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wondernus · 2 years ago

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˗ˋˏ When We Meet Chapter 1 ˎˊ˗

synopsis: there is only so much forgiving and forgetting you can do when you end up getting stood up by your date over and over again. so when you're stuck between the best friend, the first crush, and their mysterious roommate whose existence seemed like a myth, you can only hope the decision you've been making is the right one.

pairing: kmg x reader

chapter tags: food, university setting in the past

wc: 1.8k

message from nu: when we meet chapter 1!!! this chapter may be a little familiar for some of my longer followers bc I posted a portion of this as a snippet about a year ago. but I'm still excited to share this new series with you all hehe. - nu

masterlist | taglist | next chapter

DK is positive that if he sneezed, the puff of air that shoots out of his nose would be strong enough to knock over the guy he is currently helping hold steady.

But Kim Mingyu — tall, lanky, and irrationally stubborn, refuses to accept help from his obviously more capable roommate. He stands on his makeshift stepladder and attempts to shimmy out his giant hard-shell suitcase he somehow managed to store at the top of his closet the day he moved into the dorm. However, the only thing Mingyu seems to be taking out of his closet is the dust that collected on top of his belongings. And DK is trying his very best not to sneeze.

Who would have thought that Kim Mingyu would be built like one of those wavy inflatable tube guys you see while driving past car dealerships on the highway? His little self-intro on the university roommates request page painted him to be an outgoing type of guy — likes photography, running, and dogs; dislikes people who are rude to waiters, bad vibes, and heights. His profile picture was an aesthetic photo of him in some art museum in Europe. Mingyu turned out to be exactly who and how he described himself. However, had DK or Minghao known their literal pre-serum Steve Roger roommate wasn’t who they thought him to physically be, they would’ve assigned him to the loft bed with the standing closet when they were deciding bedspaces before moving into their dorms.

Now, DK can only stand behind his roommate with his two hands gripped firmly around the wooden chair’s backrest and hope the suitcase doesn’t take his roommate out before the mosquitos from wherever Mingyu is heading do.

For starters, it’s hard to believe a college sophomore — one who has to sleep on the bottom bunk because the floor is closer to the humidifier — is going on a journey to some place where he probably couldn’t restock on his precious Aquaphor that he has to slug onto his cracked heels every night and then protect with his aloe-infused fluffy bed socks. Mingyu is physically weak. He is like a Basset Hound puppy who keeps tripping on its long ears because it still needs to grow into them. He is a Victorian child experiencing EDM for the first time. He is the university dormitory Wi-Fi when everybody is back from vacation. A Lego Man figurine is probably more built than Kim Mingyu in every single physical aspect — and that is not an overstatement.

And his luck…Oh, how unlucky Kim Mingyu can be at times.

Minghao, their third roommate, tells Mingyu it’s puberty. But Kim Mingyu and his hardheaded personality firmly believes he is the unluckiest man in the world. Puberty, Minghao reminds him. He’s simply going through puberty. It just doesn’t seem like it because his growth spurt arrived ages before his puberty did. Mingyu digresses. He always digresses.

It is a bunch of small, often uncomfortable or inconvenient, occurrences bundled into one that leads Mingyu to believe he has somehow been cursed. Setting off the fire alarm after using the new microwave in their floor’s common room? In reality, some kid snuck in an illegal rice cooker and forgot to open the window while cooking some rice in his dorm room. Sleeping past an alarm the day after he accidentally stepped on a crack in the sidewalk? He didn’t know he accidentally set his alarm as P.M. instead of A.M.. His clumsiness? He wears clothes in sizes either too big or too small for his body. He’s never heard of tailoring before.

Mingyu claims his curse started when he was dared to download an Ouija Board app on his phone on the bus ride home from one of his high school field trips. DK reminds him that where there is a cause, there is an effect. It just so happens that Mingyu doesn’t realize that he is his own cause of his string of “bad luck.”

So, when Mingyu abruptly announces to his two roommates that he’s leaving in the middle of the semester for some Eat, Pray, Love type of trip with his rich aunt, the two roommates can only ask why and whether or not dormitory rent is going to be more expensive given that there would technically only be two roommates instead of three:

“I dunno-” Mingyu picks up his sub, trying to adjust his grip so the tomato slices don’t slip out when he takes a bite. “I think it’ll be a nice change.”

DK gawks at him while Minghao looks through his canvas tote bag for a hair tie. Mingyu shrugs and brings the sandwich to his lips. A thin and bright red tomato slice slips out from the backend of the sandwich and lands on the ceramic plate below. Mingyu sighs and sets his sandwich back down on his plate and opens it to tuck the tomato slice back into place.

The most level-headed of the trio, DK, stares at the guy who sleeps below him reattempt to take a successful bite of his sandwich. Minghao, whose long hair is now tied in a manbun, twirls his fork around his plate of limp spaghetti.

“You know it’s bad for your scalp if you tie your hair too tightly.” Mingyu gestures to his own head to show Minghao. There are bread crumbs in the corner of his lips, and some sauce on his fingers. He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean before taking another bite.

Minghao ignores him and stares outside the window at the family of ducks making their way into the shade outside of the dormitory dining hall.

A nice change is what newly divorced couples say in movies. A nice change is giving your childhood bedroom a makeover. A nice change is when Mingyu can finally take off his damn braces so he doesn’t spit on people while he talks. DK reckons it’s because Mingyu is having trouble adjusting to adulthood. He’s a second-year going through what Minghao calls a “prolonged puberty experience,” but DK thinks that all Mingyu needs is time. He has the braces, the lisp, and the inability to act normal in front of crushes. It’s normal. Everybody moves at their own pace. DK thinks that all Mingyu really needs is a little confidence and a major glow-up.

“You said you’re going with your aunt?” DK pinches a fry between his fingers and decides to drop it back down. “What about our dorm and school?”

Outside the dining hall, a Resident Director leads a group of elementary school students on a tour around the dormitory area. The students look around the several tall dormitories and point at the ducks when they see them. The teachers who walk behind their students are too busy staring at their phones to care if the students chase after the animals.

“Hey, do you think ducks are easy to pick up?” Xu Minghao gently sets his fork down and cups his hands, placing them side-by-side. He looks at his imaginary bowl and ponders out loud, “They look like they’ll fit perfectly in my hands, yunno. Perfectly scoopable.”

“My aunt isn’t married and doesn’t have any kids so she says she’ll give me her money if I travel with her.” Mingyu chews with his mouth open and pauses to wash it down with some milk, ignoring Minghao’s question. Or maybe he didn’t hear the question over his loud chewing. He exhales and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Something about going on a journey to prove that material wealth isn’t all there is in the world.”

Having lost his appetite from looking at his roommate, DK pushes his plate of fries away from him. He asks Mingyu, “Isn’t it counterproductive because you need money to travel the world?”

“Ehh.” Mingyu slinks in his seat, but reaches over to grab some of the abandoned fries. “But don’t worry about my grades. I’ll be studying abroad and will probably be back in time for graduation. Hopefully my credits can transfer. And my aunt is paying for my dorm so you guys don’t have to worry about paying more.”

“And the school is okay with you paying even through you’re not going to be here?”

“Universities don’t care as long as they’re earning money,” Minghao huffs and stabs a meatball with his fork. “But God forbid I take more than three free yoga classes at the rec center and all of a sudden I’m banned for the rest of the month.”

A new group of friends set their bags down at the table next to where the trio are sitting. One of them seems to recognize DK and politely waves at him before catching up with their friends to line up for food. DK smiles and waves back — he only met them a few days ago.

“I- I think taking that trip will be good for me,” Mingyu stutters when he realizes he has been staring at DK’s friend who waved the entire time. His eyes quickly travel back to looking at his best friend’s fries. He fidgets his fingers before reaching for another one, trying not to make it obvious that his cheeks are not glowing red just because of the inflammation from his acne. “Maybe I can meet some new people, learn a few things, and bulk up from all the traveling I’ll be doing.”

In the present, Minghao opens the dorm door and enters with a duck tucked under his arm, American football style. He makes his way over to his desk and drops off a few textbooks. From behind the chair he is helping hold steady, DK swears the duck looked at him straight in the eye.

“Yn said you should come to the beach hangout on Saturday,” Minghao tells DK while grabbing his water bottle and yoga mat.

“I’ll think about it,” DK replies while staring at the duck who seems perfectly content with being held by the Second Year.

“Who’s Yn?” Mingyu calls from his uncomfortable position above the chair. He thinks he finally found a way to pull out his suitcase without his roommate’s help.

Minghao shrugs and swings the mat over his shoulder, choosing to completely ignore his roommate’s question. The duck quacks, and Minghao waves goodbye before exiting their shared room.

Mingyu, who finally and successfully managed to start pulling out his suitcase from an angle, sneezes from the falling dust and pushes the suitcase back into place.

“Bad luck,” he mumbles to himself. “Bad luck.”

#svthub #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #mingyu imagines #mingyu x reader #seventeen au #svt au #seventeen series #svt series #mingyu series #mingyu x yn #mingyu fluff #seventeen fic #mingyu angst

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

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love is something you build

Please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3!

And huge love to @minky-for-short for coming up with this amazing AU <3

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Vex has had it rough, to put it mildly.

She's trying to make a fresh start after finally breaking away from Saundor. She has a new job, she's living with her brother and his new boyfriend, she's trying her best to be a good mother to her son, no matter who his father was.

But it's not until she walks into de Rolo's Toyshop that she really feels her life start again.

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Halfway home, Vex’ahlia had to admit that she’d maybe been wrong not to call her brother for a ride home from work on a bitter winter night.

There were snowflakes melting through her thin coat, feeling an awful lot less beautiful when they were turning to icy sludge down her spine. Her fingers felt numb no matter how many times she flexed them inside her pockets, she was worried they’d snap off at the joints if she tried it again. Her ears were beginning to ache, their tips bright red with only her hair between them and the cold, and her boots were developing bone cold puddles inside.

She should have called Vax’ildan. He’d told her to, before she’d left for the bakery that morning, calling after her as she headed out of the door, not wanting to linger and spoil his and Shaun’s quiet breakfast together. Vex knew they wouldn’t have minded but, even after living with them for nearly six months now, she still sometimes felt like an intruder. Like a smudge on the surface of the wonderful life Vax had worked so hard to build for himself.

He didn’t need his sad, broken sister haunting every moment, reminding them of darker times.

She imagined him and Shaun sat on the sofa together, Vax doing that thing where he twined their legs together, insisting he was cold when the both of them knew he just wanted to be close to his husband, neither of them paying a blind bit of attention to whatever was on the TV. As much as it made her nose wrinkle, she imagined Shaun stealing kisses just because he could, choosing to let her mind linger more on how he’d look at her brother like there was nothing else in the world. Just the way she’d always thought he deserved to be looked at, completely as himself.

And then she imagined the high, shrill cry shattering their moment, bringing Vax to his feet so hurriedly, she could see him falling flat on his face if he wasn’t careful. Raven, jolted from his nap and crying because he’d woken up alone and that terrified him.

Vex felt her steps double in pace, as much as she could without risking her neck on the icy sidewalk, as much as she could get her aching feet to accelerate after a long day standing behind the counter at the bakery. Her arms felt that aching absence they got sometimes, the need to have her son’s warm, comforting weight in them.

She did hate being away from him on these long hours, even if it gave her brother a chance at date night without needing to check on her every five minutes or include her. Even if it did give her these trickling feelings of freedom in the form of her paychecks and having somewhere to be each day, this confirmation that her life and its purpose really were hers to decide again. Saundor was far away, she was beyond his reach.

Six months on, Vex caught herself actually believing that sometimes.

She was getting used to being in the city, as intimidatingly different as it was from Byroden and Syngorn, worlds away from Saundor’s isolated forests. It was loud and complicated and detached but that was strangely comforting. Vex could move through the streets and the endless people, never worrying that one would know her face or her past. There were always other people’s voices around her, other lives continuing on at their own hurried paces like river currents just passing her by, she never felt isolated the way she’d been feeling for so long.

Vex could understand why Vax had come here after escaping their father. And why he’d known it would be the perfect place to bring her to get back on her feet after she’d pulled herself from a similar mire, even if it took her longer and she made more mistakes along the way.

She wrinkled her nose, feeling a stab of guilt. She wouldn’t think of her son as a mistake, even by association. He was the only thing that saved it all from being a complete and total waste. And she could understand better than anyone how you couldn’t help who your father was.

One thing she still wasn’t used to was how things in the city could change so quickly. Like how you could be on your way home from work, tired and cold and ready for sleep you knew would still be a long time coming when you got home, and suddenly there would be a shop on the corner than you hadn’t seen before, lights so unconscionably bright at this hour that you had to squint. So bright that you stopped in your tracks for a reason you wouldn’t be able to remember later.

Vex couldn’t be certain of what she was seeing for a few long moments, it didn’t make enough sense at first. The shop on the corner didn’t look at all like it belonged in the city. In fact, it looked like someone had made a collage of the block, choosing for some unknowable reason to paste a scrap of some idyllic countryside storybook village amongst the grey concrete. The roof was painted red, so was the door, the windows were the kind of antique looking leaded glass that bubbled slightly in places to warp the warm, cosy scene within. For some reason, the snow didn’t seem like such an uncomfortable inconvenience when it was frosting the shop’s slanted roof and gathering like a fluffy scarf under it’s windows and dusting the exquisitely painted sign that hung on an honest to goodness iron bar so it swung in the winter flurries.

de Rolo’s Handmade Toys.

Vex exhaled as a thought struck her, her breath turning to a faint whiteness in the air. She felt her paycheck against her chest, heavier than the slim envelope tucked into her inside pocket should have been. Most of it would go to Vax and Shaun, fully against their will as they’d asked for absolutely nothing in return for her living with them. But Vex couldn’t forget the weeks and weeks just after she’d left Saundor, when all she’d been able to do was lie on the bed in the spare room- the bed she’d recently allowed herself to think of as her own- and stare at the wall while her son cried beyond the door, his uncles comforting him and doing what she didn’t have the strength to. She couldn’t forget the meals Vax had brought her that she hadn’t been able to eat, the hours he’d spent sitting in the chair next to the bed and eventually when she was able, lying beside her, telling stories and chatting complete nonsense about whatever entered his mind just so the silence wouldn’t drive her mad. She couldn’t forget those mornings when he’d so patiently coaxed her up, helped her sit down in the shower fully clothed to let the water sluice the dirt off her skin and done her braid for her so neatly afterwards.

So much was foggy and piecemeal about those months but Vex would not forget those kindnesses. And she wasn’t going to let them pass unrepaid.

But there would be some left over, even if Vex would gladly have given it all over to Vax and Shaun, they’d more than earned it, but there was only so much she could stuff into the register at Shaun’s shop without being caught. It felt so freeing to have even that small amount in her bag, knowing no one would be asking her what she did with it or asking her to justify why she was allowed it. To have the freedom to buy something just because she could.

