nap you had during the flight. even when you know it’s because of the deeply asleep body, separated by a thin wall.
you’re sitting upright, staring at the unveiled moon. it’s stunning, not like the sun which literally glares. the moon is calming, easing you into the next day, all while making you feel… loneliness.
how could you feel lonely even with so many people around you?
(“do you think soulmates exist?” you had asked, curious of jimin’s take on such tales.
the girl seems taken aback, but she ultimately replies, “if they do, i think you’re mine.”)
you clench the duvet in your fists tightly, mind grasping at any other thought than of yu jimin. it’s unfortunate that you seem to enjoy the pain and torture past memories bring with how often your brain wanders through them.
maybe it’s time to come clean with yourself.
you were back in your hometown. you were staying in the same apartment as you did before you left. one that you shared with yu jimin; one that you called home.
eyes starting to become watery, you wipe them off and take a seat at your desk. if you were going to stay awake the rest of the night, might as well get work done. pulling out your sketchbook, the first page to be opened is the drawing of jimin from the flight. the realisation slaps you.
how long would it take someone to get over the love of their life?
for you, maybe eternity.
the door creaks open slightly. your head turns sharply, hand instinctively covering the drawing.
“y/n…?”
“jimin,” you inhale, “why are you still awake?”
she doesn’t bother to answer you and instead chooses to sit on your bed. once you notice the pyjamas she’s wearing, you feel daggers stab into your heart. it’s one of your many matching pyjamas with her. you hadn’t touched any of them since you left korea.
“are you dating aeri?” she asks.
you know what she’s secretly trying to ask.
“no, she’s just a friend.”
“that’s what they always say,” jimin scoffs. her tone doesn’t sit right with you.
with a sudden urge to defend your friendship with aeri, you shoot back, “i recall you saying that about lee jeno too.”
your words clearly strike a chord in jimin, her eyes widen, hurtful remarks at the tip of her tongue. yet, she merely looks away. you hate how beautiful she looks in the moonlight.
“y’know, technically we’re still dating.”
“what are you talking about?” you ask, bewildered.
jimin rolls her eyes, “we never explicitly broke up, you only ghosted me. technically we’re still together.”
“stop spouting nonsense.”
the girl only pouts in annoyance. you hate how your heartstrings tug at her cute expression. right now, yu jimin had to be anything but cute.
“and i didn’t ghost you, i was busy.” the lie slips out easily, revealing how used you are to saying it. jimin, of course, doesn’t believe you. she had never.
jimin frowns.
“you always say that too.”
she stands up, walking bit by bit closer to you. your hand grips the sketchbook protectively.
placing a hand onto the back of your chair, jimin smirks, leaning in. you hate how attractive she looks.
her now blonde locks form a curtain around your faces, preventing any outsider to peek in and see what you were doing.
“i think you’re a bad friend,” jimin claims.
“what?”
you can’t take your eyes off her fluttering eyelashes, her red nose, probably from the cold, and her eyes filled with determination.
“you lied to aeri,” she whispers, “since when were we ever just friends?”
a lump forms in your throat. your heart constricts. you can barely even say a word. you’re speechless.
“we’re barely even friends, roommates, probably,” you splutter out.
“yeah?”
“yeah.” jimin eyes you with an amused expression, lips twitching with the threat of a big, wide smile. you realise your words bid you no help, only further supplying as a challenge for jimin— for you to admit that you were more than friends. no words needed to be exchanged about that fact, but you being you, after fulfilling years of ghosting, would never admit that you harboured any sort of feelings for jimin after being the main reason why your relationship fell apart.
you would argue that your absence was just a contributing factor. the real trigger came in the form of lee jeno, a man that you could say with your whole heart and soul, you hated with every bone in your body.
after you had left, with a promise to stay in contact with jimin, you realised how hard it was to maintain your relationship status. and when jimin posted countless instagram stories of jeno, you realised again that maybe it was best to break it off.
never in the duration of your ‘ghosting stage’ had you ever told jimin the real reason for your sudden coldness. madly jealous and insecure, you decided to disappear. disappear just from jimin though.
“i’ve always been curious,” jimin pulls back from your intense gaze, “why you started being so distant, cold and indifferent. tell me, will you?”
“that’s just my personality.” a direct white lie, you decide to tell.
“i was heartbroken,” she ignores you and continues her monolouge, “my girlfriend decides to ghost me, and just me. made me think i did something wrong.”
you lick your lips, suddenly feeling your throat constrict up. no longer was this just banter, the conversation was steering into uncharted territory.
“it wasn’t just you,” you desperately argue, trying to direct the conversation away, “moving to another country isn’t easy.”
“you’re pretending our whole relationship didn’t exist. maybe in your eyes it meant nothing, but for me, it was everything. don’t you know every single day i have nightmares? the craziest thing is that all the demons in my nightmares have your smile,” jimin whispers fiercely, “and yet, i stay faithful to those nightmares, even if i wake up crying for someone who didn’t even bother answering my calls. you may have only been in the states, but it felt like you were on another planet. i was the last person to know you were coming back, even though you promised me; promised that if you were to return, i would be the first person to—”
you can’t control yourself. hearing her words makes your blood boil. the pumping of your heart only accelerates further as you lift up your hand, delivering a heavy slap across her face. how dare she? how dare she act as if everything was your fault? how could she accuse your devotion and adoration for her?
“don’t act like you’re the fucking victim, karina,” you hiss, your words even more painful than the stinging red on jimin’s cheek, “the first morning after, i sent you so many texts, barely even seen. then i see your story. were you acting when you said you were sad about me leaving? or were you happy to finally say that you don’t have a girlfriend anymore?”
jimin cradles her cheek in her hand, eyes narrowing when you finally confess the real reason. you can tell she doesn’t remember anything. her not even knowing what she did that made you feel unneeded only drives the blade deeper into your heart.
“drinking at a club with lee jeno,” you say his name with venom, voice gradually getting louder and louder. remembering that aeri’s only a few walls away, you try to control your emotions. “could you not understand how i felt— you said nothing would come between us and the first week away from home, constantly ignoring me for some guy.”
(“call me when your plane lands,” jimin said, playing with the hem of her sweater on you.
“isn’t it gonna be midnight in korea when i land?”
the girl merely chuckles, “i’ll be up all night just to hear your voice.”)
the realisation strikes you like a lightning bolt.
“this was a mistake.”
“what?”
“this… me coming back. i should have just stayed in the states but fuck, i let aeri convince me,” you run your fingers through your tousled hair, stressed. jimin was going to cause you to have white hair.
the redness on jimin’s cheek is still there. you feel slightly guilty for ruining her clear complexion.
“that was just how i coped with you leaving,” jimin explains.
you purse your lips, placing your open palms on jimin’s chest. maybe she thinks you’re about to cave in since she sighs in relief. however, instead of pulling her in, you push her until her back is touching your door.
“i don’t need an explanation, or an apology,” you say firmly, “i need time alone away from you.”
“you’ve had 4 years to yourself,” jimin states bitterly.
“i’m sorry for slapping you, but please, either show me your actions matching your words, or just get out of my life for good.”
jimin sighs again, this one full of exasperation.
“go,” you mutter under your breath.
the knife drives deep into your already ruined heart as you push her away. the girl scoffs, grasping your open palms into her hands, intertwining your fingers.
“if you insist on pushing me away, i’ll get rid of any possibility of us being together again. just let me into your heart again,” she throws your hands away and slams the door. the loud bang echoes in your ears, but not as loudly as her words. it only takes a few seconds for you to collapse onto the floor, sobs wrecking your whole body.
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“morning,” aeri yawns, “i heard a loud bang last night, was that you or is your apartment haunted?”
you drizzle maple syrup onto your stacked pancakes, sending a bittersweet smile to your friend. your night was spent tossing and turning, both guilt and anger consuming you. when the clock ticked at four in the morning, you finally let yourself think about how jimin made you feel. even if she went to drink right after you left, you should have communicated with her instead of ghosting her. you knew for a fact that she was heartbroken based on the numerous texts your friends had sent you.
fuck, you groan into your pillow. getting up from your bed, your eyes roam the room, eventually landing on the sketchbook at your desk. you never finished that drawing on the plane. after considering (or more likely procrastination), you sit down, pouring your hours and feelings into your drawings. countless of them filled up the sketchbook’s pages. the drawings’ subjects all looked eerily similar to jimin. her pointed nose, soft gaze were all captured in the pages. you finally come to terms with it. you were still in love with her. after all, she was your only muse. thinking about her words from before, you knew that she meant them. spending years waiting for someone who was basically a ghost couldn’t have been easy.
you were going to do something about it.
barely getting any sleep last night, you woke up earlier than usual and decided to prepare breakfast. aeri had woken up an hour after, stomach growling and eyes gleaming at the pancakes.
“by the way,” she says, mouth full of pancake, “i’m meeting up with a friend today and she’s bringing someone too. wanna go with me on a double date?”
fate must be messing with you since right as aeri says the words ‘double date’, yu jimin walks in. her hair tousled, puffed cheeks and eyes narrowing. you stiffen, focusing on picking at your pancakes instead. unbeknownst to you, once jimin spots the lone plate of breakfast on the counter, her gaze softens.
“do you know who your friend’s bringing…?” you whisper softly, trying not to catch the attention of jimin.
aeri, although you love her, says in the loudest voice possible, “somi will be your date! i think she’s your type.”
the scraping of the metal fork makes you squeeze your eyes shut, mentally preparing for jimin’s outburst.
“so-mi,” jimin clicks her tongue.
aeri nods, stuffing her face with more food.
she turns to you, “and you’re going on a date with her?”
“double date with me,” aeri clarifies, “don’t worry jimin-ssi, i’ll be there to protect y/n! y’know in college i always had to pick y/n up from her bad dates. her taste in guys suck.”
“seems like her taste in girls has been downgraded,” jimin comments, smirking. you roll your eyes, wanting nothing more than for her to shut up. aeri guffaws, taking out her phone. “i’ll show you somi’s instagram account and you can decide for yourself, y/n,” she says.
you nod, deciding not to say anything in case jimin flares up. somi’s very pretty, anyone would agree. she had her own attractive style and seemed really confident. you liked that. aeri wasn’t wrong to say that somi was your type. it was just unfortunate that your heart was in the hands of another girl.
while scrolling on aeri’s phone, her alarm rings, reading, ‘brunch with yunny.’
“ah! yunjin wanted to meet earlier, just the two of us,” aeri smiles, “text me later if you wanna join!” she stands up from the table. you’re astonished by how fast she managed to finish those pancakes, her stack was evidently taller than yours. jimin glances at you, amazed as well.
“did she inhale those…?”
“i’ve got no fucking clue,” you mumble, digging into your own. jimin only chuckles and you hate how it makes your heart clench up in affection.
the silence is deafening. without aeri, the air thickens with tension between you and jimin, filled with nostalgia and regret. it feels just like last time— you and jimin eating breakfast together at that very same table, giggling about whatever trouble your friends got into the previous day.
“hey, about yesterday—”
“it’s fine,” you interrupt, “is your cheek okay?”
jimin swallows hard, “yes, it doesn’t hurt at all.”
“don’t lie, come here,” you instruct, “i’ve known you for so long, you can’t lie to me.”
she just laughs, showing you the slightly bruised side of her face. you feel guilt wreck you. no matter how angry you were, you shouldn’t have laid a hand on her.
“did you ice it?”
jimin shakes her head. you sigh, getting up and taking an ice pack out of the freezer. it’s too easy for you to return to past habits, moving around the kitchen like it was 2018 and jimin was the love of your life (she still is). wrapping the ice pack in a towel, you inch closer to jimin, holding it to her cheek. she winces slightly and you resist the urge to hold her hand in comfort.
“y/n…”
“hm?”
the girl seems so small now— her posture deflated, eyes barely meeting yours, biting her lip nervously. you have a feeling you know what she’s about to ask.
“are you going on that date with soyoung?” you laugh loudly, catching jimin off guard.
“jimin, her name’s somi.”
pouting, jimin turns away from you, making your hand falter. “hey, i need to ice your face.”
“i won’t let you unless you answer my question.” she’s so childish it’s adorable. the tension has gone, now filled with uncertainty instead.
“i don’t have anyone to spend the afternoon with. minjeong and yizhuo are busy today,” you explain.
“you have me,” she mutters.
ignoring her, you answer, “aeri seemed really excited for us to meet.”
“you spent all your time in the states with her, you should spend time with your friends here,” jimin retorts.
her hesitance to even admit she wants to spend time with you makes you want to tease her.
“oh? you’re right,” jimin perks up like a puppy. cute, you think. “i should text yujin if she wants to go out, remember her? she was our student council president.”
rolling her eyes, jimin swats at your hand nursing her bruise. it’s too easy for you to return to past habits, bantering with jimin like she was the only girl you’ve ever loved (she was).
it’s too easy. between the choice of going out with aeri to meet someone new and staying in with jimin. it’s such an easy choice to make.
you bring the ice pack away from her face, choosing to caress her cheek lovingly instead. she sighs, content, leaning into your touch.
“jimin,” you gulp, “i’m sorry for these past few years.”
her eyes gaze up at you, “it’s okay. i’ve come to terms with it. i honestly wasn’t expecting you to come back.”
“i wasn’t planning to either, but aeri wanted to.”
“good thing she convinced you, huh?” jimin smiles, “at least i know i was the reason for our break up.”
“it’s only a relationship if there are two people,” you say, “it was my fault too.”
her eyes momentarily flicker to your lips, it doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
“i know these years haven’t been easy on both of us, but if you’re willing to, i think i’m okay with giving us a second chance,” you confess, “even if you hurt me again, i still want you. i just want you. you’ve always been the only one in here.” you point at your heart.
jimin’s eyes shoot straight up, finally breaking into a wide smile, “seriously? even after what i said last night? i’m not complaining but like… you were pretty angry. i just wanted to know why you ghosted me and i agree, i deserved it. but why the sudden change?”
“i mean,” you shrug, “it was what you said that made me think about this. i didn’t want you to stop loving me, because i’ve never stopped loving you.”
“you love me?”
“i love you.”
“this is so crazy, you went from slapping me to…” she trails off, grasping your chin and bringing you into a kiss. her lips were so, so, soft. you wondered why you even let her go. once your lips met, you felt her sigh before smiling into your mouth. catching your breath, you run your fingers through her blonde hair.
“still going on that date with suki?”
“jimin, you know her name’s somi.”
“whatever, i love you too.”
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the-fiction-witch · 1 year ago
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The Mademoiselle P1
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Media The Artful Dodger
Character Jack Dawkins
Couple Jack X Reader (KINDA)
Rating SMUT
Requested: Hey, I don't know if you take requests atm, but what if y/n was a showgirl and Jack Dawkins heard of her around from people or something? :)
I finished up the day heading to my room for the night immediately shutting my door and heading to my bed, but I saw a small pile on my bed and a note.
'You're mail came today, Jack X Hetty' 
I completely forgot I had even been waiting for anything, I suppose that's just one of those things where everything takes forever. I sat on my bed and went through it sorting everything, where there wasn't much a book I had given up waiting for, a correspondence from a London doctor I asked about something, and a couple of letters from my navy friends. I set the letters on my table to look over later, and stripped off climbing into bed. I tried to get some sleep but my curiosity was rampant so I grabbed the letters from the table and laid in bed looking through them. It took me a while given my reading but I got through each one by one. I finished with a letter from Peter.
Peter and I were once bunkmates, he was a few years older than me I was only thirteen and he was nineteen, the two of us very much formed a bond through the shit, blood and sea waves, he works at a shipping warehouse in Gibraltar now and we often send letters back and forth to keep up to date with each other. It would be nice to see him but letters will have to do for now. 
I read the letter, reading about his news, his wife, his work all the usual stuff we talked about, I smiled at it and set the letter on the side to write a reply when I next got a chance, But I felt the envelope was still fairly heavy so I tipped out the contents and saw a few postcards tumble out, one had writing on the back. 
'I recall your affinity for her Dawkins ;)' 
I smirked a little already knowing what they were. Peter had a thing about 'French Postcards' he said he 'collected them' which I think was an excuse, and given we shared a space during the uhhh... Long nights at sea, Yeah I kinda got into it too. I don't know there's something so... innocent about them like I know I shouldn't have them but I still like having them, and he knew of my affection towards... a certain showgirl often featured in these postcards, so if ever he came across one of her he'd get it for me, and now saves them up to send to me with his letters. 