And she knew exactly what she wanted.

Of course there was a bell to ring out a cheery, brassy note as she pushed the door back. The inside was every bit as idyllic, if a little empty. There was no one else browsing the shelves, full of toys neatly organised into sections. There was an array of intricately painted wooden soldiers standing to attention, there was a zoo’s worth of hand sewn plush animals dominating one wall, a well stocked garage of intensely detailed vehicle models of all shapes and sizes and types. There were hand carved ships that looked ready to set sail in some child’s bathtub, miniature animals that were so lifelike Vex could picture them moving the instant her eyes left them. There were dollhouses ready for occupation, a circus set, rainbow kites hanging from the walls, jack in the boxes ready to spring, dolls beaming prettily up at her. There were even wooden swords and a tiny archery set that would have delighted her younger self.

It was like stepping into a child’s dream.

Vex hoped the emptiness was down to the lateness of the hour. Toys like this just deserved to belong to happy children and with Winter’s Crest approaching, she hoped they’d all find homes.

She was a little startled to see there was no one behind the counter either. Was there a closed sign she’d missed? But all the lights were on and the door had opened with its zealous announcement…

From a back room she could hear a saw going, grating through some material with a metallic rasp that somewhat dampened the illusion of having walked into a traditional Winter’s Crest poem. But it stopped, something that sounded wooden clattering off the floor, and footsteps in her direction. Vex forced her shoulders back from the tense, anxious set they tried to rise into, made her fingers unclench from the fists they wanted to make.

She was getting better at not immediately assuming every stranger was a threat to her but there would always be that first, sickening instant before catching herself. She told herself at least it was an improvement from being terrified to go outside just because there would be faces she didn’t know.

The man who stepped out of the back room so fit the name on the sign, so fit the whole aesthetic of the shop, that there was no doubt who he was. He was owlish, a snowy owl to be precise, with thick glasses (that on second glance were actually several lenses on some clever hinge) and hair that was feathery and stark white. He wore a thick leather apron, deep nicks and grooves all over it showing its wear, a simple collared shirt underneath like he’d been trying to dress like a shop owner but had gotten lost.

And when he saw her, he smiled as bright as the lights in his window.

“Good evening. Sorry, I’ll just be a moment…”

“If you’re busy, I can come back another time,” Vex said quickly, as he sat an actual hand saw on the counter by the register.

“No, please, you have my full attention,” he promised, wiping his hands off on his apron. She noticed he had a bandage wrapped around his thumb and old burn scars across his knuckles, “It’s my fault for getting distracted back there again. I keep forgetting it’s only me here and I can’t just spend all my time in the workshop.”

Vex smiled, though it was ever so slightly awkward to be the only customer in the shop. She wasn’t even fully certain what she wanted. Coming in here was starting to feel a little like a mad impulse born out of exhaustion and too much sugar.

“So...you are de Rolo?” Vex tilted her head.

“I am,” he smiled again, “Percy de Rolo. Just Percy is fine though.”

“Percy,” she nodded, not offering her name in return. She’d spent far too long with Saundor to give that up on a whim, no matter how far she stood from Shademurk right now.

It didn’t seem to bother Percy de Rolo in the slightest, he only looked at the snow caking her cheap work shoes and staining the bottom of her trousers, “The weather’s only gotten worse, hm? Here, have some tea.”

Vex opened her mouth, about to insist that he needn’t go to such trouble, but he’d already crossed to a small antique serving cart at the other end of the counter, where a pot was steaming invitingly and sugar and cream were neatly arranged around a sign that invited Please help yourself! in a neat, looping script. And she was thirsty, after all. The bakery had been busy today, there hadn’t been time for her break. As long as he wasn’t going to any extra trouble…

“Thanks,” she sighed gratefully as she accepted the mug, wrapping her bitten fingers around it’s warmth.

“Think nothing of it,” Percy folded his arms, “It is there as an apology mostly, for when I inevitably keep my customers waiting while I mess with something in the back.”

“What were you making?” Vex asked curiously, her eyes travelling over the shelves of handmade toys.

“Something new actually,” Percy’s voice flooded with enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up behind the thick lenses of his glasses, “I’ve been working on a new double bracketed hinge design for better articulation and more lifelike movement while keeping them invisible which is hard because often you’re sacrificing delicacy for ease of movement but with this one I was trying to see if…um…”

His face flushed and he bit down on his lip like he was physically stopping the words from coming, “Sorry. You don’t need me prattling on, what was it you came in for?”

Vex felt a smile tugging at her own lips but she held it back, fearing he’d take it as mockery. She just loved it when people who were very passionate about something talked about it. Vax did with the balance of different throwing knives, Shaun did it with magic and fine wines. Vex could have done it about her arrows or woodland animals, if thinking about those things didn’t still ache inside.

“I want to buy a Winter’s Crest gift for my son, actually.”

“Wonderful,” Percy inclined his head, sounding suddenly businesslike, “How old is he?”

“He’s only six months,” Vex explained, picturing him in her mind as she spoke, as her voice softened. The thick, black hair and dark skin that was all her’s, the round cheeks and pudgy little hands and feet and full stomach she was so grateful to see on him. The bright eyes and enormous, sharply pointed ears that weren’t hers but looked beautiful on him all the same. He was so small and yet so much bigger than he had been, growing faster than she felt she could keep up with sometimes. Becoming his own person so quickly.

“He’s only little but I wanted to get him something that he’d grow up with,” she continued, before the sadness settled into her throat and cut off her words, “Something he’d always have and keep even when he’s older and done playing with it.”

Percy smiled at that, “That’s the best gift we can give children, isn’t it? Happy memories.”

If there was a tinge of sadness to his voice, he’d moved on to the shelves before Vex would properly place it.

“So, what are his interests? Does he like animals, cars, boats? Things that make noise, things he can pull along…”

“He does like animals,” Vex smiled, thinking of how Raven would sit and watch the birds out of the window on a morning, reaching up his hands like he could grab them, how he’d stare with dark eyes wide and delighted at every dog that passed them on the street, how he’d only fall asleep if he was resting against Trinket’s side, “Um...forest animals, especially.”

Percy turned away from his menagerie of plush animals, looking at her with a sudden curiosity, “Oh really?”

Vex stiffened, taken aback by the surprise in his voice, like there was a joke he wasn’t sharing, “Yes. Bears and foxes and badgers and the like.”

But he was smiling that smile again, the one that lifted his wan face and made him look like an actual toymaker from a storybook.

“I think you were meant to come in here tonight, madam. I’ve got just the thing for you.”

Vex waited until he’d dived back into his workshop before wrinkling her nose. Madam? She’d never been madam to anyone, even after Syldor had claimed them. This certainly was a strange man she was dealing with.

When he returned, when she saw what was in his hands, she reclassified that. Percy de Rolo wasn’t simply strange. There had to be some magic about him.

“Here. It’s exactly what I was just working on when you came in!”

It was a bear. A perfectly carved, exquisitely life-like wooden bear with bright, intelligent eyes of dark glass and realistically painted fur that shone with lacquer. As Percy moved it, the limbs seemed to take on a life of their own, swinging and swaying with such natural looking movements it was as if the bear cub were sitting contentedly in the crook of his arm all by itself. A double bracketed hinge for better articulation and more lifelike movement, Vex thought, completely awed.

It was a perfect wooden recreation of the young bear she’d left sleeping on her bed back at home. A perfect little Trinket to protect her Raven.

“It’s…” Vex shook her head, no word seeming like it would be enough, “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what he’d love.”

Percy beamed, smiling as only an expert who’d shown just how much they excelled in their field could smile, “Wonderful! I do love when things fit together nicely. I’ll wrap him for you right away…”

“How much?” Vex asked, doing some wary maths in her head. So much work had gone into that bear, so much skill, multiple gold piece’s worth…

“Oh,” Percy blinked as if the thought had never crossed his mind, “Well...really, it’s not a finished product. This is just the prototype after all, I was testing the hinge design and there’s still some amendments I could make. Why don’t you just have it?”

Vex looked at him, alarmed, “Oh, I can’t. I can’t give you nothing in return for something so beautiful.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be,” Percy chuckled, some colour dusting his pale cheeks ever so slightly, “You’d be paying with a promise.”

“A...promise?” Vex asked warily.

“Call it market research. If you take this, you’d need to come back and tell me exactly what your son thought of it so I can improve the design. That’s what prototypes are for, of course.”

Vex relaxed, “Oh. I see.”

Promises weren’t something she made easily. She’d been caught by them before, lost years of her life to the wrong ones. But to this sincere man who spent his life making things to bring children happy memories, she didn’t see too much harm in that.

She found herself smiling, “Of course I can do that. It seems like a fair exchange.”

“Thank you,” Percy inclined his head, “You would be doing me a huge favour.”

Sure, Vex thought bemusedly. But it had been so long since she was given any sort of kindness by a stranger and the warm feeling it gave her was hard to let go of, like turning away from a fire when you were so cold.

Percy wrapped as skillfully as he seemed to do everything else. By the time he handed it to her, it looked so perfect that the idea of being able to give it to her son made her lower lip threaten to wobble.

“Thank you,” she said instead, holding it close to her chest, meaning it as sincerely as she could ever remember meaning anything.

The way Percy looked at her made her think he could guess at some of the thoughts behind her eyes. Whether he’d read it in her work attire, her worn down shoes, the fact that she’d mentioned a son but no partner or just the look on her face, she found herself not caring. For some reason, as long as she was in this shop it was like she was somewhere her walls and defences weren’t needed.

“It’s my pleasure to help you, madam,” Percy smiled softly, watching her to the door, “I look forward to seeing you again.”

Vex paused before going back out into the night, taking a moment to meet his eyes properly.

“Me too. And you can call me Vex'ahlia.”

#perc'ahlia #percahlia #vex #percy de rolo #critical role #modern au #toymaker percy au #angst #past abuse #vaxilmore #single parent au

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broadstbroskis · 5 years ago

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idk if you’re still doing t-swift prompts but if you are could I request brock boeser and mary’s song!! btw loved your matty tkachuk + wearing his name story💕

ahhh thank you 💜💜

here is brock and mary’s song (with some accidental paper rings vibes thrown in, oops sorry not sorry🤷‍♀️)

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The evening of your fifth birthday, after all of your friends had gone home with their party bags and the only people left were your family and your next door neighbors, your sister comes running inside to drag you away from your brand new paint set to bring you outside where she was playing with her best friend.

As older siblings of their families, Lauren and Jessica were sure they knew best and it’d was only the start of what was sure to be a summer of being pulled into their games and forced into whatever role they didn’t want to play. The ugly stepsister from Cinderella. The student in class. The worst Cabbage Patch doll.

Luckily, you had a partner in crime of your own. Jessica’s brother, Brock, was almost two years older than you but that still made him younger than the two of them, and in Lauren and Jess’ minds, that may as well have made you both babies, dolls for the two of them to play around with.

Brock’s sitting on the ground, picking at the grass, looking grumpy, so whatever Jess and Lauren have planned, must be something he’s already been waiting for them to organize for a while. But your face lights up at the sight of your best friend and you happily go sit down next to him, content to just be near him as he continues to pick at blades of grass and see which ones are good for whistling with, while continuing to wait for your sisters.

Really, you’re always just happy to be near him. Brock hung the moon. He’s the best hockey player. He’s always so nice, including you in games with his friends or wandering over to your house after school or practice just to see if you wanted to do something.

“Okay.” Jess claps her hands together. “I think we’re ready.”

Lauren shoves a handful of dandelions in your hand and pulls you up to stand in front of her and Jess. “Stop!” She shrieks, when you go to make a wish on your bouquet. “Not yet!”

Jess is in the process of man-handling Brock to stand across from you and he’s still grumbling, trying to pull his arm away from his sister, but once he’s standing in front of you, he smiles at you, like the two of you are sharing a secret or teaming up against your older sisters- the way things have always been really.

You and Brock against the world.

“Brock.” Jess signs long-sufferingly. “Do you want to marry YN so that Lauren and I can be sisters forever?”

He gives his sister a look. “Uhh, I guess?”

She huffs at him, annoyed. “You’re supposed to say I do!”

“I do!”

“YN.” Lauren addresses you. “Will you marry Brock so that we can all be related and stay friends forever and ever?”

Is that what this meant? Weddings made you related to someone forever? As if you’d ever say no to that! Lauren and Jess are glaring but it’s Brock’s hopeful look that makes you grin. “I do,” You say solemnly.

“Great!” Jess cheers. “It’s time for rings.” She hands you each a round piece of construction paper. “Put this on each other’s fingers!”

“Yours is purple and Brock’s is blue, because those are your favorite colors.” Lauren adds, matter-of-factly.

Brock is smiling as you slip the blue circle on his finger and then you giggle as he tries to find one of yours that the purple ring will fit on. He finally slips it on your thumb, and it stays, mostly, and the two of you look back at your sisters.

“What’s that thing…” Lauren trails off.

“What thing?”

“That thing!”

“Oh!” Jess cries. “Um. I now pron-prin-ce you man and wife! Kiss the bride!”

Brock gives you a skeptical look and you eye him right back, but he obliges and gives you a small kiss, both of you immediately wiping your lips afterwards. “What next?” He asks skeptically.

“We blow out the flowers!” Lauren says, excitedly. “And make a wish!”

It’s easy to distribute your bouquet between the four of you and then make your own wish. You can’t ever imagine a more perfect day than today, so you just wish for more of them.

-----

The day of your sixteenth birthday is the day that Brock is drafted by the Vancouver Canucks and instead of the Sweet Sixteen party that your friends have been dying for, you spend it sitting in front of a television, anxiously waiting for his name to be called.

When it finally is, you can’t stop grinning, and announce that cake can now be served. Your dad makes a joke that there are two things to celebrate now, but you had no doubts in your heart that there wouldn’t have been. Brock was going to be drafted; you’d always known it. It was just a matter of where he went.

And well, blue had always been his favorite color.

The Boeser’s don’t return until mid-week, at which point summer break has begun, which means you’re pulling yourself out of bed at midday right around when they’re pulling into their driveway.

Your dad opens the front door, without looking up from the paper he’s reading on his way back to his home office, and you know instantly what that means, running outside to go meet Brock, still in the short shorts and oversized tee (that originally had belonged to him) you’d slept in last night.

Brock’s unloading the trunk of the car but he drops the bag he’s holding onto the driveway just in time, to catch you as you leap into his arms and spin you around.

“I’m so happy for you.” You mutter into his chest, when he returns you safely to the ground.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday.” He says, into your hair.

“Best present ever.” You declare, ignoring that familiar fluttering feeling in your stomach that’s been popping up more and more often whenever he says incredibly sweet things like that.

“Yeah?” Brock laughs, squeezing you once. “Wait until you see what I brought you from Florida!”

“You brought me a present from Florida?” You gasp, teasing him. “You knew my birthday has been coming up and you waited until the day of to buy me a gift?”

He grins. “It’ll be worth it. Clear your schedule tonight, okay?”

You’d already agreed to go to a party with some of your friends, deep in the woods behind someone’s lake house, but you’re sure they’ll understand. “Okay.”

Brock returns the smile you send him with a grin. “Good.”

A few hours later, he’s leading you to your favorite ice cream shop and then laughing as he purposefully brushes some along your nose within minutes of sitting down. “Brock!” You laugh, twisting away.

“You missed a spot.” He teases. You pull a face at him, brushing at the side of your nose. “No.” He huffs. “Here.” He licks his thumb and then gently wipes the opposite side.

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s so close, so close, so freaking close. “Thanks.”

Brock smiles back. “Anytime.” But this smile seems different than his usual smile, definitely softer and with this hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on, which starts to drive you crazy when that smile stays on his face for the rest of the night.

It’s late when Brock finally pulls your gift up onto the table, still sitting out on the patio of the ice cream shop and overlooking Main Street in your town on the extremely mild June evening that has plenty of people still walking around. “Big bag,” You joke, and then attempt to fall back on an old stand-by to try and ease the fluttering in your stomach that’s been in overdrive because of the smile on his face. “You sure there’s not a car in there?”

Brock gives you a look. “I got drafted, I didn’t sign shit yet.” You laugh. “But go on, open it!”

You grin at him and then reach into the bag, pulling out a flat object, immediately grinning at the driftwood “greetings from Florida” sign that will fit perfectly in with the aesthetic of your room. “Hey, sweet!”

“There’s more,” Brock encourages.

You reach in, fingers touching fabric, and hoping beyond hope for a kitschy Florida t-shirt, you’re shocked when you pull out a Canucks jersey. “Brock.” You breathe, looking up to see his expression, but he’s closer than you’d expected, and suddenly he’s so close…

You close your eyes, reach up for his cheek, and kiss him back.

-----

It’s the first day of real spring in Vancouver and Brock convinces you that it’ll be a good idea to go and grab dinner and a drink at your favorite rooftop bar.

“It’s going to be crowded.” You whine at him. It’d been your least favorite thing about the city since moving in with him after you graduated college last spring. Everywhere was always packed the second the weather turned beautiful.

“Come on,” Brock whines back, mocking you, easily pulling a grin to your face. “It’s so nice; it’ll be worth it.”

Brock’s never lied to you before and you have to admit that he’s right about tonight as well as soon as the two of you start walking over. The bar’s not even super crowded, surprisingly, and you two grab a table in the corner easily, starting to make light chatter as you browse the menu, like you’re not just going to get the same flatbread that you always end up getting.

Brock laughs as you place your order and then makes his own choice, before turning back to you. “So what’s new?”

You groan. “Lauren is driving me crazy.” There’s a sound from behind you and you turn to look, but Brock grabs both your hand and your attention back.

“How?” He asks, with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

“These stupid wedding favors and this stupid bachelorette party!” Jesus, did he need you to go on? Your sister was a certified Bridezilla and everyone, including Lauren, admitted it!

“Well,” Brock says mildly. “I guess you never know what you’ll be like until you actually have to start planning a wedding.” Another noise behind you has you nosily turning to look until Brock follows his first statement with, “Are you ready to see what we’ll be like?”

You’re not even halfway turned to looking at the table behind you and you think you get whiplash turning back toward him. He did-what the-what did he say?

But sure enough, Brock is slipping out of his chair and onto one knee, holding open a small box to show off the most beautiful diamond ring you could imagine.

“You’re going to have to ask me better than that.”You somehow manage to get out.

He grins. “Will you let me replace the construction paper with a real one, YN?”

There’s definitely tears running down your face as you nod, you can’t even remember if you actually ever say the word “yes”, but there’s a ring on your finger and you’re kissing him through the tears and he’s running his thumb against your cheeks when he pulls back.

Which is when you realize that everyone on the roof are your family and friends. Jess and Lauren sweep you into a hug, alternating comments about how “you’ll see” once you actually start planning and at the same time, squealing about their happiness. Quinn, Petey, and Jake, three of Brock’s teammates, start a ping-pong game with you, bouncing you back and forth between the three of them for a minute, sharing their excitement.

Over their shoulders, you see Brock is grinning at you as he’s wrapped up with your parents. And suddenly, you can’t stand not being next to him; it’s the hardest thing to wrap up with everyone congratulating you and push your way over to Brock.

“I love you.”

He grins back, somehow wider, even though the grin hasn’t left his face since he slid the ring on your finger. “I love you too.”

“No.” You try not to groan in frustration because how is he not getting this? He planned this whole thing for you. He is the world’s most amazing human, your rock, your idol. The person you’ve looked up to most for as long as you could remember. “I just- never mind.” You loop your arms around his waist, sure he won’t understand. “I really love you.”

“I’d hope so.” Brock teases. “Because I’m really serious this time. We might have just been fucking around with the paper, but this one’s for life.”

#brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fanfic #vancouver canucks fanfic #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #my hockey fics #hockey and tswift prompts

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tirednotflirting · 4 years ago

Text

does it ever drive you crazy, just how fast the night changes?

baby’s first au whaaaaaat?

special thank you to @clumsyclifford for linking the prompt list i got this idea from! this was the prompt (it was a whole slew of celebrity AUs: “wait, you’re supposed to be DEAD and i just recognized you at the grocery store, turns out you just didn’t want to be a celebrity anymore” au. bella is also writing one from this list and it’s one of my most favorite lashton things i have ever read, highly recommend, 10/10, i could yell about hello, hello for ages omg

also here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred way to read :)

There are few things that bring Luke as much joy as his Friday night (well, Saturday morning, really) grocery trips.

He had started working the night shift at the nurses’ desk at the children’s hospital about a year prior after graduating. He had found the job through the friend of a friend of a friend who was a nurse herself and mentioned the job needed filling fast. Luke had never really considered the idea of a night job but ultimately the work wasn’t all too bad. He made coffee every couple of hours (he made an effort to never let the pot empty which got him lots of smiles from the nurses) and every once in awhile Lina, the 6 year old cancer patient whose room was just around the corner from the brightly colored desk, would wander out to ask him to check for monsters under her bed and to be tucked back in. It was pretty simple (and heartwarming) work.

However, staying up through the night for 5 nights a week made it damn near impossible to be awake during the day on his weekends off. Luckily enough for Luke, he had friends like Michael who tended to play video games all night despite working through the day (he stopped questioning how he managed it a long time ago) and his favorite grocery store was a 24 hour location.

The first time Luke had come to do his shop at around 2am, he had felt a little spooked by the parking lot and eerie silence in between Top 40 songs that played over the intercom in the store. But he soon grew to find the general atmosphere pretty calming and he made friends with the nighttime stocker (a guy named Calum who also never saw himself doing nighttime work but here they were) and it became something he really looked forward to on his Saturday (very early) mornings.

He arrives at the store just a bit after 1am. He just finished ‘a late breakfast’ (he still always finds himself giggling at the concept of eating meals at opposite points in the day as everyone else despite the obvious logic to the schedule) and has a list tucked into the pocket of his sweats. It’s a little chilly out so he grabs the first sweater he sees on the backseat - a blue cardigan - since he knows they also keep the store pretty cool in the night to make sure everybody stays awake through their shift.

As he grabs one of the smaller carts as he heads into the store, he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulls out his list first and drops it into the baby seat of the cart and then grabs his phone. Luke’s faced with the wild selfie Michael set for his profile picture and he rolls his eyes as clicks the icon to answer the call.

“What’s up, Mikey?” he answers as he starts pushing the cart in the direction of the produce section.

“You at the store yet?” Luke can hear the clicking of the buttons on the controller in Michael’s hands.

“Yeah, just got in. You need anything?”

Michael then rambles off a short list that Luke jots down into his notes app since he doesn’t have a pen or anything with him. He assures his friend he’ll come drop off the odd collection of snacks and things (“They have to be the dinosaur shaped ones. I swear Luke they do taste better.”) once he finished up his shop of real groceries.

Luke wanders around the produce, picking out what fruits and veggies he wants to have around for the week. He takes his time finding the apples without the bruises, bananas that will be the perfect amount of ripe by midweek, some leafy bunches for the salad he’s been assigned to bring for the breakroom potluck on Tuesday. He’s checking out some strawberries that he thinks might be nice to toss into the mix too when a human sized figure appears in the corner of his vision.

It’s a man around his size (in similar cozy clothes) facing away from him. He’s got hair the opposite color to Luke’s bleached blonde. His messy black curls are pulled back into a tiny bun that mirrors Luke’s own. The other man is broad and has a tattoo of a bird across the back of his neck, just barely visible above the collar of a faded blue sweatshirt. The tattoo is one that seems oddly familiar to Luke, as though it belongs to someone he knows. The man begins to wander off toward the bakery section of the store though and Luke shrugs off the recognition, figuring it might be someone he’s seen around a waiting room in the hospital at some point. He settles on some strawberries and starts pushing his cart in the direction of the deli and meats.

As he stares at the different packages of chicken and breakfast sausages, he can’t help but think back on the man he saw though. There was something achingly familiar about him, and more than just the tattoo. He can’t shake the thought for some reason and finds himself jumping in surprise when he feels his phone buzz once again in his pocket.

He doesn’t even have to look to the screen to know that it’s Michael calling again to add something to his list. In fact, he happens to even know the items that his friend failed to mention the first time he called. Luke presses the accept button and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Froot Loops and the character shaped fruit snacks?”

“The superhero ones, if they have them please!”

Luke continues around the store, grabbing all the bits from his list (and Michael’s 12 year old boy list) and eventually lands in the dairy section. He grabs the yogurt he’s been mixing granola into for breakfast lately and some butter for the cookies his mom sent him a recipe for. Only thing left in terms of food is cereal milk and coffee milk (2% and oat, respectively, of course). When he looks up from the list to make his way over to the fridges containing the plethora of milks, he is faced once again with the familiar stranger.

Except this time, as he catches just the briefest glimpse of the man’s face, of his hazel eyes and strong jawline, he realizes this isn’t a stranger. Very much not a stranger. It’s Ashton Irwin, the host of at least three of those reality dating shows he forces Michael to watch with him on the weekends since he can’t watch them when they air live on Monday and Tuesdays.

Or, well, he was the host of all of those shows until about two months ago.

Because Ashton Irwin has been dead for two months due to a freak heart attack while on vacation on some remote island.

Luke glances away from him for a moment in a panic. Has he completely lost it? Have the late nights finally gotten to him and he’s starting to actually see things that don’t exist? Was Calum right all along and the store really is haunted? (Though it's a little lost on him why a star TV host would want to haunt a grocery store. And not even a good one like that Whole Foods in Downtown.)

Then he realizes that perhaps he was just wrong. (Though now that he thinks about it, he very much remembers liking an Instagram picture of that tattoo on Ashton Irwin’s account a couple years back.) He’s far enough down the aisle from him that he can chance a look at the man without being caught. So, slowly, Luke turns again just slightly to look toward him.

It’s the hair that left him not immediately making the recognition. His hair has been dyed black, a stark contrast to his signature dark red but definitely a change that likely doesn’t draw as much attention. The sweatshirt he’s paired with black skinny jeans is pretty baggy and it’s a damn shame because Luke knows he has the arms of a god.

(Something Luke knows from the tabloid covers he glances at from time to time at the pharmacy and the summer version of the show that Ashton hosted, of course. He most definitely has never searched up his name + ‘biceps’ before. Never.)

But despite the obvious attempt to match the look and aesthetic of ‘2am grocery shopper’ he's still very unmistakably Ashton Irwin.

As Luke grapples with this new knowledge that apparently this person he thought was dead is not dead and also apparently goes to the same grocery as him, he fails to notice that Ashton has turned to face him and that he is still staring at him in shock.

Very quickly, Ashton’s face comes to mirror Luke’s expression and he’s rushing toward the blonde in a state of terror.

“Please don’t say anything,” he gasped in a hushed voice. The accent similar to his own that Luke has grown used to hearing on his TV sticks out some in his panicked words.

“How? I - uh? Are you,” Luke trips over every syllable that comes out of his mouth as he attempts to let his brain wrap around the situation. “Are you a ghost?”

The feared look of the black haired man actually fades some as he lets a quiet giggle escape (a very cute giggle, if Luke is being honest). “I’m, uh, not a ghost. No. Though I guess that does kind of accurately explain what I’m trying to be.”

Now Luke is even more confused. Based on the statement, he obviously wasn’t making up all of the tabloid stories he had seen about Ashton dying but something isn’t adding up to the present moment. “I don't-”

“Listen, if you’re going to go tell the press, can you at least give me like,” he glances down at his phone screen displaying the time. “2 hours to get back out to my friend’s place where I’ve been hiding?”

It’s now Luke’s turn to laugh. “You do realize if I go to some paparazzi or something and tell them I saw deceased Ashton Irwin wandering around my grocery store trying to decide between hazelnut and cashew milk they would just laugh in my face, right?”

The statement causes Ashton to look down at his hands to the milks in his hands. He sighs down at the cartons before tossing both of them in the cart. “Guess you’re not really wrong.”

“Is someone pulling some kind of long-winded, over the top prank on me right now? Am I being punk’d?” Luke asks, his head tilting some in a way that would normally have Michael making fun of him for the child-like behavior. “Because I know for a fact that I am not worth that much effort.”

The questions have Ashton smiling a bit again and Luke suddenly finds himself wanting to say increasingly dumb things so long as it’ll keep the hazel-eyed man smiling. “No, no. Not at all. I just,” his smile falters some, leaving his lips still turned up but his eyes drop some. “I started to get a little sick of the world and the world started getting a bit sick of me, I think.” Luke wonders if Ashton knew just how heavy his words feel.

He scoffs then, as if hearing Luke’s silent question. “Wow, sorry that was really dramatic,” Ashton shakes his head a bit before continuing. “Hi, I’m Ashton.”

Luke looks down to the tanned arm being stretched out toward him. He lifts a hand from his shopping cart and wraps it around Ashton’s. “I’m Luke.”

Ashton brightens again as he shakes his hand. “Well, Luke, you’re the first person other than my current landlord of sorts that I’ve come across since literally dying in the eyes of the media. So I guess I owe you an explanation? Since it seems like you’re familiar with that media viewpoint?”

Ashton moves to start pushing his cart in the direction of another area of the store but peers over his shoulder and gestures with his head to follow him. Luke quickly reaches into the fridge on his left to grab the rest of his dairy before catching up to him. “Well, you really don’t owe me anything. I don’t know you beyond what I see of you on my TV screen,” Luke wonders then if maybe he should have played it a bit cooler and not told the cute, presumed dead TV star that he watches his shows. “But I am a bit confused by whatever is going on and would like to hear anything you’re willing to share.”