I set the envelope on the table and slinked myself down onto my pillow tucking the covers up, as I picked up the postcards flipping them over. The first Was a sweet picture a drawing done in the typical style, three ladies by the beach in small bathing suits enjoying the sand and sea,  I recognized her Y/E/C eyes and Y/H/C Hair depicted in her usual way. And the caption at the bottom of the card is laced with intricate filigree.
The Ladies ponder taking a dip or getting dirty. 
I flipped to the next card immediately again I recognised her drawing, sat at a vanity in black stockings and a little nightie barely covering her and combed her sweet hair, the end of the picture at her knees, a man drawn peeking through her changing screen with the caption.
The Mademoiselle's nosy visitor. 
I admit my eyes lingered on her exposed shoulder and thighs longer than I like to admit, before flicking to the next one this one was mostly empty it was again a drawing of y/n in her little boots, stockings, har and gloves holding a bedsheet to conceal herself but a mirror had been sketched behind her revealing her bare ass, the end of the picture at her knees, and the caption. 
Yes, your sheet looks lovely Mademoiselle.
Already my eyes lingered on her and I bit my lip a little looking at her, I flicked to the next one and almost immediately had to shift my hips a little I knew I was already getting hard just looking at them, this one was her again in the arms of a man, she wore a beautiful blue ballgown the top of which had fallen to expose her bare breasts as the man she danced with dipped her forcing her to arch her back to better expose her breasts,
Suddenly every man at the Cotillionwants to dance with The Mademoiselle. 
I couldn't help my hand moving down to take my shaft softly giving myself a little soft rub as I looked at the perky nipples she had in the drawing, I slowly made my hand move faster until I swapped to the last postcard a very perfect drawing of her stood with only a thin sheet around her revealing almost all of her her violin in hand playing it gently, the end of the picture at her knees, I couldn't help looking at every inch of her my hand moving on its own desperate just from looking at these -
"Uuuummmmmm!" I groaned from the back of my throat as I hit my wall sending my seed across my sheets, I laid my head back on my pillow fully and gasped desperately trying to... THINK through my post-orgasm brain fog, having dropped the cards on my chest in such excitement once my head was back on straight I took the cards and added them to the small box under my bed with the rest of them adding them to the box one by one, until I got to the last one and I couldn't help but smirk laid against my pillow looking at her "Hmm... Très Vilaine Mademoiselle" ( Translation: 'hmm... Very Naughty Mademoiselle') before I gave her a kiss and an eskimo kiss before putting the card away in the box so I could get to bed. 
I yawned a little while doing some bandages, my mind elsewhere as it often was.
"When do you think I'll be out of here doc?" he asked,
"Ohh shouldn't be too long, couple of days while we monitor infection." 
"You think I'll be out by the sixteenth?"
"Oh absolutely, why somewhere to be?"
"Well yeah, uhhh haven't you heard?" he whispered
"About?"
"The Mademoiselle," he said and I froze up "She's got a show in Melbourne but she's stopping in Port Victoria." 
"She is!" I jumped a little louder than I should have done,
"Half the Port's going to see her, see if she'll give us a show before she goes off again."
"Really... Hu" I nodded trying not to get excited "You'll be out by then I'm sure." I told him heading out of the ward trying not to jump or blush with excitement... 
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cozza-frenzy · 10 months ago
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can you do some doodles of your inner world and maybe describe it? Also what do all the details in your guy's outfits mean.
Terry: Anon you have no idea how long I've waited for someone to ask this question. I already have a few drawings prepared, so let's start with where I'm currently standing - the fronting room! Our inner world is surprisingly complex, and our home is on a dragon-shaped airship - soon to be re-christened The Spirit Of Highwind - and the room we're in while fronting is in the head.
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The black circle on the floor is the "fronting circle"; if someone's standing within that area, they're actively in control of all or part of the body. The red couch is where we can sit if we want to when using the "fronting desk" and its floating screens, though we can also stand up or even lay down. We're on the upper deck, and on the lower deck (not pictured here) is a spiral staircase leading upstairs (on the left) and a second couch with a fireplace (on the right). If the doors to the left and the right look out of place - that's because they kind of are. They're not part of the airship but are actually a part of The Distortion - a normally-invisible "layer" of the word that connects all other areas together via doors, controlled by Chaos, our gatekeeper. It put them there as permanent doors so folks in other areas don't have to ask for one every time they want to front. Up ahead of us where we're "parked" right now is the Everfree Forest (the normal-looking trees) and the Deep Woods. The Deep Woods creates its own eternal night under the giant tree; growing in various places up the trunk and in the canopy are Stars Of Hope, a glowing flower that you see almost everywhere in the Inner World.
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The glowing stuff below is the Agua Vida; water that spills from Soda Lake, up in the caldera of Mount Discovery. Hope takes many physical forms in our inner world, and the Agua Vida is a potent source of it, having been recently adopted by the rest of the system as a daily supplement. Like a psychosomatic vitamin, adding it to a drink helps restore our energy, keeping us focused on healing. We want to try and use it on the vegetables in the Community Garden (just outside where the ship is "parked") one of these days.
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Here's a view of Soda Lake and Mount Discovery from above - based on an in-system pencil sketch I made. Following our mass fusion the inner world changed a lot, so this area (and the internal part of the Deep Woods) are "cut off" from Chaos' Distortion until they're "re-discovered". From what i could tell from flying the airship over it, there's a solidified lava floe down the east side, and water is flowing out of the lake towards the south. We'll get there eventually; for now, most of us are content to stay closer to home as we recover. I just hope the plants and animals native to those areas have survived. That's the main part of our inner world covered at least - while most of us have "domains" of our own that we control access to, after the recent mass fusion, a lot of us aren't able to let other alters in or simply can't remember what the places look like once we leave. Given enough time, this stuff should come "back online" much like our broken fast-travel system. As for the "details on our outfits" - not everything in our PFPs necessarily means something, and we can change outfits in system. I like my hat and I like loud shirts, Vivien's shirt is the CMYK colors used in printing, Roses and Thirteen have each other's colors on their pictures because they're in a Queerplatonic relationship.
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But I guess one thing that has been appearing a lot in system after our mass fusion is the Compass Rose. You can see it on the floor of the fronting room, on Dagwood's bowtie and Taffy's cape - Roses has it as part of a tattoo on her arm, and I have it as a marking on my back between my wings. I'm not sure why our brain has such an attachment to the symbol, but I like to think it's something to do with moving forward and being pointed in the right direction.
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...Or maybe it's just a SAVE point. Knowing that Undertale left such a huge impression on our system fills you with Determination.
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clarktooncrossing · 1 year ago
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HEY THERE PEOPLE OF TODAY AND ROBOTS OF TOMORROW! IT'S ME, CLARK! There is a madness deep in the dark catacombs of Castle Clarkenstein. For years these claustrophobic corridors have been the home of the ghoulish giraffe himself, watching as the world passes by. He prefers it this way. It gives him more time alone with the voices. The voices tell him many strange things. Yet they always come back to one: make more monsters! Everyday they tell him this. Everyday he is unable to comply. Hey, being a mad scientist on a budget means he can’t afford the fancy scientific equipment needed to breathe life into newborn abominations. Guy’s gotta afford pizza somehow. Luckily, he has discovered a way of sorts to please the voices. During all those years of watching, Dr. Clarkenstein noticed a particular pattern. Every night during October saw artists posting new pictures based on peculiar prompts. Many of them based on children of the night. While the spotted specter might not be able to craft new zombies, he can sure as heck sketch’m! As such, I provide this friendly warning to you all now: Be afraid. Few people can survive the horrors that are DUDELZ of the Damned!
By that I mean I decided to do my own take on Sketchtober this year just minus the prompts. Anybody gotta problem with that? Tough, cuz I already drew this crap so you might as well check it out.
MEANWHILE IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE: Alecia wanted to try something new this Halloween season. By that I mean she wanted to get out of the house and not binge all thirteen Camp Carnage films. Again. Most of them were garbage anyway. No, there was something far more fun waiting for her! She just had to find it first. It didn’t take her long. Her friend Clark contacted Alecia informing her of an upcoming costume contest with a hundred dollar prize! A prize the masked maniac was determined to win! How fortunate that her spotted friend recently introduced her to a great show featuring a feisty femme fatale perfect for cosplaying! Skin tight military suits for the win!
Honestly, the backstory I make up for this DUDEL doesn’t matter in the slightest. This is simply long overdue vengeance. For the last two years my masked buddy Alec (@burningthrucelluloid) did his own Inktober challenge in the form of Dresstober. Instead of a list of prompts to base your art on, the artists in question are given a multitude of preselected outfits to dress their characters in. Or in the case of my cinephile companion, his characters, a few of mine, and me. You see, for whatever reason my friends get a big kick out of gender-swapping me. All because I dressed up as Sailor Moon the one time. OraTheRebelKitsune, I hope you’re happy cuz you technically started all this! Does it bug me? Yeah, kinduv’. Much as I love it when my friends make any pictures of or for me, it gets pretty annoying when none of them draw me as who I am. Alec is by far the worst offender, spending an astonishing amount of money for people to draw me sporting cleavage with their own gravitational pull. Earlier this year he paid one artist named fallen20xx to draw me as Ms. Marvel from Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. I had gotten Alec hooked to the show while also gushing over Carol’s exceptionally sexy legs. Should’ve known that’d come back to bite me. Just like my friend should’ve known his constant drooling over Maria Hill and Abigail Brand would be his undoing. The latter had a more interesting outfit, hence why my best buddy is wearing it here. Also included is an actual quote he said while watching the show! By the way, I did all this before he paid for fallen’s commission, so really I was totally in the right to sketch this. In any case, I hope you all enjoy this sweet slice of revenge as much as Alec does! XP
MAY THE GLASSES BE WITH YOU!
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ronaldanthony4 · 2 months ago
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I just finished another digital artwork—this time, it’s fan art of one of my favourite childhood characters. As I stared at my screen, marvelling at the vibrant hues and intricate details, I couldn’t help but feel proud of how far I’d come as an artist. Today’s creation is Riff, the cheerful, music-loving dinosaur from "Barney & Friends." I spent hours perfecting the shading and textures to bring Riff to life in my unique style. The nostalgia of revisiting a beloved character from my past made the process even more enjoyable.
For anyone unfamiliar, Riff is a six-year-old orange hadrosaur. He’s one of the newer additions to the show, the first dinosaur introduced in over thirteen years—a fascinating fact. The creators must have known they were taking a risk by bringing in a new face, but somehow, Riff captured hearts with his unique personality and love for all things musical. No wonder I felt inspired to bring him to life through my art. Riff's vibrant energy and infectious enthusiasm truly resonated with me, sparking a creative fire within. As I sketched and painted, I found myself smiling at the memories he brought back and the new adventures he inspired.
In my artwork, I wanted to celebrate Riff’s infectious energy and vibrant personality. I depicted him in his natural element—a sunny playground where he could dance and play to his heart’s content. His orange skin glows warmly against the bright, cheerful background, while his yellow tummy adds an extra pop of colour. I made sure to highlight the green spots that dot his body, contrasting beautifully with the green spikes along his back and head. One of my favourite parts of drawing him was his crest, which I rendered with extra care. It’s not just any crest—it’s the magical part of Riff that lights up with a green glow whenever he’s making music. I imagined how those lights might look if they were captured mid-blink, adding a sense of rhythm and motion to the piece.
I also paid close attention to his outfit. Riff is known for his green sneakers, which I detailed down to the yellow socks peeking out and the purple laces tying everything together. His shoes seemed so quintessentially “Riff”—practical yet playful, perfect for someone wlways ready to jump, dance, or run around. I imagined the texture of the sneakers, the slight scuff marks from all his adventures, and the way they’d grip the grass as he skipped through the park. It was all about capturing those little details that made him feel alive.
Riff’s debut in "Barney & Friends" was in the home video "Let’s Make Music." I still remember the excitement of watching it for the first time as a child. Seeing this small, orange dinosaur with an endless love for music was like meeting a kindred spirit. He wasn’t like the other dinosaurs—Barney, Baby Bop, and BJ—all of whom were tall and imposing in their ways. Riff, on the other hand, was shorter, almost closer to my size as a kid, which made him feel approachable. His energy was contagious, and his personality brimmed with creativity.
When he was formally introduced in the episode “Welcome, Cousin Riff,” it was clear that he wasn’t just another character; he brought something new to the table. Riff was Baby Bop and BJ’s cousin, and though they shared a familial bond, his individuality shone through. Where Baby Bop was sweet and slightly timid, and BJ was bold and adventurous, Riff had his quirky charm. His love for music wasn’t just a hobby; it was a way of seeing the world. His theme song, “I Hear Music Everywhere,” encapsulated this perfectly. Riff didn’t just enjoy music—he lived it. To him, the clinking of spoons, the rustling of leaves, or even the rhythmic squeak of a swing set could be a symphony waiting to be discovered.
In my artwork, I wanted to capture that essence of Riff—the joy he radiates when he’s immersed in his world of sound. I gave him a wide, happy grin, his eyes twinkling with excitement. He’s holding maracas in both hands, the colourful instruments adding to the vibrant palette of the scene. I imagined the music he might be creating—perhaps a playful, tropical tune that would make anyone nearby want to join in. The maracas were such a fun detail to include, as they reflected his ability to turn anything into a musical adventure.
One of the things I’ve always admired about Riff is his inventiveness. He’s not just a music enthusiast; he’s a tinkerer, always looking for ways to create something new. In one episode, he built a unique music-making contraption out of everyday items, showcasing his ability to see potential in things others might overlook. This aspect of his character inspired me as a child, encouraging me to think outside the box and find creativity in unexpected places. I like to think that this spirit of invention is part of what led me to become an artist.
Despite his creativity and enthusiasm, Riff isn’t without his flaws. He’s a shy dinosaur at heart, often doubting himself and needing encouragement from his friends. I find this vulnerability endearing—it makes him relatable. We’ve all had moments of self-doubt, times when we’ve needed a little push to believe in ourselves. Riff’s journey of overcoming these feelings is a reminder that even the most talented individuals sometimes need support. It also serves as a powerful message that it's okay to have doubts, as long as you keep pushing forward and believing in yourself.
Working on this piece also gave me a chance to reflect on the role Riff has played in the "Barney & Friends" franchise. He’s not just a side character; he’s an integral part of the group. Barney, Baby Bop, and BJ have always represented different aspects of childhood—imagination, curiosity, and courage—but Riff adds another layer to the mix. He represents creativity in its purest form, the kind that comes from seeing the world through a musical lens. His presence reminds us that art, in all its forms, is an essential part of life.
As I added the finishing touches to my artwork, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for the character of Riff. He’s more than just a dinosaur; he’s a symbol of the joy and wonder that music can bring. Through his adventures, he teaches children—and even adults—that creativity is limitless and that there’s music in everything if we only take the time to listen. It’s a message that has stuck with me throughout my life, influencing not only my art but also the way I approach the world.
Looking at the completed piece, I couldn’t help but smile. The bright colours, the dynamic pose, the little details that brought Riff to life—it all came together in a way that felt true to his character. I imagined him stepping out of the artwork, maracas in hand, ready to lead a parade of joyful children through the playground. It was a scene that perfectly captured his essence: a small dinosaur with a big heart and an even bigger love for music. Seeing how much this little orange dinosaur meant to so many people was heartwarming.
In a way, creating this fan art felt like a tribute not just to Riff, but to the countless childhoods he brightened with his cheerful presence. In conclusion, creating this artwork of Riff was more than just an artistic endeavour—it was a journey back to the innocence and joy of childhood. Riff may be a fictional character, but his impact is real, reminding us all to find the music in our lives and to never stop creating. As I move on to my next project, I’ll carry his spirit with me, letting it inspire me to see the world with fresh eyes and an open heart.
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dickens-daily · 3 months ago
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CHAPTER III—THE FOUR SISTERS
The row of houses in which the old lady and her troublesome neighbour reside, comprises, beyond all doubt, a greater number of characters within its circumscribed limits, than all the rest of the parish put together. As we cannot, consistently with our present plan, however, extend the number of our parochial sketches beyond six, it will be better perhaps, to select the most peculiar, and to introduce them at once without further preface.
The four Miss Willises, then, settled in our parish thirteen years ago. It is a melancholy reflection that the old adage, ‘time and tide wait for no man,’ applies with equal force to the fairer portion of the creation; and willingly would we conceal the fact, that even thirteen years ago the Miss Willises were far from juvenile. Our duty as faithful parochial chroniclers, however, is paramount to every other consideration, and we are bound to state, that thirteen years since, the authorities in matrimonial cases, considered the youngest Miss Willis in a very precarious state, while the eldest sister was positively given over, as being far beyond all human hope. Well, the Miss Willises took a lease of the house; it was fresh painted and papered from top to bottom: the paint inside was all wainscoted, the marble all cleaned, the old grates taken down, and register-stoves, you could see to dress by, put up; four trees were planted in the back garden, several small baskets of gravel sprinkled over the front one, vans of elegant furniture arrived, spring blinds were fitted to the windows, carpenters who had been employed in the various preparations, alterations, and repairs, made confidential statements to the different maid-servants in the row, relative to the magnificent scale on which the Miss Willises were commencing; the maid-servants told their ‘Missises,’ the Missises told their friends, and vague rumours were circulated throughout the parish, that No. 25, in Gordon-place, had been taken by four maiden ladies of immense property.
At last, the Miss Willises moved in; and then the ‘calling’ began. The house was the perfection of neatness—so were the four Miss Willises. Everything was formal, stiff, and cold—so were the four Miss Willises. Not a single chair of the whole set was ever seen out of its place—not a single Miss Willis of the whole four was ever seen out of hers. There they always sat, in the same places, doing precisely the same things at the same hour. The eldest Miss Willis used to knit, the second to draw, the two others to play duets on the piano. They seemed to have no separate existence, but to have made up their minds just to winter through life together. They were three long graces in drapery, with the addition, like a school-dinner, of another long grace afterwards—the three fates with another sister—the Siamese twins multiplied by two. The eldest Miss Willis grew bilious—the four Miss Willises grew bilious immediately. The eldest Miss Willis grew ill-tempered and religious—the four Miss Willises were ill-tempered and religious directly. Whatever the eldest did, the others did, and whatever anybody else did, they all disapproved of; and thus they vegetated—living in Polar harmony among themselves, and, as they sometimes went out, or saw company ‘in a quiet-way’ at home, occasionally icing the neighbours. Three years passed over in this way, when an unlooked for and extraordinary phenomenon occurred. The Miss Willises showed symptoms of summer, the frost gradually broke up; a complete thaw took place. Was it possible? one of the four Miss Willises was going to be married!
Now, where on earth the husband came from, by what feelings the poor man could have been actuated, or by what process of reasoning the four Miss Willises succeeded in persuading themselves that it was possible for a man to marry one of them, without marrying them all, are questions too profound for us to resolve: certain it is, however, that the visits of Mr. Robinson (a gentleman in a public office, with a good salary and a little property of his own, besides) were received—that the four Miss Willises were courted in due form by the said Mr Robinson—that the neighbours were perfectly frantic in their anxiety to discover which of the four Miss Willises was the fortunate fair, and that the difficulty they experienced in solving the problem was not at all lessened by the announcement of the eldest Miss Willis,—‘We are going to marry Mr. Robinson.’
It was very extraordinary. They were so completely identified, the one with the other, that the curiosity of the whole row—even of the old lady herself—was roused almost beyond endurance. The subject was discussed at every little card-table and tea-drinking. The old gentleman of silk-worm notoriety did not hesitate to express his decided opinion that Mr. Robinson was of Eastern descent, and contemplated marrying the whole family at once; and the row, generally, shook their heads with considerable gravity, and declared the business to be very mysterious. They hoped it might all end well;—it certainly had a very singular appearance, but still it would be uncharitable to express any opinion without good grounds to go upon, and certainly the Miss Willises were quite old enough to judge for themselves, and to be sure people ought to know their own business best, and so forth.
At last, one fine morning, at a quarter before eight o’clock, a.m., two glass-coaches drove up to the Miss Willises’ door, at which Mr. Robinson had arrived in a cab ten minutes before, dressed in a light-blue coat and double-milled kersey pantaloons, white neckerchief, pumps, and dress-gloves, his manner denoting, as appeared from the evidence of the housemaid at No. 23, who was sweeping the door-steps at the time, a considerable degree of nervous excitement. It was also hastily reported on the same testimony, that the cook who opened the door, wore a large white bow of unusual dimensions, in a much smarter head-dress than the regulation cap to which the Miss Willises invariably restricted the somewhat excursive tastes of female servants in general.
The intelligence spread rapidly from house to house. It was quite clear that the eventful morning had at length arrived; the whole row stationed themselves behind their first and second floor blinds, and waited the result in breathless expectation.
At last the Miss Willises’ door opened; the door of the first glass-coach did the same. Two gentlemen, and a pair of ladies to correspond—friends of the family, no doubt; up went the steps, bang went the door, off went the first class-coach, and up came the second.
The street door opened again; the excitement of the whole row increased—Mr. Robinson and the eldest Miss Willis. ‘I thought so,’ said the lady at No. 19; ‘I always said it was Miss Willis!’—‘Well, I never!’ ejaculated the young lady at No. 18 to the young lady at No. 17.—‘Did you ever, dear!’ responded the young lady at No. 17 to the young lady at No. 18. ‘It’s too ridiculous!’ exclaimed a spinster of an uncertain age, at No. 16, joining in the conversation. But who shall portray the astonishment of Gordon-place, when Mr. Robinson handed in all the Miss Willises, one after the other, and then squeezed himself into an acute angle of the glass-coach, which forthwith proceeded at a brisk pace, after the other glass-coach, which other glass-coach had itself proceeded, at a brisk pace, in the direction of the parish church! Who shall depict the perplexity of the clergyman, when all the Miss Willises knelt down at the communion-table, and repeated the responses incidental to the marriage service in an audible voice—or who shall describe the confusion which prevailed, when—even after the difficulties thus occasioned had been adjusted—all the Miss Willises went into hysterics at the conclusion of the ceremony, until the sacred edifice resounded with their united wailings!
As the four sisters and Mr. Robinson continued to occupy the same house after this memorable occasion, and as the married sister, whoever she was, never appeared in public without the other three, we are not quite clear that the neighbours ever would have discovered the real Mrs. Robinson, but for a circumstance of the most gratifying description, which will happen occasionally in the best-regulated families. Three quarter-days elapsed, and the row, on whom a new light appeared to have been bursting for some time, began to speak with a sort of implied confidence on the subject, and to wonder how Mrs. Robinson—the youngest Miss Willis that was—got on; and servants might be seen running up the steps, about nine or ten o’clock every morning, with ‘Missis’s compliments, and wishes to know how Mrs. Robinson finds herself this morning?’ And the answer always was, ‘Mrs. Robinson’s compliments, and she’s in very good spirits, and doesn’t find herself any worse.’ The piano was heard no longer, the knitting-needles were laid aside, drawing was neglected, and mantua-making and millinery, on the smallest scale imaginable, appeared to have become the favourite amusement of the whole family. The parlour wasn’t quite as tidy as it used to be, and if you called in the morning, you would see lying on a table, with an old newspaper carelessly thrown over them, two or three particularly small caps, rather larger than if they had been made for a moderate-sized doll, with a small piece of lace, in the shape of a horse-shoe, let in behind: or perhaps a white robe, not very large in circumference, but very much out of proportion in point of length, with a little tucker round the top, and a frill round the bottom; and once when we called, we saw a long white roller, with a kind of blue margin down each side, the probable use of which, we were at a loss to conjecture. Then we fancied that Dr. Dawson, the surgeon, &c., who displays a large lamp with a different colour in every pane of glass, at the corner of the row, began to be knocked up at night oftener than he used to be; and once we were very much alarmed by hearing a hackney-coach stop at Mrs. Robinson’s door, at half-past two o’clock in the morning, out of which there emerged a fat old woman, in a cloak and night-cap, with a bundle in one hand, and a pair of pattens in the other, who looked as if she had been suddenly knocked up out of bed for some very special purpose.
When we got up in the morning we saw that the knocker was tied up in an old white kid glove; and we, in our innocence (we were in a state of bachelorship then), wondered what on earth it all meant, until we heard the eldest Miss Willis, in propriâ personâ say, with great dignity, in answer to the next inquiry, ‘My compliments, and Mrs. Robinson’s doing as well as can be expected, and the little girl thrives wonderfully.’ And then, in common with the rest of the row, our curiosity was satisfied, and we began to wonder it had never occurred to us what the matter was, before.
_____
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stayatiny · 3 years ago
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Little Dolly Chapter 6~ Yandere Seonghwa
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(Gif made by me)
Pairing(s) – Killer/Yandere Seonghwa x Virgin! Reader
Series warnings – Violence, Daddy kink mentions of murder, TW- beating, swearing, blood, smut and lose of virginity (later on), yandere behaviors, Stockholm syndrome (seriously this is darker than my other fics. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.)
Chapter Warning(s) –Daddy Hwa again, mentions of family troubles, mostly plot for this chapter
Tagged Lovelies - @mirror-juliet @aikyubi @babybunnyalien @mingkisbitch @chonsayeosang @jodidan @cheline @hapapino-cake @ateezsadist @t4elor @soft-teddybear Please let me know it you want to be tagged or if I have forgotten to tag you.
I sat in the office chair again, staring at the door. I went back to working on emails and looking at marketing material. Its already past seven pm. I logged off and walked over to the door. I cracked it just enough to see how she was doing. I see that she is fast asleep in the middle of the floor. She curled into a ball, hugging her knees. I let out some relief and shut the door again. I go to the kitchen and get some food ready for myself. The kitchen was lifeless. Was my life really like this before Y/N was with me. I knew my life was dull but never anything like this.
When I wake up, my body is so much pain that I could hardly move. I whine as I try to turn on my side. I reach out for the bottle of water and sit up slowly, my mouth dryer than the desert. I chug the water until it was empty. I lay the bottle to the side when I hear the door open again. Seeing Hwa with some soup.
“Here, eat this. It’ll help. I also brought some pain killers for you.” He set the try of food down. I nod. He gave me the medicine first then watched me eat. I started to eat slowly waiting for the meds to kick in.
“Do you need help?” For the first time I looked him in the eyes.
“Please daddy,” I say with a little blush on my cheeks. I still wasn’t used to calling him that.
“Alright open up,” he said, scooting closer to me. I open my mouth as he fed me. We stayed in silence for while only hear the spoon clank. When the bowl was empty, Hwa set it down on the floor.
“I’m going to keep you in here for another day to make sure this lesson sticks. I shouldn’t have kicked and hit you as bad as I did but let that be the punishment,” he says. He stands and gets ready to leave. I grab his pants leg.
“No please don’t leave me alone. I’ll be a good girl,” I beg. Even after being in here for half a day, I didn’t like the silence or the loneliness.
“Let go of me little girl,” he growled. A few stray tears fell as I let him go. He turned his back leaving the room, shutting me in again. I wipe away my tears and then lay back down on the floor. Tomorrow can’t get here fast enough.
The next morning, I feel the chain on my ankle loosen. My eyes immediately open to see Hwa. He helps me up and into his room.
“What did we learn?” He sits me on the bed and pulls my shirt up enough to look at the bruises and marks that he left.
“Never to run away from you again.” He smiles and kisses my forehead.
“Good girl. Here lay down in bed for a little while. I’ll be in the office if you need me. Get some rest,” he says leaving the room. He leaves the door open this time. I hear him talking on the phone while I sit on the bed. I decided to get up and hobble to the bathroom. I use the toilet and brush my teeth. Hwa comes back in.
“Are you hungry? I’m thinking about ordering some food,” he asks. I nod and then walk over to him. I lay my head on his chest. I missed him being his normal self and not being angry with me.
“I told you to get some rest. Here lay down until the food gets here,” Hwa says helping me back into bed. I sit in the middle of the king size bed and snuggling a pillow. We haven’t spoken very much other than short sentences and yes and no answers.
“I know but I wanted to brush my teeth before laying down.” Hwa smiled a little and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how hard I hit you until I saw your bruises this morning,” he apologized. I chew on my bottom lip. I didn’t actually expect him to tell me he was sorry for what happened.
“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have run away. Even if I did get away with it, I don’t know where I was going or wanted to go. My parents aren’t the greatest people to begin with and the rest of my family aren’t much better.” I hug my knees while speaking.
“Why do you look so down on your parents?” Hwa pulled the rest of his body onto the bed sitting crossed legged.
“When I was growing up, my older brother and sister were twins that could get away with everything. My brother became an actor while my sister became a nurse. There’s several years between them and me, fifteen to be exact. When I was born and up until I was thirteen, I was the baby of the family but once my siblings started getting recognized for what they did you could tell that they were the favorites of my parents. Nothing I did mattered to them. That’s when I left and moved here,” I explain.
“Sounds like a rough time,” he says, patting my leg.
“It wasn’t so bad. My older siblings kinda raised me. My parents were always so busy with their jobs that they weren’t really around much to begin with. My siblings didn’t like that I was moving here in the first place, and they wanted me to stay with them in America. They hated the attention that our parents gave them over me.”
“Why not go back when times got hard? Why not go back home with them?” I scoff.
“I didn’t want to go back home a failure when I didn’t have anything accomplished. I would have never heard the end of it,” I say leaning against the headboard.
“Well, what would they say when we get married,” he asks. Oh, right we are supposed to be getting married.
“They might actually care since you are a CEO of a big marketing company,” I say. He nods in agreement. That’s when the food gets here. He runs to the front door getting the pizza. I stare down at the comforter. I’ve never really told anybody my family history, but he made it so easy to talk about. I hear Hwa coming back in with the pizza on two plates and some drinks. I smile and made room in the bed for him to join me. He then turned on a movie. I snuggled down into the covers and ate.
“Are you comfortable?” I nod and continued eating. He smiled and ate quietly. After eating, I lay my head on Hwa’s shoulder.
“Tired?” I shook my head. I felt okay for the most part besides the pain I sometimes felt. He kissed my head and got up.
“Alright I need to work for a little bit. I want you to stay put. Don’t give me a reason to put you back in the room,” he said, grabbing my cheeks.
“Yes daddy,” I whisper. He kisses me then leaving the room. His office is right next door. I continued to watch the movie and wait for Hwa to get back. I’m bored so I started to loosely braid my hair.
“Are you bored, little dolly,” he asked, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom.
“A little bit. Usually, I’m always working. I never really had time for hobbies or even to watch tv,” I say. Hwa shakes his head and then brings me my sketch book and a pencil.
“Here, I found this in your bag when I took you that night,” he said. I smiled.
“I thought this was lost forever.” I smile hugging the book to my chest.
“It looked important and its not like you can contact anyone with it.” I nod and open it to the landscape I was working one before I was taken. I loved drawing. I wanted to be an architect when I saved enough money.
“That’s beautiful, Y/N,” Hwa said, sitting on the bed again. I blush.
“Thank you. I never let anyone see my drawings before.” The awkward feeling setting in again. I bit my lip as Hwa watched me.
“Stop biting your lip it’ll be sore.” I blush again. I hear his phone ringing in the office. He groans and runs off to answer it. I’m shading some mountains when he returns.
“Yes mother. We’ll be there tomorrow for dinner. Yes mother. Love you too. Bye.” He hangs up the phone looking defeated.
“Is everything alright?” I put down the book and pencils.
“No. We are going to have dinner with my family tomorrow night. My father wants to meet you,” he says. I took a deep breath.
“Is that good or bad?” Hwa looked at me.
“I haven’t quite figured that out yet but all I know is no matter what he says I’m still marrying you even if we have to go to the courthouse,” he says, pulling me into a hard kiss. No turning back now…
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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago
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Of Bruised Knees and Climbed Trees
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Fandom: The Mandalorian
Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots
Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader
Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​
Rating: G
Warnings: N/A
Summary: He has always been gentle with the little one’s but it is nothing compared to the sureness with which he climbs the tall tree and gentleness with which he reassures one of your students that they can in fact make the climb down and they’ll be okay.
Notes: We all love papa Din and is there anything sweeter than this guy being all gentle and kind to scared little one’s? Pure dad material.
Archiveofourown
Lunch times at the schoolhouse were never quiet affairs. After eight years as a school teacher you had learnt that if something was going to happen, it was inevitably going to happen at lunch time when the children were out of the classroom doors and in the fresh air. Touch wood, you think touching the wall of the schoolhouse, you had yet to have anything too dramatic happen this school year. There had been no fights between the older boys and girls which had in previous years had a tendency to happen as frustrations and teenage angst boiled over. There had been no major injuries, no children had gone missing at lunch time, and no one had attempted to tattoo another child like Davey McDonald that one year. He had definitely been the source of most of your schoolhouse drama. With him having completed his school last year, perhaps, you thought, this year might prove to be uneventful. 