“Cute and polite,” Ashton muses, avoiding Luke’s eye as he continues forward toward the packaged food aisles. “You’re already checking boxes, Luke.”

Some kind of intelligible noise falls from Luke’s lips as he feels a blush rush up to his cheeks because he’s flirting with him. Ashton only laughs and starts his story.

“Well Luke, you seem to be aware of what I did for a living up until about 2 months ago. I’ve been doing this job for like, about 5 years and before every new season of anything, there’s all these big network and programming meetings about production and filming and such. And every single time, I get hounded by our ratings people because I apparently don’t do enough to instigate and promote drama. Like my contract was getting threatened like three times a year because rather than trying to make peoples’ lives miserable, I just want to help them fall in love.

“And so at this particular meeting, about two and half months ago, just before the ‘accident’,” he punctuates the word with air quotations. “I got the boot. Ratings from the previous season were down by 3% and all of the uppers decided it was because of my congeniality and not the fact that the guy they chose for the season was a complete dick.

“So that night I have to host the red carpet stuff for an awards show. And I’m talking with all these glittery people who also do TV work and it suddenly hits me, harder than it ever has before, that every single person I’m speaking to would never even bother to smile in my direction if they didn’t know who I was. If I was just a plain old guy, the kind of guy I was back in school before I signed on to the shows, they probably wouldn’t pay me a single bit of kindness. So I decided, right then, as I was talking to some Grey’s Anatomy actor, that I wanted to get out.”

He turns into the chip aisle then, and Luke follows close behind. “You decided you wanted to step away from television and your first idea was to fake your own death?”

Ashton laughs as he reaches for a couple tubes of Pringles. “It was more than that,” he starts as he tosses the tubes into the cart. “I wanted to escape celebrity all together, not just the world of television. A friend from back home that I would trust with my life had this cabin kinda out in the middle of nowhere in this forest and he only ever uses it for like, two weeks in the summer and said I could camp out there until I find a way to get back to Australia undetected to live at the house I bought over there a few years ago. My manager helped with all the media stories and such. And two months later, here we are.”

“That’s insane,” Luke shakes his head as he speaks, reaching for his own tube of Pringles as he realizes it's been quite awhile since he got his hand stuck in a Pringle tube so why not?

“The journey is a bit wild, I will agree, Luke, but the life I’m living right now is much more enjoyable than faking it every damn day.”

Luke shakes his head (and ignores the fluttery feeling he keeps getting when Ashton says his name). “No, I mean it’s insane that I am somehow the first person that’s caught you.”

Ashton’s brows perk up at the statement. “Oh yeah no, I’m also pretty surprised by that. Figured I would have had to pay off a lot of people by now to keep them quiet.”

They’ve both pushed their carts up toward the self check out how and start scanning away at their items. Luke looks up halfway through his cart and catches Calum giving him a look from a little ways away. He’s got a suggestive look on his face. But thankfully it's one that reads much more as “ohhh Luke is talking to a boy” rather than “ohhh there’s a celebrity in my store”. Plus Luke knows Calum wouldn’t be the type to go rushing to media people to out the presence of dead celebrities in his grocery store at 2am so he chooses to subtly flip him off before reaching for the next item in his basket.

They’re both about done scanning and bagging up their groceries when Luke starts to realize he really...doesn’t want this little bit of time he’s spent with Ashton to end yet. And given his lack of normal human interaction during daylight hours as of recently, he’s a bit out of practice on the whole asking someone to extend a conversation beyond the grocery store aisles. He drops his bags back into his cart to roll back out to his car and as he watches Ashton perform the same action the words just sort of leap from his mouth. “Hey do you, uh, have anywhere to be right now?”

Ashton gently places a bag containing some produce into his cart before turning to Luke, a teasing smirk resting on his lips. “Luke, it’s 2am and I’m presumed dead to everyone but about 4 people,” he catches that Luke still looks somewhat nervous (something he would later reflect on to tell him just how damn cute it was) and continues. “So I’ve got just about all the time in the world.”

“Want to come to mine for lunch? We could make something and watch a show or keep chatting or something?” he asks, tentatively.

He watches as Ashton’s face shifts a bit, obviously confused by some part of what Luke’s just said. “Why would you ask if I’m free now if you were wanting to make lunch plans?”

Luke realizes his request requires some explanation for people that live during normal human hours. “Oh, because I have lunch at about 3am. Because I work nights. So right now feels like,” he pauses a moment, trying to decide and calculate what time this would have been for him before taking his job. “It feels like about 11am-ish for me right now. So close to lunch time.”

They’re out in the parking lot now and Ashton just stops for a moment beside Luke in the middle of the lot and looks up at him for a moment, a smile spreading across his face, his dimples, ones that Luke had grown used to seeing on his TV screens over the last few years, increasingly deepen. “Lunch sounds nice.”

Ashton follows Luke back to his apartment (and to the brief stop he makes at Michael’s where he ignores the comments about the man parked in the car behind his) and they park in the garage, carrying their groceries in their arms up to his unit. They each deposit their cold and frozen items into Luke’s fridge and he pours them each a glass of water as Ashton takes a seat at his kitchen counter. Luke sips from his glass as he watches Ashton glance around his kitchen and living room.

“I try to keep it cozy,” Luke explains as he reaches into a cabinet for a couple pots and pans. He migrates over to his sink to fill a pot with water to boil. “Needed it when I first started the working at night thing and I needed to find a way to force myself to sleep when the sun was up. Gonna make some pasta and chicken thing, that cool?”

Ashton smiles warmly from his place at the counter. “Sounds lovely. You mind if I use that?” he points to the opposite corner of the space where a black Keurig machine sits. “I don’t often do this whole living like normal in the night thing.”

Luke laughs at the comment on being nocturnal. “Go for it.”

He turns back to the pan of chicken, chopping it up and moving it around some before turning to a different burner and tossing in a few things to make a garlic sauce. He can make maybe two things that qualify as meals rather than just large portioned snacks so he’s opted for one of those since he so rarely has company.

“What do you do then that’s got you up all through the night?” Ashton asks as he opens the cabinet above the coffee machine pulling down a bright yellow mug. The color suits him, Luke thinks. “You work in tech support or something?”

“Thankfully very far off from that,” Luke starts with a giggle. “I’m absolute garbage with computers. I work the nurses’ desk for the recovery wing at one of the children’s hospitals. It’s a lot of checking and distributing charts, ordering things for the nurses, talking to parents when they want more logistical updates on their child’s care there. Sometimes I get to help entertain the kids who get to go out and about. Yesterday I let them request songs to play for awhile and then we had show and tell.”

“God, you’re like something out of some cheesy movie, huh?”

Luke turns to see Ashton smiling up at him, his arms crossed at his chest as he leans against the counter to face him, the coffee machine whirring to life behind him. Luke bites at his cheek to avoid an entirely too large smile to spread across his face though he knows he can’t help the blush painting it’s way across his nose and cheeks. “It’s a good job. Even worth the whole graveyard shift situation.”

Ashton grimaces at the end of Luke’s reply. “Night shoots used to kick my ass. There is nothing in the world more terrifying than slightly drunk women in hot pink crying over some complete asshole rejecting them after a cocktail party at 2am.”

“Was there anything about it that you liked, though?” Luke asks after he turns down the heat to let the sauce simmer for a bit. He watches Ashton stir some milk into his mug that he retrieved from the fridge.

“Of course,” Ashton answers quickly, in a tone that projects honesty rather than just being used to answering the question. “I got to travel to places I would have never made it to otherwise, meet people that I considered heroes growing up, provide for myself and my family. And for a while that’s why I just dealt with the bull shit. But I started to realize I was working my ass off for all of that good stuff I was getting. That I didn’t have to deal with things in exchange for those things that were mine because of my work.”

Luke isn’t quite sure what to respond to that. Because he’s right, the logic is obvious and sound on all of it. As he’s trying to formulate a response though, Ashton cuts in again. “Though I guess maybe that’s a pretty privileged logic I-”

“No, don’t,” Luke cuts him off. “You shouldn’t justify the unfair parts of your job like that. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your own values about the way people should be interacting with one another for the sake of drama for good TV ratings. You don’t owe anything to anyone who doesn’t actually give a shit about you as a person. I’ve known you for like two hours and it already just baffles me why someone wouldn’t want to know who you are behind the stage makeup and scripted lines.”

He watches as Ashton lifts the mug to his lips, pink cheeks peeking out from each side (he wonders if the change in color comes from the heat of the mug or the words he’s just said). He lowers the mug and his lips lift into a lazy smile. “See now I’m starting to wonder if I’m actually dead. Your kindness is angelic.”

Luke hasn’t a single clue how to respond to that so he gives the hazel-eyed man a small smile before returning to his saucepan. Ashton shifts the conversation then, asking Luke more about his job before telling him about the gardening he’s taken up since being stuck out in the middle of nowhere on his own. He shows Luke pictures of his herb garden and points out each one as he names it. As he starts putting food into bowls, Luke offhandedly mentions how he’s always wanted to grow lavender but tending to plants when you sleep through the sunshine makes gardening difficult. He drops a fork into a bowl and when he turns to hand it to Ashton, Luke watches as he hits the “Add to Cart” option on an Amazon page for lavender seeds. His heart does some kind of funny rhythm as butterflies burst in his chest. Their eyes meet as Ashton locks his phone and looks up to him.

“Pretend you didn’t see that, I want it to be a surprise,” Ashton whispers between the two of them, his right eye winking up at Luke as he accepts the bowl.

“So this is going to be happening again then?” Luke muses as he grabs his own bowl and walks toward the living room. Ashton follows behind him. “I should plan for future early morning lunches with a dead celebrity?”

“I know it comes with some amount of risk for both of us but,” Ashton looks down toward his feet, scratching at the back of his neck as he tries to come up with the right way to phrase things. Luke turns to face him as he hears the hesitation in his voice. “I really want to see you again. This has been nice. And not just because you’re the first person I’ve spoken to other than my mother in two months. I...want to know you, Luke.”

Luke smiles tiredly, feelings the earliness of the hour in a way that he hasn’t in quite some time. He watches as Ashton’s fingers fidget with a string hanging from the end of his sweatshirt, obviously nervous about what he’s just admitted to the man he’s only just really met, still. Luke reaches forward for his hand, tangling their fingers together as he squeezes his palm against Ashton’s. It feels nice to be close to someone like this. It’s something he didn’t realize he was missing out on while only really living in the night.

“I think you’re worth the risk, Ashton.”

He watches as Ashton looks down to their intertwined hands, Luke’s eyes following to the same place. His hands are pale from the lack of much sunlight other than what he gets at sunset when he goes out to take his walk after waking. Ashton’s is warm and tanned, likely from the sun he gets from days in his secret garden hideout. He barely knows this man, apart from the apparently highly curated version he’s seen on screen. He wants to know the Ashton that speaks like sunshine and loves love enough to lose his job over. He wants to know the steps he knows he’s skipping in his story right now that led to him faking his own death. So it’s no surprise that the next words have him smiling bright enough to light up the early morning they found each other in.

“I think we’re worth the risk, too.”

#lashton #lashton fic #i honestly have been staring at this for so long i can't even tell if i like it anymore #i had to end it in domestic fluff i am SORRY #i have no idea how to end fics otherwise #this is Such a funny au though #like there were def better ways to do it but it was fun #esp for never having given AU a shot before #wow we're rambling in the tags anyone surprised? anyone?#also almost made the title a line from when the day met the night by patd but decided against it #i picked this title on the 1d anniversary and i feel the need to honor My Men

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luthienebonyx · 4 years ago

Note

Can I have B, K and Q for the fanfic ask meme, please?

Fanfic ask meme

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

My stories come from the characters first, but there is also stuff in them that comes from personal experience. The Aussie coffee verse is set in some very specific places that I have visited more than once in the past. The Personal Touch takes a little from my own experiences with various kinds of physical therapy (though I never had that sort of relationship with any of my therapists!). In the past I’ve written stories that included stuff like bodysurfing, which I know about from growing up by the beach. There are other little bits and pieces of personal experience littered through my fic, but they’re generally not anything particularly important.

I guess History Never Repeats has potentially the biggest part of my real life in it, because I’ve given Brienne the profession that used to be mine, a long time ago. That was inspired partly because lately I’ve been encountering fiction in various media that keeps portraying that profession as the most boring job in the world/a cover for something ‘more interesting’/something done by unhinged megalomaniacs before they go completely off the rails. And yes, while I have met the odd unhinged megalomaniac in that profession, I wanted to present it in a more true way - so we’ll see what happens as the story progresses!

K: What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

In my reply to one of the other asks, I mentioned that I’d written a major character death in a HP fic, long, long ago. That was The Rain Keeps Falling. I doubt anything I’ve written since tops that in the angst stakes, though one or two things have come close. When it was originally posted on LJ, it got several pages of comments that were pretty much all variations on: Your story made me cry. Still proud...

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

Oh, loads of them. Most are handwritten in notebooks, but just a quick look through my googledocs shows ones I may yet get to, like the rockstar/musician AU, and ones I’d forgotten all about, like “angry sex draft” - whatever the hell that was supposed to be. Here is a bit from a half-written Rivers of London story called Stripping Off, which will never be finished because the canon has now moved on from the moment in which the story is set:

Nightingale always dresses well, in a strictly first-half-of-the-twentieth-century kind of way. It was one of the first things I noticed about him, that night we met in Covent Garden, and not just because, as a police officer, I’m trained to notice distinguishing details just in case they might be needed later. I thought he was going to try to pick me up, if I’m being honest. And it turned out I was right that he had an interest in me, but not in the way I thought.

He was wearing one of his beautifully tailored suits the first time I saw him, a bespoke number courtesy of Dege & Skinner, Savile Row, established 1865 - like all of his suits and most of his shirts, as I later found out. The perfect fit of his suits draws subtle attention to the width of his shoulders before nipping in closely at the waist. His shoes are handmade, because of course they are, by Crockett & Jones in Jermyn Street, which is handily situated just a few streets away from Savile Row and has been in business nearly as long as Dege & Skinner. And he carries a silver-topped cane, which fits the whole pre-war man about town aesthetic, but its origins and uses are… well, let’s just say that those are a bit more esoteric.

Nightingale’s entire look, not forgetting his Burberry coat, was more than familiar to me by the time I’d spent a year or two at the Folly, so I’m really not sure why his new driving gloves came as any sort of surprise – but they did.

Gloves of all sorts are a necessary evil in our line of work, but of course Nightingale’s driving gloves were nothing like anything that comes as police standard issue. They were made of thin, high quality brown leather, very supple, with ventilation holes along the knuckles, and lined with some sort of soft wool fabric – probably cashmere. But the day came when the quality of the materials and workmanship couldn’t disguise how well-worn Nightingale's gloves were. Not even Molly’s careful ministrations could make them look even remotely at their best, so eventually Nightingale bit the bullet and ordered – probably from some fifth generation family business with an ampersand in its name – a new pair of driving gloves.

I didn't even know that Nightingale had finally got… I'm sorry, procured, the new gloves until the first time we took the Ferrari for a spin, the one that used to belong to the practitioner formerly known as the Faceless Man and recently revealed to be one Martin Chorley. I'd been itching to take the Ferrari for a test drive since the moment it was impounded in the garage at the Folly, awaiting 'evaluation'. Nightingale still hardly ever lets me drive his Jag by myself, though - one of these days I'll actually get to the top of the priority list for that advanced driving test, but I'm not holding my breath - so I didn't bother asking if there'd be any chance that I could take the Ferrari out without him. Fortunately, he was almost as keen as I was to find out what the Ferrari could do.

I was vaguely aware that Nightingale was wearing his new gloves when he turned the key in the ignition, but at the time most of my attention was on the way the engine effortlessly purred into life. Russell Square isn't exactly the best place to drive, well, anything, let alone a Ferrari, so I waited as patiently as I could while Nightingale negotiated the London traffic and pointed us in the general direction of Oxford.

We were on our way to visit Professor Postmartin, a typical, even stereotypical Oxford don in every way, except that he moonlights as the official archivist for the Folly. He'd phoned the day before to let us know that he'd discovered some uncatalogued volumes in a hat box in a forgotten cupboard at the top of a cobwebbed spiral staircase - or somewhere like that - and he wanted us - well, Nightingale - to take a look at them.

"There's no great rush, Thomas. You can look them over the next time something brings you up to Oxford," Postmartin said.

Nightingale and I exchanged a look at that - he had speakerphone turned on, wonder of wonders, though it's possible he'd just hit the button by mistake - and decided without a word being said that the Ferrari was the thing that would bring us to Oxford.

The thing about being a passenger in a Ferrari? It's totally different to driving one. Those cars were designed for speed before anything else, which means a stiff suspension, thin tyres, and cutting back on extraneous extras like much in the way of padding beneath the beautifully finished black nero leather upholstery. All of which is fine if you're sat behind the wheel and feeling the thing rumble into life beneath your hands, and then having it do your bidding with every tiny change of course. But when you're in the passenger seat you feel it rumble to life beneath your arse, and you feel every. single. dip and pothole.

Apparently, my idea of patience is somewhat different from Nightingale's, because we hadn't even made it as far as the M40 when he glanced at me and suggested that perhaps I could find some way of keeping myself occupied on my phone until we got out of London.

I realised I'd been drumming my fingers on the leather-lined passenger door, and hastily returned my hand to my lap, trying to look the picture of innocence. It turns out that I'm no better at that than I am at pretending to be patient, because Nightingale snorted - actually snorted! - softly before he returned his attention to the road.

I really was intending to do what Nightingale had 'suggested', and I shifted in the seat so that I could reach into my pocket for my phone, but just as I did, Nightingale's arm moved and caught my eye - and I forgot to breathe.

I honestly didn't know why. I'd seen Nightingale drive before, many times. It should have been such an ordinary movement that I didn't even consciously register it, but his hand flexed as it closed around the gear stick and I swallowed. Hard. I probably should have looked away then. Okay, I definitely should have looked away then, but instead I took my first proper look at Nightingale's new driving gloves.

The new gloves were similar to the old ones, except in every way that they weren't. They were soft, high quality leather, and covered his hands as if… well, they had been made for him, but where the old ones were a worn brown, these were midnight black. At least, they were on the part that covered the back of his hand. Underneath, on the palm, they were smooth red leather. Not the fire brick red of the Ferrari's paint job; Nightingale wouldn't be caught dead wearing such a flashy colour. No, the leather of the gloves was a few shades darker than the red of the Ferrari, but there was no denying that the new gloves fitted this car - just as the old gloves had been a perfect fit with the brown leather upholstery and wooden trim in the Jaguar, I realised.

And damn, did they fit Nightingale.

I choked on the thought in utter horror before I even got to the end of it, and quickly turned it into a coughing fit. I hadn't really… had I? About my governor? About Nightingale?

"Everything all right, Peter?" Nightingale asked in mild concern.

I nodded, my eyes watering as I croaked out a not very convincing, "Fine." I reached down into the bag of supplies at my feet to see what Molly had packed for us. Anything not to have to look Nightingale in the face right then. Suddenly, being in the Ferrari was absolutely the last place I wanted to be.

#fanfic ask meme #intoni

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olicitysecretsanta · 5 years ago

Text

uncanny valley (pg, 1972 words, Bratva AU)

A very happy and hearty post-finale (because I refuse to say “farewell”) Olicity wish to this wonderful fandom, and especially @nikscaroline, who asked for jealous/possessive Bratva!Oliver. I haven’t written a lot of him in that space, so welcome to this AU (inspired in part by this image, which I’ve been hanging onto for, oh, a year or so? Thanks for the great prompt to finally use it, Irvane!)

By @effie214

Summary: In aesthetics, the uncanny valley is the relationship between the degree of an object’s resemblance to a human being and the emotional response to such an object.

The bite of the Boston winter is not unlike that of Russia.

What’s unfamiliar to him, however, is the light he sees when he lays eyes on her for the first time. It’s not from the waning colors of the mid-December sun as it sets, nor even the light emanating from behind her in the room in the second house from the right in Fall River. He doesn’t see the blonde hair that he’ll catch wisps of in the corner of his eye as she eliminates his blind spot entirely; doesn’t see the blue eyes that will look up at him at first in fear, then in meditation, and finally in a trust that shakes him to his core with a chill more biting than any snow could ever muster.

He does not see the hands that the Bratva have tracked here, to Felicity Smoak and her ridiculous boyfriend, as they nearly – and, he’s sure, unintentionally, but if there’s anyone who knows that all roads to each hell, for there are many, and their devils multifaceted, it’s Oliver Queen – brought down one of the outfit’s most brilliant money laundering schemes through fake student loan payments and “donations” to various colleges and universities. He does not see the fingers that will shake first as he enters her house unannounced, the ones that will scratch and claw and tear at him the way fear will do the same to the soul he thought he’d buried in the South China Sea when she stupidly – brilliantly, for even in her folly, she will be his guiding genius – pushes him out of the way of a bullet aimed for a heart that, were it still there, would by that point belong to her. He does not hear the voice screaming into the silence for help, the one that sounds like his from so many last chances ago, lost in the echo of the waves and a recoiling gunshot. He sees nothing, feels nothing, hears nothing of this place; only knows the emptiness Anatoly has trained him to be in order to survive. He is as empty as a valley, but as he stands in the darkness that knows his name better than he does, he looks up to that light, and the shades of grey fall from his eyes as he sees the stars that he will come to understand reside in hers – not of fancy or fantasy, but of unshakeable strength even the hardest men he knows will cower beneath. He sees a precipice, a choice he’s somehow going to be given even as he plans to take away hers. He somehow sees something that shakes him from his stone: she in her uncanny nature will breathe him back to life, and he gasps against it; not the salvation, for no person – even as important as she will become to him – will ever give him that, even in the wee small hours and the tiniest sighs of hope. No, he does it because he knows – somehow he just knows – she will make him man again, instead of the many mistakes he is built of. In his old life, the one built on so much promise and so easily parted with, it had been easy to turn Judas; run from the things he was too small for. Even as he’s been warped and weathered like storm season on the island, even as he has been laid bare and barren as the Siberian winter, alone because there is no strength found in numbers, only vulnerability, somehow he looks upon her and see the Atlas to his Sisyphys, the one who will roll his truth and all their consequences up a hill of his own making.

He cowers in that already towering presence, palms burning not from frigid temperature but from the feel of her waist in his hand as they work undercover, the pink silk of her dress crinkling easily beneath his possessive hand as she tries to charm their latest mark to get her into his study, when the jealousy becomes too much and he gives into the basest of instincts to tell the world she’s his. His ears sing not in the winter wind but with the forgotten feeling of calmness that slides down his being with her voice in his ear, the only one he trusts – a partner, even if he cannot say the word. It will start first with short, angry reminders of her nut allergy, then with clipped efficiency as she talks him through his missions. A surprised, soft “thank you” that will come when he brings her a cup of coffee every time he refills his own mug as she runs search programs and he reads the results; the adorably offended laugh that unintentionally escapes her when he effortlessly makes an omelette for her at three in the morning after she goes through almost an entire dozen trying to do it herself; the gentle, soothing words as she prays in Hebrew that he doesn’t know but understands all the same – even if it terrifies him to realize one night during Passover that he’d kept his eyes open and on her the entire time, enchanted by her face lit by flames of her belief instead of the ashes of his own aftermaths.

His eyes tear not because of the plea he’ll see in hers when the Bratva captains try to make him think Interpol has struck a deal with her so he’ll banish her long and far enough that they can take her out, because they don’t trust her as Oliver does – with the life he only thinks might be worth saving when he hears her tiny sigh of relief when he returns each time from wherever he’s been, to that place called home that he hadn’t even realized was there until he walks into her upstairs office and she does the same to his life, changing everything – and she stands toe to toe with him, manicured, brightly colored fingernails poking him hard in his chest as she screams with as much volume as she’ll do in mere minutes when she calls out for help that will not come that she’d never give up on him, no matter how much he’d already given up on himself. “You are not alone,” she’ll spit vehemently, “And I believe in you.”

His lips are chapped not from the night as it settles itself in navy over him, but of the future memory of finally pressing his mouth against hers in a hungry revolution, a shot across the bow and the one that will restart that heart she saved, a resolution that they are in this together, even if they have no goddamn idea what this even is.

No, by then they’ll know: by then, he’ll have told her to go, in as quiet and heartbreaking and shaky voice as she’ll ever hear from him, that he refuses to make her a regret. Coward that he’ll be until she reminds him that the only easy day is yesterday, words that will propel him forward into a future as unknown as the destination has always been, he won’t be able to look at her when he tells her he’s sorry, that he’ll get her out, that this was a mistake. He’ll turn only when her hand finds his face, not in the slap she’ll give him when he tells her to stop getting in his way, but instead bringing him forward; bringing him to her light. “You may have forced me to leave, Oliver, but I’m choosing to stay.” She’ll shrug, those slim shoulders that hold up his world moving so easily as his lungs cannot in that moment. “There’s really no choice to make.”

(He’ll want to fall into bed with her then, claim her and let her know he’s hers as much as she’s ever been his, but then he spots the red dress and heels she buys during a girls’ day out with the medic called Sasha – because Felicity Megan Smoak not only ends up getting the Bratva to do her bidding rather than the other way around, but makes sure to prove time and again to anyone in her sphere that she’s both hellbent and heaven-sent – and though he’s sure to the very heart she put the beat back in that the evening will end up with a grenade launched from a rooftop across the street from the restaurant, the only explosions that happen are in those wee small hours he looks so forward to now are the best ones either of them can even fathom.

They’ll fall into bed time and time after that, fall into each other and three words that should be so easy to say, especially given his increased time around her verbosity, but they don’t come until she’s elbow deep in flour, has butter on her nose and there’s what’s supposed to be fondant on the ceiling when he walks in on her in the kitchen where she’s told him about her bubbe’s latkes and he about Tommy and Thea and where they’ve hashed out his moving from an enforcer to a kapitan – as they try to relive and also rewrite the narrative of the story they’ve both found themselves and the best parts of each other in – trying to make him a birthday cake.

They’re not so hard to say after that; in a world of fools and falsehoods, she truly is his felicity. When she looks at him in utter disblief, instinct driving her “you don’t…”, this time it is he who finds the words quickest: “Don’t ask me to say that I don’t love you.”)

He stands still against the New England quiet, the same kind that will not just echo but follow as they run from their pasts but with each other, hiding from the outfit and her father and Cooper Seldon; as she pretends to be someone else, working in a Tech Village under a carefully built and maintained identity, only herself when they are together; when they share a tiny last egg over a candle on its last millimeter of wick, and when they cuddle together under a blanket on a mattress on the floor as they disappear into a dingy Hong Kong walkup and the only thing that has ever felt like safety. He is unmoving against it, the way they’ll both be in the darkest hours, first when her tears belie her loneliness, and when his deeds catch up to him in his dreams. When she forgets who they are, or supposed to be, or something in the middle, he’ll kiss the top of her head and say, “I know who you are. Whether you’re in a ponytail or those terrible khaki pants, you’re the one thing I believe in.”

When they sit on a plane on their final forged passports, hand in hand with fingers adorned with rings bought with cash in suburban Vancouver, slipped over still-brightly colored nails and now healed knuckles and with whispered “for better or for worse” and “I’ll go anywhere with you” inscribed in the metal as the flight attendant welcomes them to Starling City, because they have decided – chosen, that holiest of holies – this mission to save his city in the same way they’ve saved each other. “Because this is what we do,” she whispers as they touch down and she presses a kiss against his shoulder. “Because this is who we are.”

He’s not met her yet, but she’s already under his skin; more a part of him than anyone or anything else.

He knows going in he’s not ever going to let her go again.

The beauty of it is, as he takes that first and ultimately final step, toward her door and their shared destiny, he also knows she won’t, either.

fin

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye olicity #submission

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ilovemygaydad · 6 years ago

Text

part 3/? of punk!patton gets adopted by single parent logan

part one - part two - part four - part five - ao3 version - masterlist (includes asks)

pairings: one-sided pining moxiety, eventual logince, background pining remceit, mentions of past thomas/female oc

warnings: swearing, lots of emotions, anxiety, worry, sympathetic deceit (his name is DC), jealousy, sadness, one-sided pining, rivalry mentions, depression mentions, divorce mentions, being held back a grade, arguments, anger, crying, unhealthy coping mechanisms, embarrassment, like some angst (sorry buds but emotionally closed off patton is an angst fest), food mentions, possibly something else

***feel free to send me questions or comments! i’ll answer them to the best of my ability, and everything is tagged under “punk!patton au”

a/n: this one is.... so long

(a clarification: logan and patton aren’t really father and son--they’re more like legal guardian and child. neither of them were looking for a father/son relationship, so they agreed that it wasn’t for them. i just didn’t clarify)

a few weeks had passed since the whole clothes incident, and patton and virgil had actually become real friends

which was why patton was unnerved when virgil’s foot wouldn’t stop tapping in their first block class

patton scribbled out a quick “you okay?” on a piece loose leaf paper and nudged virgil’s leg to get his attention and passed over the note

a few moments later, the paper is passed back to patton, and virgil’s neat writing reads “yeah, just nervous”

“about what?”