This year had been rather tame and as you stood on the wooden porch of the schoolhouse watching your children make the most of their hour to run, get fresh air, and eat their lunches, you couldn’t help but smile. You watched Grogu, Mary-Beth and Timmy playing at the small pond, more of a puddle really, that rested near the school. Mary-Beth was showing both boys how to skip stones and Grogu seemed impressed every single time she managed to get a perfect skip. Timmy fumbled at his attempt, stone landing in the water with a sploosh! 
Your eyes drifted to the older kids, eating their lunch and giggling together in groups. The boys had separated off from the girls, no doubt more and more aware of their differences as courting became a new interest in their eyes. Soon you’d have the usual problems of teenage love on your hands, sweet, but always requiring your eyes to be peeled. While the boys would face no repercussions for a dalliance, the girls would, and you always made sure to keep a chaperone's watchful eye on them each year. Much to their annoyance. 
You spotted Jerome sitting on his own, sketchbook and pencil in hand and carefully walked your way over, picking through the rocks and fallen leaves as the weather began to turn colder. He was wrapped up full, only a little bit of his face visible beneath a large scarf and fluffy hat.
“Do you mind if I sit with you, Jerome?” 
“Not at all, Miss.” He quickly goes back to his drawing and despite the desire to peek you resist the urge and wait for him to offer to show you, if that were to happen at all. You pride yourself on creating relationships born from trust with your pupils and part of that was letting them come to you rather than demanding they share things. Jerome had become more willing to share his art bit by bit, preening under your admiration and praise and you hoped that it would be enough to encourage him to pursue his dream of art school. You had a few old acquaintances you hoped would be willing to offer him patronage if they saw his work, but that was a few years off and for now, you were just content to provide him with kind words and support.
He doesn’t ask if you’d like to have a look, just shuffles the book over into your lap with a shy look away, not wanting to see your reaction. They’re beautiful little drawings of the world around him. The daisies in the grass, the leaves on the ground, the nearly bare trees. A few sketches of the other children playing. Each has careful line strokes, hashing to shade and a style to them that gives them an almost classical look. Smooth, soft. 
“These are beautiful, Jerome! You really have a gift!” You praise him, carefully handing the book back for him to return to his sketching. The two of you fall into companionable silence as he draws and you watch the children around you. 
It is when you go to ring the bell to draw them back into class with a ‘Lunch is over, boys and girls! Time to get back to work!’, that you notice a crowd gathering quite a distance away from the school underneath some trees. With a quick request that Jerome keep an eye on the younger children, you stride your way over, hands lifting your skirt from the dirt. 
“What’s going on? David, why are you all…” You trail off as you look up to see the exact reason they’re all crowding beneath the tall oak tree. 
Lilly-Anne is shaking at the very top, arms wrapped tightly around the branch she’d managed to make it to. The girl is barely ten, and has always been one of your more adventurous and confident children, but in that moment she is clearly petrified and you very much consider climbing the tree yourself to get her. 
“Lilly-Anne, dear, are you stuck?” You can’t think of a possible reason but that fact, that she is stuck in some way whether mental or physical. 
“I-I-I I can’t get down! I-” She cuts herself off in panic, clinging even tighter to the branch as a brisk wind causes the smaller branches to shake. 
“I’m coming to get you! Don’t worry, sweetheart! It’s going to be okay!” You say, sounding much more confident than you actually are about your ability to climb a thirty foot tall oak tree in a dress and heeled boots. You haven’t climbed a tree since you were thirteen years old and have never been a particularly fan of heights, but needs must. 
You’re planting a foot on a knot in the tree and reaching up for a lower branch when spurs clink behind you and a familiar deep drawl sounds out from behind you. 
“Everything alright, Miss Y/N?” You’re in truth rather relieved when you turn to see Din standing there, thumbs tucked into his belt behind the buckle. The worn hat he never seems to be without is tilted back as he looks over you, your gaggle of children and up into the tree. The bemused expression turns to one of concern when he sees Lilly-Anne at the top, immediately pulling his hat and holsters off and placing them on the ground. 
Before you can even reply to his question he has gentle hands on your waist twisting you away from the tree before placing a boot in the same spot your foot was moments ago. It doesn’t irritate you that he has done all this without asking, instead you are relieved. You know you are not dressed for tree climbing nor are you proficient at it, Din is better suited for the task and you are glad that he is here. 
“Lilly-Anne, Ad’ika, it’s the sheriff! I’m coming to get you, little one, don’t you worry about a thing!”  He keeps his voice even, soothing, the same voice he uses whenever Grogu has a nightmare. She might be feet up in the air but even from down at the base of the tree he can see how scared she is, can hear her whimpering and crying out for someone to come help her. Like any scared little kid.
He’s not really thinking much of anything, in truth, not when he sees the little girl terrified and crying at the top of the tall tree. There’s a memory from his past, a small boy at the top of a large tree, his adopted father climbing to get him with gentle words. He remembers the fear of being at the top, of being so confident in your ability to get all the way up that you never considered just how you’d make your way back down. 
He’s not scared of heights, not anymore. His adoptive father had made sure of that. Taught him to climb right back down, how to face that fear that makes you freeze. It’s not a hard climb, and each foothold is easy to find. The tree is sturdy, thick branches and a wide trunk. Old, older than him, older than any of them and he wonders how many children have climbed it only to need a guardian or parent to come and rescue them from the top. 
“It’s alright, little one! I’m on my way, you just hang tight, okay?”
“O-o-okay…” He likes Lilly-Anne, she likes his adventure stories the most. The little wild card a born adventurer herself, she always talks about becoming a famous gunslinger, constantly badgering him to teach her how to shoot. Adventurous spirit, stubborn, but he’s never seen her scared of anything. It breaks Din’s heart to see her usual confidence and fearlessness missing. 
You’re worried. That’s the best way to describe what you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach and it’s nail biting, stomach churning worry. A part of you knows that Din is competent in a million different ways, that he’ll be fine climbing a tree that a ten year old managed to scale and that he’ll be fine bringing her back down. Another part of you worries that maybe he’ll slip or she’ll slip or both of them will slip. The thought of either of them getting hurt sends you into a pacing sort of panic at the bottom of the tree, eyes on them the whole time, watching Din scale as your feet move you back and forth, to and fro. 
He’s at the top before you can even blink, bracing himself besides her and talking to her low enough that you can’t hear. She’s shaking and you’re not sure if it is the wind or the fear that does it to her. He’s steady as a rock, it doesn’t surprise you, Din has, from the moment he walked into town, been steady, stable, and competent. He brings an ease to everything he does and seems to trust in his own skills beyond a shadow of a doubt.
“Hey, Ad’ika, I’m right here, okay? Look at me…” He knows this is the hard part, how to convince her to come down even with his help. She is so scared and he can now finally see the tear tracks over her chubby cheeks and the redness of her eyes. This little girl is so terribly scared and it makes his heart ache for her. But, he promises himself, that he’ll be the stable presence she needs, that he’ll be calm and collected for her even with a thirty foot drop beneath them and you pacing the ground below in worry. 
Lilly-Anne’s bottom lip is trembling and her knuckles are white from holding on so tight, but she looks at him and seems to calm a little at his presence beside her. “I need you to hold onto me okay, sweetheart? I’m going to come closer and I need you to hold onto me so I can help you down, okay?” He knows it’s a big ask, knowing she’d have to pull herself away from the safety of the branch and trust that he’d keep her safe and secure, but she nods her head at him with a little whimper and he knows she’s brave enough to do this. 
“You’re doing so well, Ad’ika.” Din praises her as he sidles as close as he can, helping her, with one arm, wrap her own around his neck and rest her legs around his hips. She’s a little big to be carried normally, getting to that age where her legs are getting a little too long and her body doesn’t fit as easily as Grogu’s would against his hip, but she’s light and easy to wrap around him as he secures his own feet and hands getting ready to make the climb down. 
“You got all the way up here, Lilly-Anne, you can get back down, okay? Look,” Din begins the climb down, at each handhold and foot placement he points out to her that she could grab here or step there. He wants her to understand that if she could get all the way up, she could have made her way down. While he’s more than happy to help her, he knows her. She is an adventurous child, likely to climb a tree again and likely to need to make her way back down. Just like his buir had done, he was determined to make sure she was never scared of getting back down again. “You just need to place your hands where they fit best, move them down with you, a step at a time, Ad’ika. A step at a time.”
“It’s...it’s scary though…”
“I’ll let you in on a lil’ secret…” He turns his head to give her a meaningful look with a soft smile, stopping where he is just for a moment, “it’s not being scared that matters, it’s being brave enough to do it anyway.” 
People think him fearless. The fearless sheriff, cleaning up the town, keeping people safe, facing down men with guns and hunting down criminals. He’s not. He’s scared of a lot of things, mostly Grogu, you or the other little ones getting hurt. Losing you from his life. Losing his son. Being a disappointment to his son. That scares him more than any threat to his own body, but still in the face of that fear he is brave. Bravery has never been the absence of fear, it’s doing what you need to do anyway, knowing that it terrifies you. His buir had taught him that and he’d teach Lilly-Anne that, teach Grogu that. 
As he continues down the tree he can see her process his words. Brain working hard behind big blue eyes before she tugs on the back of his shirt to stop him where he is. Once again he stops climbing. You’re still pacing below, every time they stop you grow more anxious wondering what on earth could be happening. Did Din lose his footing? Was he faltering in some way? Was Lilly-Anne panicking? 
But, that isn’t the case. When he asks her what’s wrong, she simply tells him she wants to try and climb down on her own, with his help. He can feel pride blooming in his chest, like a new bud opening up to the world in spring, and so he carefully helps her off of his hip and adjusts her footing and handholds before he moves below her so he can help her ease her way down and catch her if she slips. 
She takes those first steps backwards, tentatively, scared of where she should put her feet, but each step after becomes more confident until they’re climbing at a decent pace back down the tree. She is a natural climber.
“You’re doing so well, Lil’ika! I knew you could do it, darlin’.” Din’s voice is quiet but now half way down you can actually hear him speaking to her, little praises at every successful step, reminders of how brave she is, how good she is doing. It eases some of that panic within you, warms your chest at the sounds of him, so utterly paternal and kind. 
She is smiling wider as she gets nearer to the bottom, you can see that the fear has left her, the panic gone, replaced with a bravery that you are thankful to see. She has always been a brave child, an adventurous child, fearless. The thought that she would lose that had terrified you almost as much as the thought that she was stuck at the top of that tree. 
The moment her feet touch the ground again you are fussing over her like a mother hen, “Lilly-Anne, what possessed you to climb such a tall tree?!” You both do not want to stifle her adventurous spirit and at the same time feel a sense of responsibility to teach her to think before taking potentially dangerous actions. It is the one cruelty of being a teacher and not a friend, you must always tell them off for doing something which could have ended with them hurt because no one else would. “You could have been hurt, sweetheart.” You soften the blow with the endearment, checking her over for cuts and bruises. Her hands are a little rough, but otherwise she is fine and despite your fussing and admonishment she is still smiling. 
“I got back down, Miss Y/N! I got back down!” You sigh out from your place kneeling in front of her, a small smile making its way to your face. Before you tug lightly at one of the blonde braids of her hair. You want to be stern, but can’t find it in yourself to be when she had in fact managed to get all the way back down, when she was so clearly proud of herself. How could you bring yourself to crush that happiness? 
“Yes, yes, you did, well done, sweet girl...now that you’ve nearly given me a heart attack, why don’t you thank the sheriff and go get sorted for your next lesson?” You can still feel the residual adrenaline running through you, your heart is still beating faster than it should. To think you were going to climb up that tree to get her, in a full dress and heeled boots...you suspected the outcome would have been the two of you stuck up that tree, not just one. What a sight that would have made. 
“Thank you, Sheriff Djarin!” He’s buckling his holster on as she turns to him, already getting back into sheriff mode as he places that worn hat over dark brown curls. He cuts an impressive figure as sheriff, but you most enjoy him at his softest, when he lets the walls fall for the children and shows you who he really is underneath all that responsibility and posturing. 
“You’re welcome, Ad’ika, you remember how to get down for next time?” 
“Uh huh!” Like all children she nods her head so vigorously you briefly worry she’ll concuss herself, but know that they always seem to be fine afterwards.
“Good. Go get ready for your lesson.” He pats the top of her head with a soft smile. You only ever see that smile around you and the children, including Grogu, of course. The two of you watch her run off, the other children in the group following her at your insistence that they better be ready at the desks by the time you return. 
You know you need to move soon, they are waiting for their next set of lessons before the day ends and you have things to teach them. Things you always stress are important. But, you can’t ever resist spending a little more time with Din, even more so when it comes to thanking him for his hand in helping you with the children. He is always there when you need him, when his support or involvement is required. 
“Thank you, Din...I...I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t turned up. I’m sure we both would have been stuck up there if I’d tried to get her…” There’s something about being alone with Din that excites you more than it should. Perhaps, it’s the reminder that you’re an unmarried woman, he’s an unmarried man, and the two of you certainly shouldn’t be spending time alone together away from other people’s eyes. There is no one here to watch you, to ensure everything is polite and appropriate. It shouldn’t mean more than it does. It should just be a moment to thank him, something simple, devoid of any deep feelings, but like everything that happens with Din, there is always more going on beneath the surface. Your feelings are always deep and hard to understand with him. 
“Cabur’ika. You never have to thank me. For anything.” He’s almost bashful looking when he smiles at you from under the brim of his hat, face tilted down just so. You can see the hint of a flush to his tanned cheeks and the dimples pull at the sides of his mouth when he smiles.
“Yes...yes I do. I hope you...I hope you understand just how much I appreciate your help, Din. You...you do more for me than anyone else in this town and,” You gently reach for one of his large hands, holding it between the two of your own. His fingers are calloused and rough, his skin warm to the touch even in the autumn air. “I really do appreciate it. I appreciate you. So thank you.” 
He’s at a loss for words. Not just because of your own sweet ones, but because your eyes are so soft and large, staring up at him like he’s hung the moon, like he’s done something above and beyond. When in truth he has just done his job, the right thing. Supporting you as the school teacher will always be the right thing and certainly it isn’t all duty. He finds you to be beautiful, sweet and soft, kind, yet strong and fierce. Your treatment of his son, his Grogu warms his heart. Your deep love for your children makes him want to sigh like a lovesick school boy and your treatment of him, your acceptance, open arms to a man who should scare you, makes him want to be around you all the more. From the moment he met you, you had been welcoming and soft. That hadn’t changed and everything in him screams at him to do something, say something, hold your hand tighter, kiss your lips, but that’s too fast and too soon. It would be a dishonour to you, you deserved him taking his time, finding the right words and actions to court you, to prove that he was worthy of your time and affection. 
So instead he just smiles at you, squeezes your hands tightly, once, twice, before thanking you. There are few parting words, a slow goodbye in which you both are reluctant to pull away from each other, but a call from the schoolhouse porch draws you away from him with a sad little smile. 
His chest hurts so badly that he rubs at it with a palm. The hurt is a good sort though. Not the blistering pain of a gunshot wound or slash from a knife, but the ache of...of love. That’s what it is, he has to admit it to himself, it’s love. New and small, growing larger each day, but love.
                                                    -----------------------
Mando’a Translations:
Ad’ika - Little one
Lil’ika - Basically little Lily. The ‘ika is a diminutive suffix and often you take the first 3 words of a child's name like Gro’ika to make a familiar name. 
Cabur’ika - Lit. Little Guardian, but Din’s term of endearment for reader after ‘Never Mess With a School Teacher’ because she is a true guardian of her kids. 
Buir - Mother/Father/Parent
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thr-333 · 4 years ago
Text
Mismatch- Part 6
Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020
Sibling bonding at its finest, fighting and breaking rules
First< Previous> Next
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“Maman, Papa, we’re fine,” Marinette holds the phone between them.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come home?” Tom asks through speaker phone.
“No Papa, Nette worked hard for this trip,” Marion insists, they are sitting in the back of Bruce's car with him and Selina in the front.
“We both work-”
“Both want to stay, that's right,” Marion cuts her off, grinning at her glare, “Besides we have things to do here remember ?”
“Ok, but if you change your minds,” Sabine frets, they do have a concert coming up.
“We’ll be on the first flight back,” Marinette agrees, Aunt Selina leans back and she holds up the phone for her.
“Don’t worry Tom, I’ll keep them out of trouble,” She tells her brother.
“You’re the last person I trust to do that,” Tom laughs from the other end of the line.
“Rude,” She glares down at the phone.
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Sabine speaks over her husbands laughter.
“Thank you Sabine, you're my favourite person in Paris,” She winks at the twins, whispering "Right now,"
"Hey!" Tom shouts from the phone.
“Of course,” Sabine chuckles over her husband,“We have to go back to the bakery now,”
“We’ll talk later,” Tom promises, "Have fun,"
“See ya,” Selina sits back upright.
“Bye Papa, Maman,” Marinette moves to hang up
“Also we met Aunt Selina's fiance! Bye!" Marion blurts, everyone in the car freezes.
“WHA-” Marion hangs up.
“Marion! That was…..” Their Aunt shouts before giggling, turning into full blown laughter,“... That was so…”
The twins start laughing as well, making her give up on whatever lecture she was going to launch into.
“Selina, your phones ringing,” Bruce says, as she calms down.
“Yeah, it’s probably going to do that for awhile,” Selina turns it to silent and ignores the call, then turns to Marion,“Don’t ever do that again,”
“Are you planning on getting remarried?” Marion asks cheekily.
“Quite the thing to admit in front of your fiance,” Marinette adds, glancing at Bruce to see he is also smiling slightly. Years with Kagami had trained her to notice those hints of emotion.
“Brats,” She huffs turning back around.
“We love you,” They chorus.
“Brats,” Selina shakes her head fondly just as they approach the gates.
Marinette stares in awe at the large estate. The architecture and gardens immediately had her pulling out her sketch book to jot down ideas. She gets pushed out of the car by Marion and keeps drawing as they walk towards the Manor doors.
"You're home is beautiful," Marinette compliments Bruce.
"Thank you, I think so too," Bruce says as the doors open.
“Welcome home, Master Bruce, Miss Selina,” Alfred stands in the doorway, “And you, Miss Dupain-Cheng and Mr Cheng-Dupain, welcome to Wayne Manor.”
“It’s good to see you again, please, just Marinette's fine,” Marinette puts away her sketchbook.
“Yeah, I'd rather you just call me Marion,” Marion beams at him, before whispering, “Did we even tell you our last names?… witchcraft,”
“Very well, please come this way,” Alfred guides them into the Manor, stopping outside a door, "Master Damian is waiting, I must be off to prepare dinner,"
"Thank you Alfred," Bruce tells the butler as he leaves.
They enter the living room type area. A boy who couldn't even be thirteen yet stands. 'He's so small' Marinette thinks to herself.
"Father," He glares at her and Marion.
“This is my son Damian,” Bruce introduces, “Damian met Marinette and Marion,”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Marinette smiles, holding her hand out.
“Tt” Damian looks away, getting a glare from Bruce before taking her hand, “... Likewise,”
Selinas phone buzzes again. Drawing attention away from the insincere tone.
“I should probably answer them, or they’ll never leave us alone,” Their Aunt sighs taking out her phone, “Bruce come with me, I’m sure they’ll want to meet you,”
“Is this going to be a pleasant conversation?” He asks.
“No its going to be very painful,” Marinette smiles, knowing they were about to have a very long conversation with her over excited Papa. He would probably have planned their wedding by the time they manage to hang up.
“Right,” Bruce says hesitantly, he turns to Damian with a pointed look, “Behave,”
"Tt," is Damian's response as he is left alone with them.
Marion sits down. Marinette follows sitting next to him on one of couches, surprised at how soft it is. Damian sits down on an armchair, picking up a book.
“So, Damian how old are you?" Marinette asks, after a full minute of silence
“12,” He doesn't look up from his book
“... We’re 18, twins if you couldn't tell,” Marion steps in gesturing between them.
“I could,” Damian answers shortly.
“Right... so what are your hobbies?” Marinette tries again.
“... painting,” Damian concedes under her expectant gaze.
“Oh, can we see?” She asks excitedly.
“No,” Damian snaps. She doesn't let that discourage her, she doesn't like showing strangers her designs. Apart from the millions of strangers who see her designs anyway.
“Alright, I get that," Marion shares the sentiment, "What about-Oh my god,”
“What?” Damian finally looks up from his book, scanning the room for the cause of his outburst.
“Kitty!” Marion practically leaps from the couch to get a better look at the cat sauntering across the room.
“Oh no,” Marinette sighs watching her brother melt over the cat.
“That’s Alfred,” Damian tells them eyeing the cat and Marion with mild amusement.
“After Alfred, Alfred your butler?” Marinette tries not to snicker at the name.
“Yes, pennyworth is his namesake,” Damian nods, glare daring Marinette to laugh.
“Can I pet him?!” Marion pleads, with baby-doll eyes  that could put Manon to shame.
“You can try, Alfred is very selective about who pets him,” Damian grants, and Marion sits on the ground, inching closer.
“I wouldn’t worry, Mari has a way with cats,” Marinette smirks, thinking back to the time she had to fight an Akuma alone because he was being smothered by cats.
“Come here Alfred,” Marion rubs his hand on the ground, Alfred watching closely.
“Do you have any other pets?” Marinette asks, Damian puts down his book.
“I have Titus, a great dane,” Damian watches as Alfred gives in and pounces on Marion’s hand, “Batcow, self explanatory,”
“Bat-cow mutant?” Marion guesses letting Alfred sniff his hand.
“No,” Damian's irritation shows, “She has patch shaped like the Bat symbol,”
“Oh, that was my second guess,” Alfred lets Marion scratch behind his ear.
“Can we see them?” Marinette excited over meeting Batcow.
“They’ll be around here somewhere, roaming the manor grounds,” Damian responds, non committaly.
“Alfred the Cat, feels weird to call them both Alfred,” Marion muses, Damian looks surprised as the cat climbs into this lap.
“Have you any pets?” Damian asks his first question about them.
“No, we live in a bakery so it would be a health code violation,” Marinette answers sadly. She doubts a box of animal type Kwamis are regulation either but no one has to know about that.
“Al-at? no,” Marion talks to himself, or more likely the cat.
“That’s a shame,” Damian acknowledges monotonously, watching as Alfred the cat starts to purr as Marion scratches his chin.
“We did try to sneak strays in when we were little,” Marinette is unwilling to let the conversation drop.
“Ca-Fred, Cat-Fred!” Marion exclaims, apologising seconds later to the newly dubbed Cat-fred for startling him.
“Try?” Damian sneers.
“The first few times were a disaster, we didn’t get past the front door,” Marinette explains, “Maman and Papa would send them to the shelter straight away,”
“At least they didn’t put them back out on the street,” Damian muses.
“They would never,” Marion responds, in baby talk directed at Cat-fred.
"You don't have to use that ridiculous voice," Damian scolds.
"I know," Marion answers, in the same voice, Damian glowers.
“As we got older we started being able to actually get them inside before being found out,” Marinette distracts him from Marion's taunting.
“One of us would be the distraction and the other snuck in, with a sleeping cat or dog, that one we learnt the hard way,” Marion uses a normal voice, still showering Cat-fred with attention.
“I think that is how I got my reputation for being clumsy,” Marinette sighs, it was always left up to her to distract their parents by knocking something over while Marion snuck in.
“What can I say? Cats love me,” Marion proves his point as Alfred turns over, letting him see his belly.
“I can see that,” Damian seems amused as much as he is surprised.
“At first, they’d find them in a few hours, so we learnt by trial and error,” Marinette continues, relaxing into the couch. "We must have taken in at least a hundred strays,"
“I think the last one we had managed a few months before we go found out,” Marion guesses, they hadn't tried again since the received their miraculous.
For one because they couldn't afford their parents searching their room regularly and coming across the Kwamis. However being the heroes of Paris had also proven effective in getting people to adopt. Usually the first person they asked would immediately agree, if they were suited up.
“So how many more pets have you managed to smuggle in?” Marion stage whispers to Damian, the gap between them being too big to actually whisper, “In a place this big should be easy,”
“I’ve tried… Pennyworth has caught me each time,” Damian admits, looking down at the almost asleep Cat-fred.
“That man is a witch,” Marion declares with certainty.
“What?” Damian seems taken aback.
“He appears out of nowhere and knows too much,” Marion provides what Marinette is sure he considers evidence.
“Hn, that is true,” Damain starts to share his multiple accounts of such behaviour.
The three fall into easy conversation after that listening to and sharing stories.
“I must be going insane,” All their eyes snap to a man standing in the doorway “Demon spawns actually getting along with someone,”
“Todd,” Damian acknowledges coldly.
“Hi,” Marion waves with far more friendliness, “I’m Marion, this is Marinette, your names Todd was it?”
“Jason actually, I lived here and drop by every now and then, mainly when Alfred asks," He explains, sitting on another couch near Marion, "Heard about you had a run in with a villain today,”
“Did you?” Damian asks, the two having avoided it in their conversation so far.
“Yeah, got an earful from Aunt Selina,” Marion laughs nervously.
“Did you get hurt?” Jason looks over Marion, concern written all over his face.
“What? No I’m fine thanks,” Marion smiles, Marinette rolled her eyes she stretches her leg to press to his bruised side, "Ow! Nette!"
"No lying," She shrugs as Marion turns to her. Cat-fred runs at the sudden movement, making Marion pout.
"Rich coming from you," He mutters, turing back to see the look on Jason's face, "My side just a little bruised, doesn't hurt unless someone, oh i don't know, kicks me!"
"I didn't kick you, you drama queen," Marinette sticks her tongue out at him and he copies.
“Did Selina train you?” Damian reverts the conversation.
“A little when we were younger, we still to spar together,” Marinette pretends to go for a kick to his side again, expecting the easy block.
"One of the few instances we're allows to punch each other," Marion jokes, "Although I think I'll hold off for now, you're not above using my injury to your advantage,"
"I'm resourceful," Marinette corrects, "Also, now you're hurt when you're afraid to get you're ass beat?"
"Such crass language, young lady," Jason teases, Marinette pokes her tongue out again.
"I can spar you if Marion is unwilling," Damian offers, Marion grumbles something along the lines of 'I never said that'.
"Right now?" Marinette sizes him up, she could tell he had some training.
"If you want," Damian also starts to size her up.
"Hold up now, you can't do this," Jason steps in, Marinette starts to deflate, "In here, Alfred would stop you, lets go outside,"
She perks up, following Jason, Marion and Damian outside to a clear area of grass. She toes off her shoes and socks, knowing they were steel capped and would cause some serious damage. She also pulls off her scarf, not willing to give him any advantage. Damian keeps his shoes on, clicking his tongue. They start to circle each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Marinette feels the grass beneath her feet, she feels more like Ladybug in a way.
Damian breaks the standoff, lunging at her. Marinette side steps at the last second, reminding herself to tone it down. She tries to make use of the opening by getting behind him, but Damian instantly pivots to keep her in front of him. Marinette takes note he's a lot faster than anticipated and decides to test it. She makes the next move forward throwing a few punches to see how he reacts. Damian easily dodges each one, Marinette realises that she is unprepared to fight someone smaller than her. They did occasionally have to fight Akumatised children but that was with superpowers. She had never actually gone hand to hand with someone smaller.
Taking this into consideration she adjusts to a style she uses more when sparring Marion. They're both about the same size and he's fast so she can rarely use his weight against him like she usually would. Marinette stops trying to get behind Damian, instead planning to send him to the ground, knowing she had the size advantage. Damian seemingly notices this change and adjusts his defences.
'how well is he trained?' Marinette asks herself. Damian tries to goad her into attacking, throwing out punches. Marinette doesn't rise to the bait, dodging and blocking. Marinette dances around their sparring area, testing Damian's stamina while waiting for an opening. She sees her chance and is about to move into counter attack.
"Damian!" They both pause looking toward the manor to see Bruce and Selina.
"Marinette! what do you think you're doing?" Aunt Selina storms towards them.
"Uh... bonding?" She laughs nervously.
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mosquitoking · 2 months ago
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redrawing my brother's transformers AU (part 2)
Delta Prime's right hand man and loyal servant, Shockwave
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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 4 years ago
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Happy Birthday, mega-aulover!
Happy Birthday, @mega-aulover​! We hope you’ve had a wonderful day so far, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To keep your party going a little while longer, the lovely @endlessnightlock​ has written a story just for you!
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Happy birthday @mega-aulover! Here’s something a little spicy, a little sweet for your day. Soul-mark Everlark. Rated M for non-explicit sexual content.
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The first time I remember talking to Peeta, we were five, and it was a fall day, much like today- cool and windy, a welcome cool down from the heat of summer. He was standing at the bakery’s back door with his father, his little round cheeks pink from the heat emanating from the ovens. The heat was so intense from the kitchen you could feel it out on the step, and his eyes were the bluest things I’d ever seen. I think I fell a little bit in love with him then.
We were there that morning because my father took me along with him to trade with the businesses in town. It was a day of a lot of firsts: not only did I meet Peeta, but I also had my first Mellark’s fall apple muffin- I’d never tasted anything so delicious in my life. Since that day, I’ve had lots of baked goods from Mellark’s, and while my favorite is probably the cheese buns Peeta makes especially for me, I’ll never forget those apple muffins- they were like magic.
That day also marked the first chance I had to spend the morning in the woods with my father, tagging along behind him as he hunted and checked his traps. Prim was just a baby back then, and in my hazy memory of the day, I think she was teething, and Mother needed to sleep; that’s why I got to spend the day with Father. It was such a good day, and meeting Peeta was the icing on the cake.
My father is a hunter-gatherer, and we live in a small house in the woods close to where the fence used to run, separating it from the district boundary. It isn't far from town because my mother is one of the district healers, and there was school in town that my sister and I needed to attend, of course. It’s been a wonderful place to grow up, straddling that line between wilderness and civilization. My family is a happy one.
According to my parents, our life looks entirely different from how things were even five years ago now that our country is the New Republic of Panem. 
When my parents were teenagers, the Great War erupted, and the districts, with the military backing of newly rediscovered Thirteen, rose together and defeated the Capitol’s heavy hand of oppression. They’d taken everything away from the districts for so long- food, freedom, hope in addition to the two children a year, forced to fight to their deaths in the Hunger Games. 
After the war that ended in the rebel’s victory, citizens of Panem were free in ways they’d never been: free to travel, free to pursue higher education, and in Twelve, they were free not to work in the mines for a pittance until they died an early death from miner’s lung or cancer. The possibilities to choose the path of your own life? They’re endless now compared to what they used to be. 
The only place where we are not so free is marriage, which wasn’t the Capitol’s doing. That’s because of the soul marks. 
A soul mark is a pattern that emerges on your body through your teen years, eventually pairing you with your soulmate when you reach adulthood. If you’re going to get one (not everyone does), the beginnings of it show up around puberty, and the pattern typically doesn’t fill in entirely until you reach the age of eighteen. Once you hit your eighteenth birthday, you are considered ready for marriage as soon as you find the person with the other half of your soul mark. There’s a ceremony during the first day of the Harvest Festival where the eighteen-year-olds participate; it’s when the couples typically pair off. 
We’re all told from an early age about the force that draws you to your mate; the older couples in the district are continually telling us younger ones there will be no doubt who your soulmate is when your time to meet comes.
I have a soul mark- it looks like a series of lines on my right hand in the space between my thumb and pointer finger; it’s a long line, with a series of eight identical hash marks that meet it vertically, leaving me with a soul mark that forms what I think must be the bottom half of a barcode. I’m not entirely sure that’s what the mark represents or what it is supposed to be.
Some of my friends have the marks; some don’t. Delly has one on her thigh, and Madge has one on her back. Peeta, my closest friend, and the person I have so many confusing feelings for, has a soul mark; when I asked him where it was, he flushed six different shades and told me he couldn’t let me see it.
I don’t think Peeta knows this, but I got a good look at what had formed of his soul mark when we were fifteen. That summer, a group of us hiked to the lake hidden in the woods to swim. Madge and Delly and I wore our darkest bras and underwear, we’d been before and knew what the water would do, while Peeta and Gale wore their boxer shorts. Peeta wore a pair of boxers that were unknown to him, transparent from behind when wet. 
That’s pretty much when all the confusing thoughts I have about him began. I’ll never forget how dry-mouthed and hot I felt looking at him that way- I could hardly take my eyes off him. Peeta’s frame wasn’t as large then as it is now, and he wasn’t so muscular either, but it was still wholly overwhelming. He was all thick legs and broad shoulders even then, with the thin, wet material of his boxers leaving little of his backside to the imagination. 