“well... i was going to ask you if you wanted to join my family for our twice-monthly disney marathon on saturday. dad’s college friend comes with his son, dc. he’s a senior. everyone wears onesies, and we just chill and watch cartoons for the night. you don’t have to come if you don’t want, but i thought you might enjoy it.”

and patton’s like

okay

this is... a thing

so he writes back, “sure. i think dc is in my photography class?”

and virgil passes the note back one last time, but the timing went poorly, and the teacher sees

she’s like “mr sanders. mr summers. are you passing notes?”

and patton rolls his eyes as he takes the paper and clips it into his binder “no, ms w. virgil thought that he’d missed some of the notes yesterday by accident, so i gave him my sheet so he could double check.”

and the teacher is like ,,,,,,, fine and goes back to teaching, but virgil looks over at patton and gives him this small, thankful smile

and if patton has some weird, fluttery feelings about it, then that’s fine

even though he doesn’t

(the note says “7pm--last house on zora lane downtown. you’ll know the one ;)” and patton finds it really cute)

so saturday rolls around, and patton picks out some pajamas to go in because he doesn’t have a onesie

logan had offered to buy him a onesie, but patton looked up one that he thought he might like, and it was nearly forty dollars. he refused to let logan spend so much money on something so stupid

he settles on a black muscle tank and black jogger sweats because there’s no way he’s going to break his aesthetic for a disney marathon

he does wear his glasses, though, because he doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of taking out his contacts before going to sleep and then putting them back in before anyone wakes back up, and he’s too blind to just go without

and he hates how the huge, square frames look on his face, and the lenses are so damn thick

but he wears them anyway because he has to

logan drives him to virgil’s house and it definitely wasn’t because logan was hoping to catch a glimpse of virgil’s dad what???

virgil was right--his house was so easy to find. it had a ranbow flag flying by the door, and about twenty little rainbow pinwheels stuck around the garden

it was either the sanders’ house, or it belonged to the world’s most excited five year old

the thing is, virgil didn’t mention that it was huge with gigantic fucking windows and a chandelier that was visible from the fucking street

patton gives a quick goodbye to logan and goes up to the door. he rings the doorbell, and almost immediately, the door swings open. there’s a tall man in a stitch onesie and round glasses smiling at him, and all patton can choke out is a small “hello”

and this man squeals

squeals

and then he says, “you must be patton! virgil has told us so much about you--come in!”

it isn’t like patton is just going to say no, so he walks inside and follows this stranger through the house, looking around as they go

the place is just as big as it looks from the outside. there’s a formal dining room to the right and a large office to the left

patton wouldn’t really call the dining room “formal,” however, since all the chairs and the table are random colors and sizes and styles

but that doesn’t even mention the vast foyer with floating stairs to the second level on the left side of the hall and bridging to the upstairs on the right

patton couldn’t believe he was somewhere so fucking nice

they keep going and patton gets a few glimpses of the shiny kitchen and lush living room as they head through a door to the basement

disney music filtered up the stairwell as they descended into the finished basement

it smells like cookies and popcorn

they round the corner and there’s a little entertainment area with a rainbow of giant, fluffy bean bag chairs and a very large flatscreen tv that was currently on the main screen of winnie the pooh

there was also a bookshelf full of disney DVDs (and even a few VHS tapes of the classics)

virgil, roman, and dc were sitting on a couple of the bean bags, but virgil immediately hopped up and threw himself at patton when he noticed that he was downstairs

“you actually came! and you have glasses!!!”

patton huffs out a laugh as he wraps his arms around virgil and hugs him back “yes, i did show up, v. i wasn’t going to stand you up. and, yeah, i do have glasses. i didn’t want the hassle of bringing my contacts and solution and shit, so i just wore my glasses even though they look stupid”

“that’s bullshit!” virgil almost shouts, but he quickly corrects his volume “the glasses look really nice, pat. i swear.”

and there’s that stupid fluttery feeling again

patton rolls his eyes as virgil releases him from a hug, and he’s actually able to get a good look at his friend

virgil’s wearing an eeyore onesie, which matches the disney onesie theme of roman’s mushu onesie and dc’s beymax onesie

patton almost feels left out in his regular pajamas, but he cuts that shit out right the fuck away

virgil gestures to the man who brought pat downstairs “that’s emile. he’s dad’s college friend, and you said you know who dc is already” he still points to the boy who was draped over his bean bag upside down and staring at them with his heterochromatic eyes—the gold one standing out against the darker birthmark around his eye. dc flashed a peace sign, and patton waved back

virgil turns his gaze to the cookies and popcorn set out in the middle of the floor by the tv “those are free to eat—just don’t get between dad and the snickerdoodle ones. he’s vicious. and, i’m only telling you this because i know for a fact that i’m speaking too fast for him to understand”

so they all sit down and watch the movie

patton decides to not notice when virgil moves from a pink beanbag to a purple one right next to patton’s blue one

the movie starts, and it’s all goofy and fun in the basement. the sanders and picanis are quoting the characters and singing along to the little songs

even roman, who signs along with a soft smile on his face

patton is kind of in awe at how relaxed everyone is

he’s also in awe at how freaking cold it is in the basement

he can feel himself curling up and shivering, and he totally regrets wearing a tank top

patton doesn’t know how, but virgil sees him shivering and hops up from his chair, whispering a hasty “i’ll be right back” before sprinting upstairs

when virgil returns, he’s holding a bundle of gray fabric that he tosses to patton

when the bundle is unfolded, patton sees that it’s a hoodie with cat ears and paws and a big pouch in the front

“sorry that it’s so cutesy,” virgil whispers. “it was the most black thing that i own...”

and patton just laughs a little because,,,, virgil’s thought process is really adorable and weird sometimes

like any hoodie or blanket would have done, but virgil absolutely had to get patton the darkest colored one

pat puts it on and instantly feels much warmer

after winnie the pooh, they change to black cauldron

roman whines for a little bit because “there aren’t even any songs!” but eventually concedes because it’s virgil’s favorite and he isn’t going to not let his son watch the movie on disney night

after that’s done, the adults decide they’re going to go to sleep

emile says it’s because they’re old, roman says it’s because he has yet to meet his prince charming in his dreams, and he is looking forward to it

as soon as the adults are gone, the teenagers move closer to the food in the middle

“so,” virgil starts. “it’s time for our gossip session. patton, you’re completely free to sit out if you feel uncomfortable”

“what, uh, does this ‘gossip session’ include...?” pat asks because honestly ???? he’s a bit afraid of what he might hear

dc decides to answer, saying, “usually it’s about what teachers are being shitty again, how classes are going, do we have any annoying group partners. that sort of fun stuff”

and patton just nods because that’s not bad at all

and then virgil does that cute thing like in the movies where he crosses his legs and rests his elbows on his knees and he puts his chin on his hands and he leans forward

you know

that thing

and he says, “sooooo dc. what’s up with that cute boy from school that you like? oh, what was his name? ryan? ray???”

dc rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, and his voice comes out clipped and low

“i don’t have a crush on remy sanders, who you already know because he is your cousin. first of all, stop doing that every time you bring him up. second, stop fucking bringing him up”

virgil just kinda goes “aw, bud, you totally have a crush on him!”

and dc flips out

“you fucking know how much i hate your teasing about crushes, and then you go and tease me in front of someone i barely know? at least i don’t do that! actually, you know what? maybe i will tell patton who you have a crush on because, fuck it! we’re letting all of our secrets out, anyway! virgil has a crush on—“

virgil cuts him off with a loud “STOP” and patton swears that time froze in that room as everyone stares at each other

“i’m sorry,” he continues. “it was so uncool of me to tease you in front of patton without your consent. i just—i think you and remy would be good together, even if it’s just as friends”

dc stands up and starts to march to the stairs “remy and i were nothing more rivals in school, and now that he’s out of the competition, we don’t have anything to connect us. just fucking drop it. i’m going to bed”

patton doesn’t really know what the hell is going on with this remy guy, but he knows some major shit just went down

he decides to focus on virgil instead of the twinge in his chest at the mention of virgil having a crush on someone

really softly, patton asks who remy is

“he’s my cousin,” says virgil “he’s technically the year above, but he got held back last year because of some personal stuff that messed with his school work.

“ever since we were kids, remy and dc were rivals in school. they were both smart and athletic and talented, and they wanted to be the best. they had a lot of chemistry despite the constant bickering, and i tried to get them to become friends instead of rivals. it never worked because remy spends weekends with his moms, so he couldn’t do disney nights, and on the days he was with his dad and could hang out, dc was busy with gymnastics.

“then, after rem got held back, they pretty much ceased all contact. i knew that both of them were hurting because they lost the thing that fueled them to be the best that they could be, but it was pretty obvious that they were missing each other, too.

“i just want them to be happy!” virgil ends, hunching in on himself

patton hesitantly opens up his arms

“do you... do you want a hug”

virgil doesn’t even answer; he just launches himself forward and pretty much tackles patton to the floor in a hug

he’s sobbing now, and patton doesn’t really know what to do, so he pats virgil’s back every so often and whispers nice things to him

eventually, virgil’s breathing evens out and he’s just sniffling into the soaked cat hoodie

patton slowly releases him and rubs virgil’s arms gently in a reassuring gesture

“i’ve never actually done this whole sleepover thing before,” pat says with a sheepish grin, trying to play up the act (even if it is partially real). “would you mind if i slept in your room?”

virgil looks surprised for a second, but then his face smooths out into a tiny smile

“yeah, sure. it’s getting kinda late.”

they pack up the leftover food and stick it in a cupboard by the stairs before going upstairs

virgil grabs patton’s hand as the make their way to his room because tbh he needs the comfort

patton doesn’t mind

virgil opens the door to his room, and it looks just how patton expected

the bed is straight ahead from the door and placed at the bottom of a large window with pink curtains. the blanket and pillows are floral patterned in pastel colors. there are tall, white bookshelves on both sides of the bed that are filled with books of all sizes and colors; however, they look to be organized by age and genre, starting with children’s books and ending with adult fiction and nonfiction. there’s a door that leads to what patton assumes is an en suite bathroom and double sliding doors to the closet. the walls are painted a very light purple, and the remaining furniture are all a slightly darker purple. there’s a wooden desk strewn with tons of office supplies and a vanity with a large mirror and makeup neatly organized in small plastic drawers

everything just screams virgil

while patton is busy ogling at the room, virgil had gone and grabbed a sleeping bag and extra pillow, setting them up on the floor

“i’m gonna go brush my teeth, so make yourself comfy in the bed!” virgil said as he walked into the bathroom

“woah, wait—i’m not sleeping in the bed! this is your house. you get your bed!” patton argues as he takes off the wet sweatshirt and looks for a place to put his glasses for the night

“nuh uh!” virgil sticks his head out the doorway, toothbrush in hand and toothpaste all over his mouth. “you sleep in the bed”

“you aren’t sleeping in that sleeping bag. i refuse to let you do that.”

“fine!” virgil went back into the bathroom, and patton assumed that the argument was over, but virgil came back out with the same fiery look in his eyes. “if i can’t sleep in the sleeping bag, neither can you. get your ass in that bed before i tackle you”

patton had never been so afraid of a 5’7”, 130 pound boy before

he quickly slid under the covers with virgil following after he flicked off the lights

within just a few minutes, both boys were fast asleep

there is so much warmth when patton starts to stir in the morning

he’s just so warm, and he loves it

he curls into the warmth, and for a second he thinks about falling back asleep

and then there was a soft giggle

patton jolted back, opening his eyes to see that he was face to face with virgil

he had been cuddling virgil

and virgil was laughing at him

“awwww, pat! you’re so cute when you’re asleep! you kept trying to cuddle me.”

“shut the fuck up,” patton grumbled, putting his glasses back on and slipping out of the bed

“but it was so cute!!!”

“and if you tell anyone,” patton growls (although, there isn’t much bite behind it) “i will end you. I have a reputation to uphold, and i won’t let you ruin it”

virgil just laughs and follows patton downstairs, teasing him the whole way to the kitchen

roman’s already there, sitting on the counter and stirring a bowl of something

“morning, dad!”

“morning, starshine. why does patton look so grumpy?”

patton slumps into a chair at the table all emo and grumpy, and virgil softly sighs

“i was teasing him, and he got a bit grumpy at me. i’m sure he’ll lighten up as soon as we have pancakes to eat.”

surprised, patton glances over at virgil. he was expecting virgil to completely expose him like the older kids at the orphanage had done, but virgil hadn’t. the smaller boy smiles gently and winks, sitting down next to pat

there’s this strong urge in patton to lean close to virgil, but he squashes that feeling down right the fuck away

“hey, has dc been down yet...?” virgil asks, and patton can see that he’s genuinely still worried and upset about what happened last night

“i am now,” dc announces as he walks into the kitchen

patton is Extremely uncomfortable right now

dc and virgil are just staring at each other when virgil speaks up again

“look, dc, i’m really sorry. it was super selfish of me to try and force your life a certain way based on what i wanted. i’ve always just wanted you two to be happy, but i let my own emotions get in the way”

there was a long pause, and for a second, patton thought that dc was going to throw hands or something

“i forgive you, virge,” dc sighs, and he sits down next to virgil. “i’m sorry, too. i was about to deal a low blow, and that was equally shitty.” he groaned and hid his face in his hands. “and you were right”

“right about... what, exactly?” virgil asked

“i have a crush on remy”

“oh. oh! oh my gosh, dc! that’s sweet! aw, i’m proud of you.”

patton has NO clue what’s going on, but he thinks it’s a nice family moment, so he decides not to intrude

dc and virgil chat for a few minutes, and patton stares at the table silently

it feels a bit like breakfasts at the orphanage where everyone else would laugh and talk and be normal kids

and he would just

sit

alone

all the while, roman had been cooking, and he shouts out, “alright, every-gay--i mean, except patton?”

“nah, i’m... i’m gay, too.”