I’ve spent a lot of time alone in my bed at night thinking about that day, not just because of the way he looked and the way it made my body tingle (of course, that was part of it), but because of his soul mark. On one side of Peeta’s, err, butt, I guess you’d call it, were a few curving lines I could just make out through the thin material, which I kept sneaking glances at when no one was paying attention to me. 
Like mine, I couldn’t determine yet what Peeta’s mark was supposed to be, but the curving lines reminded me of a loose sketch of clouds I’d watched him sketch once. Clouds and barcodes? Those two things were as unrelated to each other as doorknobs and jackrabbits. And it made me sad, realizing that his mark and mine were so different because that meant we were both destined to be married to someone else. 
I don’t know why I felt like that- I didn’t even know if I wanted to get married; it was just that if I were, Peeta was the only boy I could picture myself spending the rest of my life with. He’s my best friend- he makes me laugh and makes me feel comfortable just being myself, and lately, I find myself thinking a lot about what it would feel like to kiss him, among other things I’m too embarrassed to mention.
The fact that I’ll never have any of the answers seems impossible to stomach, and today is the day- Match Day, the first day of the Harvest Festival. I’m so scared of what it’s going to bring: both who I’ll end up matched with and who I’ll watch Peeta walk away from the square with. Both are reason enough to make me want to run.
In the square with the other girls, I’m here, waiting with Madge and Delly for Mayor Undersee to stand on the stage and give out instructions for finding your mate in the crowd; if your mate is of age. If you couldn’t find your mate today, you keep coming back every year until you met the person with the matching soul mark. Twelve isn’t a large district, so there aren’t many young men and women here, maybe fifty. I’d say a quarter of them are a few years older, like Gale, who hasn’t paired up yet.
I scan the crowd, and my eyes briefly catch Peeta’s. He stares at me intently, something in his eyes I can’t name. It doesn’t look like the fear that I’m sure mine hold. I don’t know what he’s thinking, so I look away from him quickly, my stomach sinking at the reminder that he will never be mine, not the way I wanted. 
Why couldn’t it have just been him? Why did we have to have these stupid marks on our skin anyway? I stare ahead at the stage, not looking to the left or right after escaping the razorlike sharpness of Peeta’s gaze on me. 
And then, it’s time. Mayor Undersee appears on the small stage erected in the square just for this occasion. He stands in front of the groups of young men and women gathered near the front while curious onlookers and family of the soon-to-be-matched stay towards the back. Mayor Undersee looks out, smiling benevolently at us all.  “Welcome to the matching ceremony!” 
I feel like I’m going to be sick. I think panic might be setting in. Because I’m so nervous, I can’t concentrate on what the Mayor is saying; every noise around me sounds like buzzing and droning. Words bounce around inside my head, but very few of them form a coherent thought. 
Meanwhile, my only real thought is- 
I can’t do this. I can’t do this-
And so, as Mayor Undersee is wrapping up, as I’m panicking, as I realize that I’d be just as happy living alone in the woods for the rest of my life as I would be married to anyone other than Peeta, I come to a decision. As unobtrusively as possible because I don’t relish the idea of making a scene, I turn around and, ducking my head, elbow my way to the back of the crowd. When I get to the end of the girls’ group, I take off running without looking back. 
Getting further and further away from the crowd, I hear someone call out my name, but I don’t stop.
I run for the first place I can think of, the bakery. The business is closed for the matching ceremony since Peeta is running it now; he has been since we graduated in the spring. At the time, Mr. Mellark moved into his new wife’s home. He still works at the bakery, but he wanted to make way for Peeta to have a place to bring his new wife. 
Surely Peeta won’t come back here right away with his match? He’ll have to meet with her family and make plans for their wedding first. I know I should go somewhere else, I tell myself as I run up the back stairs that lead to his living quarters above the business, but I want the comfort of being here one last time before I lose him forever.
Letting myself into his kitchen, my favorite room in this space because it reminds me of time spent here with him, I drag myself over to his table; it’s old, it’s wood worn smooth and soft over time. Pulling a chair out, I slump down into the seat and let my arms drop to the tabletop, laying my head there.
Eventually, I hear heavy footsteps coming up the steps. When they stop, I look up to see Peeta standing in the doorway. “Are you alright?” he asks, sounding out of breath as he approaches me.
I laugh derisively. “What are you doing here? You should have stayed. You’re going to miss your match,” I tell him, although I’m glad he’s here, secretly, even though I know it’s just going to delay the inevitable. Peeta’s still going to match to a girl who isn’t me- someone who’s soul mark matches his.
“What happened?” He asks gently, ignoring my words. He pulls out the other chair and sits, scooting his chair close to me.
Instead of looking at him, I stare down at my hands; the breath caught in my throat. I’ve never been hesitant with Peeta, but my heart is thumping oddly inside my chest, and warmth is spreading through me. What I’m experiencing is similar to how I always feel in his vicinity, but greatly intensified. I sense Peeta watching me, waiting for an answer. When I glance over at him, he’s staring at my mouth. His tongue darts out, and he licks his lips; it makes my whole body feel tight.
“I can’t do it,” I say, tearing my glance away from his mouth, “I can’t marry some random man from the district. Not when, if things were different, it could’ve been-” 
I’m trying to say it, trying to tell Peeta why I can’t go through with the soul marks match, but my words trail off when he moves into me. What I soon discover are his impossibly soft lips are on mine quicker than I would’ve thought possible, and oh, the feeling. At the first touch of his mouth on mine, heat spreads through me. It travels down to the tips of my toes and fingers, snaking its way through every fiber of my being. Peeta wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me down to the floor. We’re kneeling together when he pulls me against him again. I go without any hesitation; I want to keep kissing and touching him so badly.
“We can’t- we can’t do this,” I say, finally fighting against my wants as I attempt to pull away from him. I’m so weak, though, giving in to him when he chases me with his lips. Everything feels so good; I feel more alive, more right than I have ever been.
“Why not?” Peeta asks softly. His hands are everywhere, and I don’t want him to stop. I want to climb on top of him; it’s an overwhelming, powerful need. “Katniss, I love you-”
I give in because he loves me too, throwing myself at him with such force, I knock Peeta off balance. We tumble to the floor, landing side by side with our arms entwined around each other. “You shouldn’t say that,” I tell Peeta as my mouth drops to his neck. It feels like my brain and my body are directing two completely different courses of action, and I can’t seem to stop either one of them. 
“Why?” Peeta moans as I suck on his skin. 
“Our marks don’t match.”
“Do you want me, though?” he asks, sounding serious as he pulls away. We’re both harshly breathing as we stare at each other. “Do you want to be with me?” he repeats.
“Yes,” I whisper, searching his eyes, “Of course I do, but-“
He interrupts me, impatient with my reasons. “How do you know we don’t match? You’ve never seen my mark.” Peeta quickly sits up, rising on his knees. His hands drop, and I watch him tear frantically at the button and zipper of his pants. It’s surreal, lying on the floor beside him. My body is buzzing in a way that feels amplified times a thousand as I watch him unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper. 
I know I should look away, but I can’t- for the first time in my life, I let him see that I’m looking at him, that I’m fascinated by him, and I want to know all his secrets. As he pushes his pants down to his knees, the tails of his shirt drop, obscuring his front so that all I can see are his muscular legs. 
I don’t know what to do- Peeta is naked under that shirt, and I just-
He shifts a little, moving the bottom of his shirt to reveal one side of his behind, and I finally have a good look at him. I’m instantly distracted.
Wow, he’s got a great-looking behind. Gorgeous, really; in fact, I have a crazy urge to sink my fingers into it. 
I tell myself to snap out of it because it makes things a little weird with me lying on the floor next to Peeta, staring up at the side of his butt. So I sit up; when I’m upright, I move the portion of Peeta’s shirt away that’s obscuring my view since I still couldn’t see his soul mark.
Peeta shivers when my fingers brush against him, exposing his bottom while I remain silent. I stare at the sight that greets my eyes, and he glances over his shoulder at me expectantly with eyebrows raised. 
All I can do is drop his shirt, concealing his bottom again before covering my face with both hands, trying to keep the happy laughter escaping me from crossing over into hysteria. 
I absolutely cannot believe this.
“Don’t laugh!” Peeta says, but he’s smirking himself. “I know my mark looks ridiculous, but I told you we matched.”
I sit back on my heels- my body shaking with the effort of trying to hold my laughter in. I cannot believe this- I’m thrilled. I’m getting everything I want. 
Peeta turns to face me. He’s still on his knees, and his pants are still in a puddle around his legs, but he doesn’t hesitate to put his arms around me, pulling me close to him. “I love you,” he says as I get my laughter under control. I can feel him smile against my scalp.
“I love you, too,” I mumble, happy tears streaking down my face and wetting his cotton shirt. I’m probably getting snot on him by now, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Peeta pulls away, looking down at me. He uses one hand to wipe my eyes, and I take the opportunity to wipe my nose on the sleeve of my dress. I know it’s gross, but I guess some excess body fluids aren’t much to consider- he and I will be married soon. The corners of his mouth turn up in a smile as he watches at me. “You love me- for real?”
“Real,” I say, wiping my face with my sleeve again, just to be sure I got it all. “I love you.”
When my face is dry, I kiss him again, eagerly. I’m so happy, and I want him to know the way I feel. I love Peeta so much, and I want him so much. 
We’re kissing intently, and I’m urging Peeta to lay on top of me again as he slowly undoes the buttons of my dress, when I have an epiphany. What’s happening between us right now, this all-consuming hunger must’ve been what the older soul-matched couples referred to when they (rather knowingly now that I think about it) told soul-marked teens they’d know their mate when the time came. 
Apparently, in Peeta and I’s case, at least, “knowing when the time came” meant a quickly-awakened, unbridled desire for each other. Not that it took much for us when the love between us was already there, fully formed. I know this would’ve happened anyway.
It doesn’t take long for things to become even more heated between us. Before I know it, I’m lining up Peeta’s soul mark with mine when I reach behind him, grasping a handful of his delicious rump. My forwardness must surprise him, catching him off-guard in the middle of kissing a line down my neck and into the valley between my breasts, because when I do it, he grunts. HIs pleased noise makes my pulse race, so I do it to him again.
As for our marks? Of all things, Peeta’s is the top of an apple muffin, while mine is the bottom half. His curved lines and my rigid ones- they’re a lot like him and myself. Together we’re delicious. Although him on top and me on the bottom doesn’t last very long, just until he rolls us over and pulls my dress up and over my head, telling me he wants to look at me.
A while later, when the back of his head thunks against the wooden floor in bliss, I realize that maybe those apple muffins were pretty magical.
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hiptoff · 3 years ago
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The beach case
Find chapter 2 on AO3.
A new chapter by the hand of my sweet friend @annaofthenorthernlights. She really did roll with it!
Chapter 2.
Oh goodness, he looked even more handsome after some restful sleep and standing in broad daylight! Oh no, what was I going to do? That had been the most embarrassing moment of my life. Alright, maybe not as embarrassing as back when I was thirteen and telling my math teacher that I loved him, while his wife was standing right next to him, and I thought she was his sister…
´Alright, Anna, just breath evenly and relax. After all, you haven´t done anything wrong besides being late to work which was partly his fault, too, wasn´t it? But you´ve called him Zombie, hit his face and then you threw yourself at him, and he slept in your house. I´m doomed! But wait, he bought the croissants, such a dear… Wait what? Stop that at once! Alright, a hole, I need a hole to escape through into another world, where there were no beaches and bodies lying anywhere... Maybe if I stared long enough into the screen, the computer might swallow me and beam me up into some other sphere…”
But not matter how long I sat, nothing happened. So, all that was left to do, was to continue with my work like nothing had happened at all.
Oh, no! My project idea… Yelena had frowned at Kristoff´s suggestion, to hear my presentation out though I had been late. After all, I was part of the new magazine team and so the project group should meet one more time after lunch. My head spun, because my first chapter was not fit to be presented the way it was going. Last night, yes, well before I had found a dead body… till then I was convinced it was a super idea… But now… I doubted it, and then, I had put some efforts in it.
And while I was going through my pages of written drabbles and ideas, maybe to change the complete thing until lunch, for what I had about an hour left…, my project supporter showed up at my working booth.
Honeymaren was such a sweet coworker and maybe I could tell her, she would understand. But no, maybe better not, because it would look like I tried to hook up with the new sector leader… That was always a bad way to choose.
“Hey Anna, what´s up? Missed you this morning. Oh, no, you look like you have seen a ghost.”
Yeah, very funny…
“Hm, close.”
“Wait, what? What´s wrong, can I help you?”
“Thanks Maren, no. It´s just… Well, I was thinking of my story. Do you think we could still change it, and maybe you could draw another sketch for me?”
“But why? I think it´s great and I´m sure they´re going to like it, too. It´s nice and lovely, also suspending and thrilling.”
She was right and it was stupid to fuss about something as natural as taking a homeless person in for the night… Yes! I could do this… I will be radiant!
“Yes, you´re right, I´m sorry, just got a bit nervous.”
“Hey Anna, no reason to apologize, I understand. But hey, have you met the new section leader, Kristoff? Wouldn´t be surprised if some ladies here walked over dead bodies to get a date with that one.
´Why had there to be dead people everywhere…? ´I needed a hot chocolate, and a chocolate bar, and maybe a chocolate fudge to round up my nerves´ saving package.
***
The project meeting, especially called in for me – and Honeymaren in the background, was held in the conference room. I didn´t even eat lunch, not hungry and just flipping through my pages, waiting for the time to pass, so I could hear the final blow of being kicked out. But then, maybe it wouldn´t be that bad.
“Come on, Anna, don´t brood so much and just do it!”
I was ready, yes, I was soooo ready to show what I had in mind for the new story column of the renowned family magazine “Frozen Marshmallows”.
So, they were all sitting around the oak conference table like the knights of King Arthur, and all staring back at me were for one Mathias (redactor), Yelena (manager and head of the magazine), Olaf (cartoonist), Ryder (web design), Honeymaren (illustrator), and King Arthur personally, Kristoff the leader of the kids´ stories and family-adventure section.
He professionally greeted all and thanked everyone for showing up one more time, just then to ask me to present my project-idea.
I tried to put all my efforts in emphasizing the following lines and underlining feelings and situations of my story with intonation and active gesturing.
Magical gift
There was once a little girl about ten, who lived in a cozy house somewhere close to the sea, together with her parents. Her name was Elsa. Due to a heart disease, Elsa was not allowed to attend regular school like any other child. She had to stay at home, where she was safe, and she got tutored in her room by a private teacher. Many days, Elsa sat at her window and gazed out onto the street, where other children played. But she must stay inside. Oh, she would have loved to run, to jump and to play hide and seek with the others, and Elsa imagined how she would laugh and roll on the grass like they did. But her parents said no. They had to because it was too dangerous for her to go outside like that.
So, Elsa figured out a game, that was her own. That was “sneaking out and seek.”
Yes, sometimes at night, when the house was asleep, Elsa sneaked out very quietly, on her tiptoes, and when she had closed the door carefully, she turned and skipped down the front porch steps, happily to be outside and free to do what she liked.
At this point, I halted for a second, took a pointed breath before continuing, just to emphasize my voice of something special was about to happen...
And then, Elsa crossed the empty street, and went straight down to the beach.
It made her happy, strolling through the sand, her shoes in hand, and toes digging into the tickling ground. The waters came slushing and swirling around her ankles, and despite the coolly night, the air brushed softly and with a warm breeze through her hair.
But one night, Elsa stopped short when she thought she had spotted something peculiar in the distance. A bit further down the sandbank, there… but what was it? Her little heart was beating fast, and the girl thought for one to turn and run back home, but she was curious and stood, gazing into the dark to make out what she had seen. She walked slowly and carefully step by step, a bit closer, and then… She recognized…
Oh man! It had gone so well so far, and then I got interrupted by an exciting cry from Olaf.
“It´s a stranded Alien!”
“What?” Yelena exclaimed, “it´s a kid´s story and not a mystery thriller, seriously, Olaf, I beg you.”
“But Aliens are cool, and lots of kids like them. And what if it´s a cute Alien, you know sort of Disney type?” The young man looked into the round with a hopeful glint in his eyes.