“sweet!” roman says with a sigh of relief. “every-gay, it is time for... cinnamon roll pancakes!”

a huge--like, at least thirty--pile of pancakes was set in the center of the circle, and everyone immediately began to set pancakes on their own plates and slather the frosting on top

dc and virgil began to banter with each other and, against his better judgement, patton joined in

and it felt...

really nice

patton was getting to know virgil’s friends and family better, and it was so interesting to finally be part of some sort of family dynamic for the first time

then he looked over at virgil, who was stuffing pancakes into his face and

the feelings kind of hit him straight in the face

he’s in love with virgil

virgil, his best friend

virgil, who tried to defend him even after he’d been a total asshole

virgil, who... had a crush on someone else

patton almost drops his fork as a sick, sad feeling twists inside of his stomach

he can’t be in love with virgil because virgil doesn’t love him

for the rest of the morning, patton’s all fake smiles, and he keeps quiet

he says a quick goodbye to virgil when logan shows up to drive him home, and he sits silently in the car as logan chats with roman for a few minutes

he doesn’t turn around to wave at virgil

when he gets home, he immediately goes to his room and cries into his pillow

life was a lot easier when he stifled his emotions...

to be continued... in part four

asks are loved and encouraged 💖💖💖

tag list: @residentanchor @eeveeawesome @xionical @absolutesandersidestrash @stormcrawler75 @musikasworld @ironwoman359 @a-weirdo-with-a-computer @thegaypotatoroyalty707 @darkrainbow333 @ravenclawunicorn1 @noahlovescoffee @whymustibedraggedintofandomhell @romansleftshoulderpad @still-waiting-for-cookies @emounicorn2006 @lana–22 @angels-ofthe-sea @demonickittykat @lonelysoul43 @the-virgil-mary @five-second-cookies @noisywolfbatbakery @band-be-boss-blog @heck-im-lost@lamp-calm-sanders @patton-e @knightofbloodcancer @cloudchaser7 @really-sleep-deprived-nerd @era-eclipsed @khadij-al-kubra @anxiousmorality @are-you-really-sure-about-that @today-only-happens-once @notalwaysthevillian @backatthebein @sunshineandteddybears @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @emo-sanders-sides-loving-unicorn @dodos-in-damnation @some-lost-meme-boi @dead4sevenyears @spookyingarbageisland @the-poison-apple-of-art@radioactivehelena @the-melody-of-eliza @im-a-mess-aaaaaa @whycantihavemorethan32characters @broadwaytheanimatedseries @veryvirginvirgil @llamaavocado @unisaurioamorfo @caterpiller-tea @cornycornfriendo @simon-at-3am

#m writes things #moxiety #logince #punk!patton au #ts deceit #sympathetic deceit #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders

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wondernus · 3 years ago

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𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 (preview) * ੈ✩‧₊˚

ෆ fic synopsis: kim mingyu’s trouble with luck makes you think you’re being played by him after failing to meet on every. single. date. what does it take for the two of you to finally meet in person? ෆ pairing: kmg x reader (gn) ෆ fic genre: humor, romance ෆ preview warnings: cursing, food ෆ preview wc: 1.6k (full fic is an estimated 7-15k) ෆ a/n: here is the preview to chapter one of another fic i'm excited to share with you all. this one is dedicated to the best boy and the awkward phase glow-ups. please lmk down below or in my asks/dms if you would like to be on the taglist - whatever you're most comfortable with! i'm aiming to post the full fic in june or july :0)

wondernus' main masterlist

chapter one: past (preview)

DK is positive that if he sneezed, the puff of air that shoots out of his nose would be strong enough to knock over the guy he is currently helping hold steady.

But Kim Mingyu – tall, lanky, and irrationally stubborn, refuses to accept help from his obviously more capable roommate. He stands on his makeshift stepladder and attempts to shimmy out his giant hard-shell suitcase he somehow managed to store at the top of his closet the day he moved into the dorm. However, the only thing Mingyu seems to be taking out of his closet is the dust that collected on top of his belongings, and DK is trying his very best not to sneeze.

Who would have thought that Kim Mingyu would be built like one of those wavy inflatable tube guys you see while driving past car dealerships on the highway? His little self-intro on the university roommates request page painted him to be an outgoing type of guy – likes photography, running, and dogs; dislikes people who are rude to waiters, bad vibes, and heights. His profile picture was an aesthetic photo of him in some art museum in Europe. Mingyu turned out to be exactly who and how he described himself. However, had DK or Minghao known their literal pre-serum Steve Roger roommate wasn’t who they thought him to physically be, they would’ve assigned him to the loft bed with the standing closet when they were deciding bedspaces before moving into their dorms.

For starters, it’s hard to believe a college sophomore – one who has to sleep on the bottom bunk because the floor is closer to the humidifier – is going on a journey to some place where he probably couldn’t restock on his precious Aquaphor that he has to slug onto his cracked heels every night and then protect with his aloe-infused fluffy bed socks. Mingyu is physically weak. He is like a Basset Hound puppy who keeps tripping on its long ears because it still needs to grow into them. He is a Victorian child experiencing EDM for the first time. He is the school Wi-Fi when everybody is back from vacation. A Lego Man figurine is probably more built than Kim Mingyu in every single physical aspect – and that is not an overstatement.

And his luck – oh, how unlucky Kim Mingyu can be at times.

Minghao, their third roommate, tells him its puberty, but Kim Mingyu’s hardhead firmly believes he is the unluckiest man in the world. Puberty, Minghao reminds him. He’s simply going through puberty. It just doesn’t seem like it because his growth spurt arrived ages before his puberty did. Mingyu digresses.

It is a bunch of small, often uncomfortable or inconvenient, occurrences bundled into one that leads Mingyu to believe he has somehow been cursed. Setting off the fire alarm after using the new microwave in their floor’s common room? In reality, some kid snuck in an illegal rice cooker and forgot to open the window while cooking some rice. Sleeping past an alarm the day after he accidentally stepped on a crack in the sidewalk? He didn’t know he accidentally set his alarm as P.M. instead of A.M.. His clumsiness? He wears clothes in sizes either too big or too small for his body. He’s never heard of tailoring before.

So, when Mingyu abruptly announces to his two roommates that he’s leaving in the middle of the semester for some Eat, Pray, Love type of trip with his rich aunt, the two roommates can only ask why and whether or not rent is going to be more expensive given that there would technically only be two roommates instead of three:

“I dunno-” Mingyu picks up his sub, trying to adjust his grip so the tomato slices don’t slip out when he takes a bite. “I think it’ll be a nice change.”

DK gawks at him while Minghao looks through his tote bag for a hair tie. Mingyu shrugs and brings the sandwich to his lips. A tomato slice slips out from the backend and lands on the ceramic plate. Mingyu sighs and sets his sandwich back down on his plate and opens it to tuck the tomato slice back into place.

“You know it’s bad for your scalp if you tie your hair too tightly,” Mingyu gestures to his own head to show Minghao. There are bread crumbs in the corner of his lips, and some sauce on his fingers. He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean before taking another bite.

Minghao ignores him and stares outside the window at the family of ducks making their way into the shade outside of the dormitory dining hall.

A nice change is what newly divorced couples say in movies. A nice change is giving your childhood bedroom a makeover. A nice change is when Mingyu finally takes off his damn braces so he doesn’t spit on people while he talks. DK reckons it’s because Mingyu is having trouble adjusting to adulthood. He’s a second-year going through what Minghao calls a “prolonged puberty experience,” but DK thinks that all Mingyu needs is time. He has the braces, the lisp, and the inability to act normal in front of crushes. It’s normal. Everybody moves at their own pace. All Mingyu needs is a little confidence and a major glow-up.

“You said you’re going with your aunt?” DK pinches a fry between his fingers and decides to drop it back down. “What about our dorm and school?”

Outside, a Resident Director leads a group of elementary school students on a tour around the dormitory area. The students look around the several tall dormitories and point at the ducks when they see them. The teachers who walk behind their students are too busy staring at their phones to care if the students chase after the animals.

“Hey, do you think ducks are easy to pick up?” Xu Minghao gently sets his fork down and cups his hands, placing them side-by-side. He looks at his imaginary bowl, “They look like they’ll fit perfectly in my hands, yunno. Perfectly scoopable.”

“My aunt isn’t married and doesn’t have any kids so she says she’ll give me her money if I travel with her,” Mingyu chews with his mouth open and pauses to wash it down with some milk. He exhales and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Something about going on a journey to prove that material wealth isn’t all there is in the world.”

Having lost his appetite, DK pushes his plate of fries away from him. He asks Mingyu, “Isn’t it counterproductive because you need money to travel the world?”

“Ehh,” Mingyu slinks in his seat, but reaches over to grab some of the abandoned fries. “But don’t worry about my grades. I’ll be studying abroad and will probably be back in time for graduation. Hopefully my credits can transfer. And my aunt is paying for my dorm so you guys don’t have to worry about paying more.”

“And the school is okay with you paying even through you’re not going to be here?”

“I- I think taking that trip will be good for me,” Mingyu stutters when he realizes he has been staring at DK’s friend the entire time. His eyes quickly travel back to looking at his best friend’s fries. He fidgets his fingers before reaching for another one, “Maybe I can meet some new people, learn a few things, and bulk up from all the traveling I’ll be doing.”

Minghao opens the dorm door and enters with a duck tucked under his arm, American football style. He makes his way over to his desk and drops off a few textbooks. DK swears the duck looked at him straight in the eye.

“Yn said you should come to the beach hangout on Saturday,” he tells DK while grabbing his water bottle and yoga mat.

“I’ll think about it,” DK is still staring at the duck who seems perfectly content with being held by the Second Year.

Minghao shrugs and swings the mat over his shoulder. The duck quacks, and Minghao waves goodbye before exiting their shared room. Mingyu, who successfully managed to start pulling out his suitcase from an angle, sneezes and pushes it back into place.

taglist: @jiminismybabymochi, @anissanightyoung, @bat-shark-repellant, @woozarts, @jaycheoluwu, @staysstrays, @soobin-chois

#very sorry for making mingyu a milk-drinking fiend #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #mingyu imagines #mingyu au #mingyu x reader #mingyu x yn #svt au #seventeen fic #mingyu fluff #mingyu imagine

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yoonberries · 6 years ago

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: If Only : K.T.H

Category: One Shot

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Requested: No

Pairing(s): Taehyung/Reader, Taehyung/Original Female Character

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: You are hopelessly in love with your best friend, Taehyung, and are forced to watch on the sidelines as he gives his heart to another woman.

A/N: This is actually my first time writing angst and idk how I feel about it, but I hope you guys enjoy it :)

If only.

If only your best friend, Kim Taehyung, knew just how much you cared for him. If only he knew just how far you'd go to keep him happy. If only he knew just how important he was to you. If only he knew just how much you loved him.

If only.

These feelings weren't new. You knew you wanted more than friendship from him ever since high school, when you were a junior and he was a senior. You two had actually been friends since middle school, but it wasn't until his last year of high school that you had began paying more attention to the small, cute things about him. You paid more attention to how cutely his nose scrunched up when he laughed, how his heart-shaped lips curved into a shy smile whenever he was complimented, how his thick eyebrows furrowed whenever he was concentrating or having deep thoughts. Most importantly, you paid more attention to how his mesmerizing brown eyes lit up whenever he talked about his passion for art and photography.

Back then, you were his favorite thing to capture in photos. His favorite place to shoot you was in a massive sunflower field that was located just outside of the city. He'd drag you along with him on the 40-minute drive at least twice a week after school when the sun was shining it's brightest and hitting your skin in the most delightful way.

He loved those days with you and cherished those memories more than anything. He loved how graceful you were in front of the camera and how carefree you were in the middle of all of those tall sunflowers. He loved how brightly you'd smile for him, how you'd throw sunflower petals toward the camera while posing just so he'd be able to get an aesthetically pleasing photo, how sometimes you'd take the camera from him and shoot him instead although you weren't as good with it as he was. He loved it all and those memories were something he'd never dare to forget. They were too precious to him.

You used to be his favorite girl. You were always there for him, always listening to him, never failing to understand him. You were the only one who could make him feel better when he was feeling his lowest, the only one who could make him crack a smile even when he was in one of his worst moods. You were the sunshine in his life and he absolutely adored you. You were his and he was yours.

But that was then, and this is now.

These days, his heart belonged to another. Every time you thought of them being together, your heart clenched in the most painful way. If there was one thing in life that you regretted, it was not gathering up the courage to tell Taehyung just how much he meant to you before he met her.

Jeon Jiwoo was her name and she was the sister of Jeon Jungkook, a friend you and Taehyung met from college. You had met Jungkook before Taehyung did, the reason being that you two had a couple of classes together. At the time, you thought it'd be a good idea to introduce Jungkook to your favorite guy, considering they were alike in a lot of ways. The three of you ended up becoming a completely inseparable trio, even got an apartment together off campus, and everything was going great.

That was, until Jungkook had the bright idea of introducing Taehyung to his younger sister. At the time, you and Taehyung had only seen Jiwoo a handful of times. Sometimes she'd tag along when you three were going to the movies or amusement parks and, according to Jungkook, she had developed a crush on Taehyung. Being that Taehyung wasn't a bad guy, Jungkook didn't mind his little sister crushing on his best friend. This news wasn't shocking to you either, considering she didn't even try to hide her admiration for him. She always laughed just a little too loud at his jokes or hugged him for just a little too long. What did shock you, though, was how quickly Taehyung was ready to let her into his heart.

He had never been one to jump into relationships and, if you were honest, you were grateful for that. It made everything easier for you and you didn't have to hide your affection. You could freely be all over him, cuddling him, stroking his hair, feeding him a bit of your food, and you didn't have to worry about a jealous girlfriend. It was rare when Taehyung would get into a relationship and they would never last long, the reasons usually being that he didn't pay them enough attention because he was always with you or that they just didn't get him the way you did.

But now, he had a woman he was ready to take seriously, a woman that was more than ready to take your place as his favorite girl. And she was, quite honestly, one of the most beautiful women you had ever laid your eyes on. She had these beautiful, big, bambi eyes that twinkled at any given time of day, whether the sun was shining or not. Her hair was jet black and reached her lower back and she liked to keep it wavy so it framed her flawless face perfectly. Her skin was clear and well-moisturized and her lips were always a soft, rosy pink. It seemed as if the woman had no imperfections whatsoever, so it was no wonder why Taehyung took an interest in her so quickly.

From then on, Jiwoo was always with you guys. If the three of you were making plans to go skating or fishing or even on a trip to a different state, she was there. If the three of you were having a movie night, where it was usually you between both Jungkook and Taehyung while you were all snuggled together, she was there, taking your place beside your best friend. She was always there and, if you were being honest with yourself, you hated it. You hated it so much that, at some point, you became angry with Jungkook. You were angry that he just had to set his little sister up with a man who was yours and had been yours for years. Of course, he was never officially yours, but it was like an unwritten, unspoken declaration that Taehyung belonged to you, and you belonged to him. It had always been like that and that's how it was supposed to be.

However, you didn't show your anger toward him because, deep down, you knew it wasn't his fault. He didn't do anything wrong. He just wanted to do his sister a solid and set her up with a man that she was crazy over, and you couldn't blame him for wanting to make her happy. You just wish the price for her happiness didn't have to be your Taehyung.

Taehyung's longest relationship had lasted three months and, because of that simple fact, you had a little bit of hope. You told yourself that this relationship would be just like the others, that she'd be long gone in just a few months time. However, as time went on, you began to notice how fond Taehyung was growing of her and how she began to be all he could talk about. It worried you, but you kept telling yourself that he's Taehyung, he had the highest standards imaginable and sooner or later, Jiwoo would be out the door.

But then, three months passed. And before you knew it, it had been two years.

By then, all hope had been lost and you accepted that Taehyung had actually found love. As heartbroken as you were about it all, you managed to keep a brave face and pretend to be happy for him. It hurt you to see how affectionate he was with her, how she was now his sunshine, how she was now his favorite thing to photograph.

How she was now his favorite girl.

Nevertheless, you had to place your feelings on the back burner. To you, Taehyung's happiness was more important than your broken heart.

But all of that became even harder when they had announced that they'd gotten engaged.