“Yes, maybe,” Honeymaren interrupted his outburst, asking sarcastically that maybe beforehand a spaceship should have been sighted by anyone?
“You´re just jealous because I had such a catchy idea.” Olaf braced his arms over his chest, chin high, satisfied with his phantastic contribution.
This was getting sort of annoying, because I felt a bit stupid, right now. And then, there was Kristoff sitting, with a grin. He grinned! So, he seriously appreciated Olaf´s comment? Please no! But they hit another level of disaster when Ryder cried into the round, coming up with another suggestion of the strange found.
“No! I got it! She finds a dead body!”
´ WHAT??? Okay, where is this hole I can escape through? Please, anyone digging a deep hole for me??? ´And Kristoff´s grin dared to explode, his bruise excruciatingly mocking me… I was close to tears. Oh people, this was supposed to be a lovely story for any child…
Yelena frowned at Ryder. “A dead body? You´re even more insane than Olaf.”
“Why? This would be like some ´kid-solving-some-mystery-crime´story.”
And then a cacophony of discussing voices around the table broke out and I sat glaring into some faint distance, dreaming of a deep hole that would let me slide directly into another world, where no dead people or aliens were lying anywhere… When I heard a familiar voice call out that came to my rescue. Kristoff had tapped his pen to the water glass to get everybody back to silence and then asked for some attention.
“Alright guys, I can see you´re all very attentive and engaged in your work, and I appreciate your enthusiastic contributions. But to be honest, I´d like to hear what Anna has in store and that we could listen to her finishing herchapter?!” He clearly emphasized on my behalf and gesturing that this was after all my work. Everybody nodded in agreement, apologetically staring back at me. That was not necessarily better, but I did as I was told, what else should I do. So, I restarted my reading, and again putting a lot of emphasize in my voice and gesturing which I needed to pronounce the story with all my body language. And I didn´t want to see the man´s face when I came to these following lines…
She walked slowly and carefully step by step, a bit closer, and then… She recognized… a little puppy dog sitting shackled up to a bush, whimpering, and quivering in the cold night air. Elsa could clearly tell the little creature was cold, afraid, and hungry. A feel of despair and sadness overcame her, and she crouched closer to the wee bundle. She reached out a tender hand to cradle the little puppy´s head, to which the little doggy leaned in, waggling his little tale. Elsa reached further and scooped him up into her arms, asking aloud “who would do such a cruel thing and leave a little thing like you outside in this cold air?”
Now, I had to change my voice in between to something babylike…
“My owners put me here and left without saying goodbye.”
“Wait! Did you talk to me?”
“Yes,” the little dog piped, “you know, the lady in my house said that I couldn´t stay there any longer, and then they left me here. I´m scared. Can you help me?”
Elsa cradled the bundle in her arms, swaying him back and forth like a real baby, and smiled down at him. She thought about how strange it was that she could hear that little animal talk. But then, maybe this was a magical gift? Oh, she wanted to be the puppy´s friend, and maybe he would be her friend, too, and maybe together they would make up their own little world? Surely, she could ask her parents to keep him.
“Do you have a name?” She asked, and two round black button eyes beamed up at her and he barked happily.
“Yes, I do. I´m Sven!”
“Nice to meet you, Sven, I´m Elsa, and I will take you home!”
And then, Elsa and Sven set out saving other lost animals, with Elsa´s magic skill. Come and join them next month exploring their adventures!
And when I ended the story, I noticed a muffled sob across the room. It was Olaf, sniffing into his t-shirt. “Gosh, that´s even better than a stranded Alien!”
He made me smile and chuckle in relief, at least one had liked it. Now all that was left was to present Honeymaren´s illustration to the story, with little Elsa sitting and gazing woefully out of her window, or the girl walking along the beach, and finally holding the little puppy dog in her arms. And why had I worried in the first place? The lovely drawings were the top of the ice cream.
Mathias wanted to know my vision of this story, which he had like very much at that point.
“Well,” I said, “I think in this world that seems to be a daily colliding disaster, there are still so many things we can appreciate and be grateful for. For example, Elsa is ill, but with her gift she can help those who can´t talk for themselves. And I believe if we all try to do a little good whenever there is an opportunity, even if we can´t save the world that is, right here and now, I can contribute something positive in my own way. So, I thought that in each chapter, Elsa will be meeting another little animal in need, and Sven will be the friend at her side and together they find ways of help.”
There were some positive and complimenting remarks from the team and my story project got all the approving signs to be taken in for the new column line for the kids´ pages.
I really felt a weight falling from my chest and started to rearrange the papers into my folder, ready to head back to my workplace and continue with my work, when I noticed a tall figure showing up next to me. Everybody else had left already, and we were alone. A rush of heat set my face in fire, why actually I didn´t know, and I rummaged with more engagement in my paperwork.
“That was a lovely story, and I like the idea of the magical skill Elsa was gifted with.” Kristoff stated genuinely positive.
“Thank you. The idea had popped up in my mind a while ago.”
“And I thought you were some sort of a genius by creating a story like that within two hours after experiencing a nocturnal encounter at the beach.”
´Don´t stare at his bruise, nor stare at his bold chest, and don´t even stare at those beautiful almond eyes! Stop drooling, Anna!”
I forced myself to flicker my eyes at any spot of the room other than this handsome man, but that was stupid because he was being plainly nice, and I acted like a goofball. So, I tried to forget what had happened last night and talk to the man all normally and in a professional sensible manner.
“Thank you.” I giggled. “I sometimes tend to try out what it feels like to live my story through, and last night I was so tempted to take that walk along the beach. But of course, I did not expect to truly find something… But then, yes, maybe I´m a genius?!” I laughed and then pointed seriously at his cheek. “I´m still so sorry. Are you very sore?”
He chuckled and waved a hand to dismiss the topic, “Oh no. That´s not even that bad. You know, it reminds me in a nice way that I´m still alive!”
“It´s not nice to make fun of people when they had acted out of sheer lifesaving reasons, you know!” I really meant it. Or maybe not…?
“True! I´m sorry.”
“Sure!” Now I waved a dismissing hand, and then I realized something else.
“Say, did you find an accommodation yet?”
“No. Looks like it´s not that easy to find a moderate flat or apartment around here. You wouldn´t know anyone having a spare room for the time being?” He smirked with a shrug. Why felt my face so hot again?
“I do.”
“What? Having an idea or a room to let?”
“Both…”
“Thanks!”
“You´re welcome.” He´s just a coworker with leading position, becoming accidently an intermediate flat mate. No big deal!
Kristoff was about to leave the room to stop and turn around one more time.
“Oh, and I´m curious about how that story will unfold!”
“Which one?”
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myelocin · 4 years ago
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REQ #1 & #2
Synopsis: 
req #1 @xavestory​ | Catching the last train home and seeing your muse seated across you while the pages on your sketchbook calls for you to mirror the reflections in his irises. 
 req #2 @mrs-kuroojinguji​ | Sixteen hour flights to a new city with a photographer who has an eye for sunsets and people may have its perks. 
Characters: Sakusa Kiyoomi, Kuroo Tetsurou, You
a/n: This is the first two requests of Stories in Passing!  Three more in a separate post will be posted sometime tonight!
[ Sakusa Kiyoomi | For Xave, ] | Platform 2 of  JR Line, Miyagi Station
The perks of taking a train to the lesser populated side of town had as much perks as taking the last train scheduled for that day. For one, rush hour both in the mornings and evenings meant that you wouldn’t have to compete for seats or give up yours for a senior citizen. Second, or perhaps, your more favorable reason was that you were able the extra hour of commute both to and from work to catch some much needed down time and sketch.
Your sketchbook had taken permanent residence in your work bag at this point. There was something about the constant flip between the train’s motion stopping and starting that feels like it’s still constantly on the go despite the stops. And people were in a sense, the most beautiful when they were relaxed. Or at least you think so.
If someone were to flip through the pages of your sketch book, they’d see the faces of strangers staring back at them. The little girl who dozed off on her mom’s arm last week, the profile of a man standing by the door, and now—the stranger who’s occupying the seat across yours.
Even as you were standing on the platform you were automatically drawn to him. Despite the mask, he was irrefutably gorgeous. Sharp eyes, perfectly curled hair that fell on his eyes just right, and two moles that looked perfectly in place right above his eyebrow. As soon as he took a seat and nodded in your direction when your eyes crossed, your hands itched to sketch the living art in front of you.
The hour passed by a lot faster than you had anticipated with your stop being the next. You’re standing in front of the door waiting for the train to slow in to a stop when you notice him stand up and follow you out.
You’ve made it about twenty steps away from the train and the platform and into the elevator before the really good looking stranger looks at your sketchbook and then up at you.
“Artist?” he asks, and you can already feel your face warming up at the baritone of his voice. You nod, then grip your sketchbook closer to you.
“Can I see how you drew me?” he asks again, after some silence and instantly you pale as you turn to gawk at him.
“Excuse me?” you manage to sputter out.
And again, despite half of his face covered his mask—the intensity of his eyes as it bares down on you has you scrambling to look at anywhere but him. You hear him chuckle when you sprint out of the elevator as soon as the doors open.
Cursing yourself, you take a few deep breaths thinking of what to say before turning back to face him. Though, to be frank you didn’t expect him to still be standing in front of you, one arm in his pocket and the other holding the strap of his backpack.
“So,” he begins, beating you to starting the explanation you know you don’t have, “if I buy you dinner will you finally show me?”
Your mouth drops and you stare at him. “Sorry,” you begin, “what?”
He sighs in a way that has you even more confused, then reaches up to pull his mask down. “I said if I buy you dinner will you finally show me? I know you draw people when you’re in the train, just surprised that you finally picked me this time.”
You’re still staring, or rather, gawking, at his face up until he smirks in your direction and turns, saying, “I’ll take that as a yes since you’re not exactly saying no either. See you tomorrow, Xave.”
If possible, your mouth drops even further as your cheeks turn even redder when you realize he must have read the signature you sign near the edge of your sketches. Has he noticed you that long?
Your cheeks continue to stay red even as you turn and walk home. It’s when you’re some blocks away that you finally let yourself think about how beautiful that man really looked. The contours of his nose as sharp as the edges of his eyes, lips stretched to the most perfect grin and his eyes—dark and analytic as he stared straight at yours.
You smile; your hands itch to sketch his face again.
-
xave’s sketch is the reference to this!
[ Kuroo Tetsurou | For Ana, ] | Jakarta - London, 7:18 PM
When people stare, there’s sort of a social etiquette one usually adheres to and that is at least trying to not make it obvious.
Not in this case, though.
Waiting for your flight was usually enjoyable for you. People watching, for one was interesting; by the time you’ve checked in you could already gouge out at least ten stories of people either parting or reuniting. Then, it was the constant feeling of just being in motion; a solid destination in mind too.
Plus, the smell of coffee just constantly around the air easily became one of your favorite comforts you associated with airports. There was truly nothing better to perk you up for a long flight ahead than the smell of caramel on coffee and swirls of whip cream kissing your lips.
But this—or rather, the guy just blatantly staring at you felt odd.
He didn’t look like he was necessarily out to get you, but he just stared straight at you in a way that seemed too analytic for “just” people watching. At this point, you’ve probably shifted your body with a complete 90 degree angle just to face away from him, but you could still feel his gaze burn on the back of your head so you sigh. A quick glance at your watch told you that there’s only twenty minutes away until boarding.
-
And of course, it’s just your luck when the grandmother who was supposedly seated next to you switches seats with the man across the aisle.
“Hey,” he greets and you offer a tight smile at best. Great, you think, almost a sixteen hour flight next to the dude who can’t stop staring.
He’s quiet for a majority of the time. A majority. The minority was the conversations he slips in between meals and lulls in the atmosphere. Kuroo Tetsurou, twenty six years old and works for the Japan Volleyball Association as his career, but has a habit of people watching and photography from time to time.
“Does this mean you take photos of random people?” you joke, and he lets out a laugh that you catch is quite endearing as a response.
“No, no—“ Tetsurou explains, laughing again. “Not in the creepy way I swear.”
You’re look at him in between bites of your dinner and nod for him to continue. He smiles at your cue and continues, “People are interesting.”
“Maybe it’s because I was a captain back then or that observing people now is my job, but keeping that observation in candid photographs is pretty cool,” Tetsurou finishes and you take note he has a glazed look over his eyes; like he’s far away.
He’s quick to snap out when he notices you still staring so he smiles, laughing, and looks down at his dinner. “At least, I think so.”
“You have a point,” you tell him. He nods, looking out at the window beside your seat and directs his smile there.
“Wanna switch seats? Sun’s about to go down and I think you might wanna take a photo of the view.” you ask and he’s quick to shake his head. “It’s okay, the view here is nice too.”
You smile and nod your head not realizing he meant that he was looking at you.
-
It’s about thirteen hours later when you’re finally stretching and standing by the arrival area with your suitcase in tow in line at a starbucks. Tetsurou, the stranger in passing peeked his head in the entrance and shot you a smile as he spotted you.
“Morning,” you wave, smiling.
He returns your smile and that’s when you notice him fidgeting with the strap of his backpack.
“I, uh—“ he starts avoiding to look straight at you. “I was taking photos of the sunset earlier and you happened to be in one of the shots by accident, I swear. I can dele—“
You cut him off with a nudge to his shoulder and a laugh. “Let me see.”
He stands next to you while you scroll through the images. You have to admit, though, he definitely had an eye for color. The skies over Jakarta looked like a different kind of beautiful especially in the photos you happened to turn and shoot him a smile.
“Not to be creepy,” Tetsurou starts and you snicker. “—that’s exactly what a creepy guy would say,” you cut him off as a retort.
“On a scale of one to ten, this photo of you would be a hundred.”
You laugh at his comment and tug your suitcase, walking forward to the counter. “Guess I have to buy you coffee as payment?”
Tetsurou’s eyes gleam when you shoot him another smile, then his hands itch to click the shutter of his camera.
“As long as I get your number too, Ana.”
 -
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piracytheorist · 4 years ago
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A Kiss for Good Luck (8/15)
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Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.
A/N: This will hurt. I am sorry.
Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3) Warnings: This chapter contains character death, some depictions of violence, depictions of poor and unhealthy coping mechanisms, as well as a toxic relationship. Any intercourse and physical touch in general is fully consensual, but emotionally the relationship may appear upsetting to some. Also there are some elements that may resemble emotional self-harm.
Word count for this chapter: 4k (48k in total) AO3
Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3
~
Chapter 8: Killian Jones, October 19th 2011 – October 24th 2015
The kiss is deeper than he expected. Killian pushes the woman back, but gently. He was the one who gave her permission to kiss him, after all.
"I thought it would be a quick kiss. I have a girlfriend."
Her brows are going wild. "Shit. Sorry."
He's so stupid. What would Milah think? "'Salright. Go pee."
"Yes. That,” she slurs. “Thank you again."
Just as the woman closes the bathroom door behind her, Milah appears above him.
“You okay?” she says.
He looks at her confused, before he realizes it's not that normal to sit on the floor while at a club. “Yeah,” he says. “Just very, very drunk.”
She gives him her hand, he takes it, then she starts pulling at him. “Let's go outside for some air. There's too much smoke in here.”
“I wanna pee!”
She drags him up. “You can pee outside! Let's go!”
It feels better outside. The cool, clean air wakes him up a bit.
Milah throws her arms around Killian's neck and pulls him to lean his forehead on hers. He smells the martini in her breath, landing hot against his lips.
He closes his eyes. He could stay like this forever, and how he wishes this moment lasted that long...
“How sweet,” a sharp voice says from the side.
They turn together to see Gold staring at them, his hands crossed on the handle of his cane. There's two big guys flanking him, and Killian pulls Milah aside, stepping in front of her.
“What do you want?” Killian says.
“I did wait,” Gold says. “I held back, let you take my wife away from me.”
“Shut up,” Milah says, moving to Killian's side. “Our marriage was over long before I met Killian.”
Gold looks at her, hand grabbing the cane hard.
“You... you followed us here?” Milah says, suddenly realizing. “What the hell? Where's Jack?”
“You have no right to ask about him,” Gold says and takes a brisk step forward. “You went against my conditions for meeting him. You brought that bastard with you!”
Milah flinches, and Killian's left hand grabs onto hers.
“And you?” Gold looks at him. “Going behind my back to take my son on your side? Trying to buy his love?” His face seems to barely contain his rage as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a handgun.
Killian's hand squeezes Milah's as his other one raises up in defense. “Whoa, Gold, wait-”
Gold shoots.
Though Killian’s ears are ringing from the exploding sound, he hears Milah's trembling sigh. It feels like it's hours later that he turns to look at her, eyes going straight for the growing red spot on her chest.
And then she's falling.
“No,” he whispers and holds her, gently breaking her fall.
Her eyes are moving wildly, then she coughs and a thin trail of blood runs from the corner of her lips.
“No, no. Milah...”
She focuses on him. “I love you,” she whispers. She gasps one last time, then she's limp in his arms.
It's like even more hours pass. He feels her hot blood staining his hands.
Her eyes are closed. She's not breathing. Only her blood moves, dripping out of her body even though her heart has stopped beating.
“No,” he says.
He hears the tapping sound of a cane, and he looks up to see Gold standing above him, gun aimed at him. His henchmen also aim their handguns at him.
“What are you waiting for?” Killian says. “Finish it.”
What else can he say? It's not as if he'd leave him to tell the tale.
“Oh, no. You won't be so lucky,” Gold says, but he doesn't move.
Killian manages to hold himself back only long enough to set Milah down gently, then he lunges at Gold, grabbing the gun.
It all happens in half a second.
Gold shoots, Killian's ears are ringing again, and he sees two fingers fly off in a sudden fountain of blood.
He drops down to his knees. His left hand hangs limp in a way no hand should. The thumb and index finger are missing, and there's a gaping crescent hole, starting under his middle finger and reaching to the middle of his wrist.
The pain hits him suddenly and a scream erupts from his throat.
His vision comes and goes; one moment Gold is standing above him, the next Killian is leaning over Milah, the blood spilling from his hand onto her unmoving body.
There's more people screaming; people shouting; sirens, blue and red lights...
Then white. So much white.
Killian is just three days younger of twenty-eight when he once again thinks how he's cursed.
Milah is dead, there is no doubt about that. His hand was amputated, and he has to spend a whole week in the hospital before the doctors clear him for a transatlantic flight.
In the meantime he learns that Milah's body was sent back to England, per Gold's request.
At first, he finds it impossible; but the cops who'd questioned him about the assault soon inform him that Gold has solid alibi in London at the time of the murder.
Killian almost shuts down in the week he has to spend in there; Gold must have stolen Killian's phone before fleeing the scene of the crime, and Killian has no way of contacting Nemo, and he didn't let him know the specifics of his trip in the first place, like when exactly his return trip would’ve been.
If Nemo had known, he would have worried after not getting any news from Killian the day he was supposed to return. He would have contacted hospitals, would have found out about the assault. Probably would even honor Killian's request to attend Milah's funeral in his place, if Killian had the guts to actually ask him for that.
And to top it all, Nemo's phone at home is out of order. Why didn't he ever bother memorizing his cell phone? Now all Killian can do is lie in his hospital bed and do his damnedest to avoid looking at where his left hand is no more.
The blasted week goes by; Killian spends the rest of his savings into a new return trip, the only one he can afford has two stops in between.
He's dead tired, hungry, with fresh dog crap under his sole, and somehow he's not surprised to see his apartment has flooded.
It's three in the morning and he contemplates walking through the ankle-deep water anyway and collapsing in his bed.
He stands so long in front of the open door of his apartment that eventually the downstairs neighbor comes to complain about water dripping into his place.
One call to the fire department later, Killian picks up his two bags – he didn't have the heart to throw Milah's stuff away – and takes a taxi to Nemo's place.
Nemo obviously got out of bed to let Killian in, and of course, he asks Killian what happened.
It's like he's seventeen again, unable to react to one of the most life-changing news he ever received, only the opposite, in the most grim way that he never dared imagine.
He's hiding his handless arm inside his jacket pocket and silently walks the stairs up to his old bedroom. He doesn't answer Nemo's questions next morning, he doesn't even sit down to get breakfast. He goes straight to the lawyer Milah had during her divorce.
Gold is paying people to give false testimony, and Killian is gonna take him down.
Too consumed in his own hatred for the man, the whole week he spent planning his comeback he didn't think of the problems the lawyer is listing now; Killian was drunk – as evidenced by hospital records – enough for his testimony to be considered debatable; he also has motive to want to get back at Gold, stronger than Gold's motive to kill his unfaithful wife three whole years post their divorce which concluded in his favour; and of course, one has to prove first that Gold's witnesses are lying before questioning Gold's alibi of more than five thousand kilometers away from the scene of the crime.
Killian doesn't return to Nemo's place. His own apartment stinks, damp and moldy, half of his furniture and appliances were ruined, but at least his bed is functioning, and he can't deal with Nemo's sympathy right now.
He needs to take Gold down. He can't have any more distractions.
It takes him a month to remember his therapist. He checks his emails for the first time since the assault, and he feels he loses another part of him at the news of his therapist moving towns to study for a doctorate; she's suggested other therapists at him, followed by two more emails of asking if everything is okay, then nothing.
Killian looks at the names and phones of the suggested therapists as if they're threats to his consciousness. He actually laughs. Dr. Eriksen had him since before he was even an adult and she knew everything about his fucked-up adolescence. Where would he even begin with someone new?
He deletes the email.
For two years, his whole life centers around finding weak spots in Gold's armour. He quits from Shakespeare's boat rental and works at stock in the harbor. It's a tough, time-consuming job, but it keeps him in view of the sea and gets his mind off his pain. Alcohol takes over that job in his time off.
He stops drawing; Milah used to draw with him and it nearly breaks him to pick up a pencil to sketch. The last thing he sketches is the design for the tattoo with her name on it that is soon permanently inked on his arm.
Two years of trying, as much as his exhausted psyche and a mind always leaning towards booze can handle, and the best he manages is to break into Gold's house, hack through his computer and locate some suspicious activity between Gold's bank account and the one of one of his witnesses.
Thirteen years of no spots in his criminal record mean nothing to the law when there are spots in it in the first place, and he's arrested for breaking and entering.
Nemo responds to Killian's call to bail him out, even though Killian has barely spoken to him in two years. However, the disappointment is, for the first time since Killian met him, visible on his face.
“It's your decision,” Nemo tells him after Killian is out. “Your path to choose, and your life to ruin.”
If it were anyone else, Killian would be flipping him off. But Nemo is the one who took Killian in as an assortment of broken pieces and put him back together, loving and patient all throughout. The one who has always been too good to be called a mere father.
“It's not just wanting to get back at that bastard,” Killian says, nearly shouting. At Nemo's small flinch, Killian breathes in and out. Among all his losses, it's the first one that has filled him with such rage. “That monster killed her in cold blood. And he's out there now, not paying for his crime-”
His voice is too unsteady now to accommodate shouting.
“It's not just personal. He killed her-” A soft sob breaks his sentence in half. “-and he's walking free.”
“The world is not fair,” Nemo says in a very soft voice, hand resting on Killian's shoulder. “Come home, son. This isn't what you need right now.”
“No. I need to see him behind bars.”
“You need to grieve.”
Killian scoffs, laughing mirthlessly. “It's been two years.”
“Exactly.”
He drops his gaze. If he looks at Nemo's face right now, he may crumble, and his efforts of two years – albeit not very successful – will be rendered pointless. The time he lost, the damage he's done to himself, to his relationships with everyone, Nemo, Shakespeare, Will and Tink, it will all be for nothing.
And worst of all, he'll be yet another one who will do Milah wrong. If he gives up, he'll be doing to her nothing better than what Gold did, and the very thought sickens him.
There's only one thing he changes. His drinking has reached new levels, and he needs, if nothing else, to survive in order to bring Gold down. So for now, AA meetings are something.
At first, he only talks about how he manages to stay clean, how he slips and how he tries to not beat himself up over it. His fifth meeting is on a particularly bad day; the story of watching the love of his life die slips from him, and across the circle he gets looks of pity that he hates.
If only he told everyone about the furious thoughts for revenge on Milah's murderer that have been plaguing his every waking thought for the past two years.
He slumps in his seat and stays silent for the rest of the meeting. He shouldn't have come today, he should have known he would be too emotional to think rationally before speaking.
The meeting ends and he's already made up his mind to look into other AA groups before he even exits the building.
“Excuse me,” a voice calls at him.
He turns. It's Eloise Gardener, one of the attendees.
“On the last meeting you mentioned that mental activities keep your thoughts away,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“I'm hosting gardening classes, two evenings a week at the Bare Feet Greenhouse. I thought I could invite you to join, they're already quite cheap and I'll give you a discount.”
“Your name is Gardener, innit?”
She smiles. “And I am a gardener. Shocking, I know. But I've found it's a good distraction, especially knowing you're taking care of a life. You get the satisfaction without committing to... raising a child, let's say.”
Killian decides it's worth a try; unlike the AA meetings, raising a plant actually has visible proof of progress.
He stops coming to the meetings, but Eloise doesn't ask him why. She teaches him and guides him through providing a good environment for his plants.
One night after class, she helps him move the pots with his grown plants to his apartment. He doesn't truly invite her in, and when she initiates a kiss with him, he takes a few seconds of thinking before he realizes he doesn't mind that much.
It's just fuck, and Eloise doesn't seem to be thinking it's anything deeper than he does.
If he thinks it's any deeper, he'll just be haunted again by that miserable thought, that the last person he kissed before Milah died was not Milah herself, but a random stranger whose face he wasn't even sober enough to remember.
Eloise leaves and within minutes, he's left as well to search for any open store that sells booze. Rain is pouring down, cars splash him until he's soaking wet, but he finally gives up when he trips and falls, his leg hurting too much to take him too much further.
Even the couple of hours he stays in the hospital while they put a walking cast on him feel unbearable. Two years have gone by and the memories of hospital misery are still too raw.
Eloise doesn't comment on the cast nor his continued absence from the AA meetings. She invites him to her place and after they have sex he asks if he can stay the night. That way it's much easier to avoid looking for a drink to deal with how disgusted he feels.
Even the other people attending the gardening lessons wouldn't imagine Eloise and Killian are sleeping together – and Killian is attending two different classes side by side. Not that there's anything to show for it. They just fuck, sleep in the same bed, and that's all. She keeps him from running out for a drink in the middle of the night, better than any AA meeting managed, he gives her a person to have control over the way she wants, and they scratch each other's itches.
Nemo keeps trying to stay in touch with him, and Killian nearly blocks his number out of pure shame. Perhaps if Nemo realizes he's been blocked he'll stop bothering.
Killian has practically moved in with Eloise now, or she with him; in any case, they'll sleep in the same bed every night, whether it's the one in Killian's apartment or the one in Eloise's house.
He cannot connect who he was before with who he is with Eloise now. Before Nemo even adopted him officially, Killian had allowed him to pick up his pieces and make him a functional human. With Milah, it was Killian who was the whole, the rock she could lean on.
With Eloise, he can once again be broken, but without any expectation to get fixed back up – and he's too tired for unrealistic expectations. He can stay the mess that he is, sharing his body and his space with her so that he can feel something, even when the feeling isn't the best. Eloise is controlling and demanding, and Killian's feelings for her range from fear to disgust, but he prefers those over pain, grief, rage, and a continuously burning thirst.
It's easier to hate his... “partner” than to hate everything else in his life, including himself.
He's actually shocked to realize two years have passed since his first time with Eloise, and nothing at all has changed. Their feelings didn't change towards one way or another; they just kept fucking, sleeping next to each other, and going by their day without thinking about each other.
He almost hates it when she asks him to ride with her to a concert in Maidstone. Not only because she's making ensuring no-one assaults her sound like a chore, but also because he's still not ready to enjoy music he used to love. Especially not in her presence. Being in her company is not a circumstance that fits happy thoughts.
There's a lot of things he's been denying himself since Milah died. Everything that used to make him happy, even the company of his family, feels sullied now.
He doesn't expect to enjoy the concert. But Eloise buys his ticket and drives the car, so he decides that he can tolerate one night of being a boy toy to discourage sleazebags.
It doesn't even feel that special that his birthday is tomorrow; he lost Liam a few days after his fifteenth birthday, and Milah a few days before his twenty-eighth. Maybe it's just not in the cards for him to celebrate it again.
For three whole hours, he forgets everything. There's just the music, and the lights, and his throat getting sore from singing without a care.
There is, of course, the occasional groping, people stepping on his feet, even getting an elbow to the ribs, but for him it's all par of the course now. Including checking his pockets afterwards and realizing that twenty pounds are missing. And Eloise being... well, Eloise.
“You were supposed to stand by my side,” she starts complaining after the concert is over and people start dispersing.
“I can assure you I was touched against my consent far more than you were.”
“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”
Ugh, her arrogant, calm face she makes when she tells him off. He hates it.
“If you wanted an actual bodyguard, you should have hired one. I only have one hand,” he bites back at her.
“Really? I get you a birthday gift and you consider this an appropriate response.” There’s no question mark in her tone.
“Oh, piss off. As if you've given a fuck about my birthday all these years.”
Her lips purse together, but her voice keeps that cool tenor that irritates him to no end. “I wanted to make it a good one for you. Just because you don't care about it doesn't mean no-one else does.”
He sighs. He actually had a good time and he doesn't want it ruined by her gaslighting. He's experienced people actually caring for his birthday, and he knows Eloise's words are just words. Next, she'll say that she contacted Scorpions themselves and asked them to have a concert the day before his birthday.
She shakes her head and goes for the portable toilets. At last, he can have some time on his own. He turns his head away and back to the scene, now completely empty.
No One Like You wasn't exactly the song he liked the most tonight, but it's the one he can't stop humming. He's humming!
Maybe he does owe Eloise a bit. Just a bit.
"Catchy tune, huh?" he hears from the side.
He turns, seeing a woman with a wide smile on her face.
"Oh, which one isn't?" he says, smiling back. "What a night."
The woman nods. "Did you have fun?"
The words pour out of him like vomit. "A lot of people stepped on me, I got groped, pick-pocketed, and I got in a fight with my...” – How should he call her? – “friend, but you know what?" He shrugs. "Bloody worth it."
"Oh.” Her face softens. “Sorry that you were mugged."
"Ah, it was like, twenty quid. I've known better than to carry credit cards where hands can easily reach." A very dedicated hand, maybe. There's only so many hiding spots he has.
"Do you have a ride back home?" the woman says.
He stares at her, and he feels his jaw drop when he realizes. "Bollocks. I overshared, didn't I?"
She just smiles. "I mean, I have a car, and space for two... how many of you are there?"
He scratches behind his ear. "Don't worry. We've got a car. And we going right back to Brighton, anyway."
"Oh.” She seems to think for a moment. “I don't even know where that is."
He holds back a laugh. "Figured so. From your accent."
Her smile widens. "I'm Emma," she says, extending her hand.
"Killian," he gives his hand back, careful to keep his left arm inside his jacket pocket. She's still looking at his face when he drops his hand to his side. "So... you know that they're actually having a few concerts in the States for this tour, right? How come you decided to fly all over to here?"
"Well, today... or more like, yesterday," she pauses as she checks her watch, "was my birthday. This was more like a birthday gift to me, and of course I'm going to see them in-” She pauses suddenly. “What?"
She's obviously cut off by the expression on his face. "You're not kidding? Tomorrow- or, today, is my birthday."
"Wow. Happy birthday, then."
"Happy birthday to you too. Seems it was a great one."
Emma seems happy as she looks back at the now empty stage. "I'd say one of the best ones. Does your birthday seem promising?"
His chest feels twice its normal size when she turns to look at him. Somehow, with their birthdays being so close, it feels as if her having had a great birthday is feeding his own satisfaction for that day, for the first time in four- no, five years.
Some of her slightly messy hair is sticking to her face – she probably went all out dancing tonight – and her eyes seem to droop in drowsiness, but she's absolutely glowing.
Glowing and looking at him.
When she takes a step towards him, it feels like it's gravity that's pulling his own body to her.
"It seems that way, aye," he replies.
Her eyes close when she's a few inches away from him, but he waits for the moment his lips touch hers to close his eyes.
~
(A/N: I want to remind the readers that this chapter is told from Killian's point of view, distorted as it is from grief, rage and isolation from the people he loves. Emotional progress is almost never visible in the short term, especially regarding addictions. Killian might have thought the AA meetings didn't help him, but it doesn't mean that giving up and depending on a controlling person to keep him clean was the healthy thing to do.
I know it's a work of fiction but some lines are easily confused, so the message I want to pass is that if you or a loved one is trying to let go of an addiction, keeping up the effort when progress isn't directly visible may be hard, but it's worth it and will eventually help.)
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