You were sure your heart stopped pumping. You felt your chest clench and it was as if your lungs no longer knew how to bring you oxygen. Your throat tightened and formed the biggest lump you'd ever felt and in that moment, you were sure you were going to pass out. To make matters even worse, Taehyung had asked you to be his best woman and, in the midst of all of your internal organs dysfunctioning, you had managed to choke out a small 'yes.' He pulled you into his arms and placed an endearing kiss on your forehead, thanking you for always being there for him. All you could do was choke out a tearless sob and hug him back tightly, wishing him the best with Jiwoo.

That announcement was four months ago.

The wedding was tomorrow and, much like the past two years, you couldn't get a wink of sleep. You were tossing and turning, occasionally whining audibly whenever you thought of them sealing their vows with a kiss and happily spending the rest of their lives together.

It was nearly midnight when you accepted that you weren't going to get any sleep and decided to go for a drive. You didn't know where you were heading, you just knew that you needed to get out of your apartment and get some fresh night air to clear your mind. You had been driving for almost an hour when you realized what area you were in and what direction you were headed.

The sunflower field.

Your brain had been put on autopilot and, as a result of that, it was taking you to what used to be your happiest place on earth. You didn't know how you'd react to seeing the sunflower field again and part of you didn't want to find out, but another part of you, a bigger part, desperately wanted to feel those memories again. You wanted to reminisce on how Taehyung used to make you feel like you were the center of his world. You wanted to feel like he was yours again, even if it was just for a moment and even if it wasn't real.

You parked your car along the sidewalk across the street from the field and slowly walked across the empty street, stepping onto one of the columns of soil in between two columns of flowers. You walked along the small dirt-path, thinking back on how much this field used to bring you joy. As expected, you thought of Taehyung. You thought of his smile, his eyes, his hair, his fingertips, you thought of all of him.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice another figure in the middle of the field until your name was called.

"____?"

You quickly turned in the direction of the familiar deep, beautiful voice that you'd fallen in love with.

"Tae?" You called back.

You walked closer to him and noticed that he was in his sleepwear, and all you could think about was how, even in this moment, he was absolutely breathtaking, standing in all white silk in the middle of a field of sunflowers. You felt as if you were in a dream, but you were grateful that you weren't.

"Hey, Angel," he greeted and pulled you into a warm hug. "What are you doing out so late?"

"I could ask you the same question, you're the one with the wedding tomorrow," you replied as you hugged him back tightly, hoping he wouldn't let go too soon.

He rocked you slightly from side to side as he simply said, "I couldn't sleep."

"Neither could I," you responded, internally pouting when he pulled away. "Are you nervous?"

"Yeah. But also excited," he smiled, and you gave a weak smile back. "It's a wonder how we both ended up in the sunflower field as a result of our insomnia," he softly chuckled.

"It's no wonder," you said as you shook your head, "This field used to belong to us when we were younger. It was a comfort zone for us."

"Used to? Was?" He furrowed his eyebrows as he played back what you had just said. "Why are you using past tense? It's still our field, Angel."

You shrugged.

"We haven't been here in years. Those days are long gone, Tae. Most of them are just forgotten memories," you said, swallowing down the lump that was threatening to form in your throat.

When you said those days were forgotten memories, you meant forgotten on his side. You were sure that while he was creating new memories with Jiwoo, his old memories with you were fading away. However, you couldn't forget them even if you tried. You truly did hold every single one of them in the center of your heart.

"Forgotten?" He spoke in a soft voice. "Angel, I could never forget any of the times we shared, especially not the times we shared in our field. There's nothing I hold closer to me than those memories."

"Really?" You replied, genuinely shocked.

"Yeah," he nodded, "How could I ever forget the first time I ever photographed you? You were so shy and you were convinced that your nose was too big and your body was too awkward for you to take a pretty picture. Compare that to the last time I photographed you. You were so carefree and running all over the field, doing every single pose that you could think of and confidently smirking and smizing at the camera. I'll always love that transition of yours."

You smiled as you thought back to how insecure you used to be and how Taehyung helped build your confidence simply by taking gorgeous pictures of you. It's because of him that you feel so beautiful in your own skin and don't judge yourself so harshly anymore.

"If it wasn't for you, that transition wouldn't have happened," you replied, "It's because of you that I have all of this confidence."

He grinned at your confession.

"It's because of you that I'm so confident in my art and photography. You've always been there for me, supporting me in every way you can, and now here I am, one of the most in-demand photographers in the country. I have you to thank for that."

You felt your heart swell at his words and you couldn't help the blush that coated your cheeks. The reassurance he was giving you was helping you more than he could even imagine. The next thing you knew, you were pulling him into another hug, resting your head on his chest as you felt the beat of his heart sooth you. He held you tightly, resting his chin on the top of your head as he whispered to you how much you meant to him and how important you'd always be to him.

Before you could stop them, you felt the tears rushing down your cheeks. You choked out a sob and at that sound, Taehyung pulled back slightly, furrowing his eyebrows in concern at your wet cheeks.

"Angel? What's wrong?"

You desperately wanted to tell him your true feelings about him, no matter how late you were. You knew it was wrong and could possibly ruin your friendship, but you felt that he should know before he became officially off the market tomorrow. It wasn't a good decision, it was actually the worst decision you'd ever make in your life, but you had to tell him. You had to get it off your chest. You couldn't live with it anymore.

"I love you so much, Tae," you whispered shakily, tears still falling from your eyes.

"Oh, Angel. I love you, too. So, so much," he replied and gave a lingering kiss on your forehead. "You have no idea how much you mean to m-"

"No, Tae, I meant I love you. I. Love. You," you said again, a bit slower this time, hoping he'd take the hint.

"...____? What are you trying to say?" He asked cautiously, aware of how serious you'd gotten in the past couple of minutes.

"I'm trying to say... I'm in love with you, Kim Taehyung. I've been in love with you since high school and I'll probably always be in love with you. I'm in love with your compassion, your heart, your mind, your soul... I know you inside and out and I'm in love with every bit of it. There's no one in the world like you, no one in the world who could ever compare to you. You're one of a kind and any woman in the world would be lucky to have your heart. Jiwoo is," you sniffled and let out a sob as you continued, "...she's the luckiest woman on this planet and I pray that she takes care of you and treats you as nothing less than the treasure you are. I love you so much, Tae, and if your happiness lies with her, I will learn to live with that... just for you."

By the end of your confession, Taehyung's mouth was slightly hanging open as he stared at you in disbelief. He was quiet and it made your nerves go crazy. You needed him to say something, anything, just so you'd know how he felt about your feelings toward him. Almost a minute had passed and he wrapped his arms back around your waist, pulling you into him.

You don't know what you were expecting him to do, maybe you were expecting him to yell at you for keeping this from him and waiting until the night before his wedding to confess, but you definitely weren't expecting him to place his lips on yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

The kiss lasted no more than three seconds but it made your heart beat a million miles a minute. When he pulled away, he was staring down at you lovingly, softly stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"T-Tae..." you stuttered, more confused than you had ever been in your life. "What about... but Jiwoo... and you're marrying her... I-"

"Shh," He cut off your stammering, leaning his forehead against yours. "You have no idea how that makes me feel, to know you feel the same way about me as I do about you."

At this point, you were beyond confused. You were downright flabbergasted. Befuddled. Shaken. Absolutely perplexed.

"Huh?" You said, completely speechless.

"I've loved you for so many years, ____. When I went off to college and you were still in high school, I realized how empty my life was without you. I didn't get to see you every day and I didn't get to take pictures of you for a whole year. It was honestly the worst year of my life and you don't know how happy I was to know that you ended up going to the same college as me," he confessed as well.

You stepped back a little, furrowing your eyebrows.

"What? Why have you been with Jiwoo all this time, then? Why didn't you say anything? Why aren't I the one with the ring on my finger if you've loved me for so long?"

"I have good reasons for all of this, I swear."

"You better," you said, crossing your arms.

"Well, you said you know me inside and out, right? So then you know how big my fear of rejection is and how I can't seem to get over it. I wanted to tell you, I wanted to take things to the next step with you, but by the time you got to college, you were so confident and independent and, as sexy as that is, it made it harder for me to tell you how I really felt about you. I wasn't sure if you would've felt the same way. I don't know what I would've done if I got rejected by my favorite girl in the entire world and I couldn't even bear the thought of it, so I just kept it all to myself and told myself that if you felt the same way I did, you would've already said something. But you didn't, and next thing I knew, Kook was setting me up with his sister and we did end up getting along really well and I gained a lot of love for her, but she still wasn't you. And then Kook started telling me about all these feelings he has for you and I didn't like it, but I couldn't say anything because-"

"Wait, hold on, stop," you interrupted him. "What did you just say?"

"I said Kook set me up with his sister and-"

"No, Tae, the other thing. About Kookie having... feelings for me?"

"Oh. Yeah, he's crazy about you, but he's too scared to say anything for the same reason I was. I love your confidence, Angel, but the way you carry yourself, it's like you don't really desire a romantic relationship with anyone and the fact that you haven't been in a real, committed relationship since high school doesn't help either. Remember that guy Jimin? From college? He was ready to give you the world but you didn't want it and that only made Kook even more scared to tell you how he felt."

"Well I haven't been in a real relationship because I've been too hung up on you to focus on anyone else so technically, this is all your fault," you said and poked his chest.

"My fault?" He chuckled. "You could've said something. It's not always up to the guy to confess first, you know."

"Yeah, well, in this case, it would've saved everyone the heartache."

He grinned and shook his head, wrapping his arms back around your waist. He looked down at your lips, then looked back into your eyes as if he was asking for permission. You slightly tilted your head up towards him to say yes, and he was more than happy to connect his lips back to yours in another tender kiss. This one was longer and deeper, with him lightly sucking on your bottom lip as you let out a quiet moan and tried pulling him closer even though there was no more space left between you two.

In this moment, you weren't thinking of the wedding. You weren't thinking of Jiwoo or Jungkook. You weren't thinking of anything other than the fact that you finally had the love of your life in your arms, kissing him with so much compassion that you could feel your heart melting into your lungs.

And you were okay.

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dvstbunny · 6 years ago

Text

hey my friends!! i am finally bringing in my danzig fc which i have meant to do for literal month but i always struggle with him the most muse-wise and i’ve revamped this particular muse with his fc multiple times... so we’ll see how well it goes this time and fingers crossing i can keep him around! this muse of mine may be a little less active at the moment while i try to find my footing with him, but i’ll be trying my very best! four is usually the maximum of muses i can keep up with because i prefer being as active as possible on my muses rather than sporadic and i had to debate long and hard about picking up another, so we’ll test the waters and see how it goes and if it doesn’t work out... it doesn’t work out! anyway he’s the most chaotic energy second to cy so... enjoy

TRIGGER WARNINGS: eating disorders, violence, cults, drugs, alcoholism, neglect, abuse

{ Dustin ‘Dusty’ Graves } is { 28 } originally from { Suicide Creek, Canada }. They spend their time as a { model, hairdresser, and drummer of Avant-Garde Society }. They live in the { The Chalet } and have been known to be { callous and flamboyant } but can also be { moxie and cosmopolitan }. They strongly resemble { Dustin Bates } and go by { he/him } pronouns.

name: dustin solara graves

nicknames: dusty, dustbin, dustbunny

birthday: may 25, 1989 (age 28)

hometown: suicide creek, canada (later los angeles, ca)

occupation: model, hairdresser, drummer of avant-garde society

orientation: panromantic pansexual

relationship status: single

children: none

education: bachelor’s in scientific research, cosmetology license

VARIOUS INFORMATION AND FACTS:

call him bash if you’re not close to him and he’ll probably kick you in the face

though his mother is originally from canada, he was born in paris, france, where she had moved a few years prior to his birth to follow the love of her life, a french businessman. the businessman wanted nothing to do with the baby and she was forced to return to canada and unable to afford him with her occupation, she abandoned him at an orphanage and subsequently, he grew up never knowing who either of his birth parents were, only his birth name

essentially raised in a monastery, one would think he would grow up to be rather religious. instead, he had too many questions and received answers that didn’t quite satisfy him and started to gravitate toward analyzing every piece of religion in the monastery that he could grasp and unfold it in a way he thought was most logical

throughout his childhood, dustin was extremely alienated by other kids in the monastery and the lack of attention and connection with the other children prompted him to begin growing more and more bitter with every passing year as he got older and began to vie for negative attention from the others and positive attention from the adults at the monastery

with a knack for exploring, he made a terrible mistake when he was around the age of eight: he wandered off the property and into the woods in the canadian winter. being he was still an adolescent with no cellphone and too deep in a place that he had no idea how to find his way out of, he found himself lost and unable to make his way back to the monastery and as the night hit and temperatures dropped, the cold and hunger began to set in, distressing the young boy

miraculously, a local hunter came across him a couple days later when an angry bear (likely woken from hibernation by starvation) tried to attack him. managing to get away with only a few scratches, the hunter took him back to his cabin to clean him up

to his misfortune, he wouldn’t be going back to the orphanage. this hunter in the middle of nowhere seemed to have darker intentions for him: as part of a strange- and likely satanic- cult, he wanted dustin to learn from his ways. those ways were not the kind any eight year old should ever be raised by, though, often violent and bloody with other people who were typically strangers and animals, acts of violence served as a marker for the older man’s idea of salvation or worship

living the rest of his youth in the middle of the woods like this, aside from going to school, he reluctantly took a part in what this father figure wanted from him. given he was so young when he was taken in, he never really thought to get out of the situation, simply letting it be for what it was. hating every minute of it, school became his only escape, opting to stay there as much as he could to work late on science projects that would win him hefty prizes and acknowledgements from his peers

his father figure was baffled by his love for education and instead of receiving pride for his excellent marks in school, dustin was physically and verbally abused with the accusation he was putting too much focus on it and not enough focus on the homefront. outside of his accomplishments, his father figure took little interest in what he did outside out of the house and often ignored him when he wasn’t expected to be doing something. frustrated by his father figure’s lack of care for him, he began acting out again, which only led to more violence between the two

eventually, the neglect and the abuse he received when he acted out took a toll on him, and he grew up to be a rather selfish person, and became incredibly guarded and mistrusting of letting other people in, struggling to make connections and holding people at arm’s length

he swore to himself that when he graduated at eighteen, he would never see him again and make a better life for himself. on the day of his graduation, he packed all his belongings up and quietly left the house, only to dump it elsewhere in the woods on the way to the high school and set fire to it with gasoline. after the ceremony was over, he asked his friend to help him get to los angeles on account of obtaining a full ride scholarship to attend as a student in the department of science at USC

almost immediately, he was signed onto an eight million dollar modeling contract with men’s vogue, and he couldn’t think of anything else he had ever dreamed of as much as that moment in time, free to stay in the country and as far away from his father figure as possible

ever a popular person, he quickly excelled and made his way through the business, getting to know all kinds of people in high places and experiencing the luxurious life for himself on his own- the good and the bad sides of it

though he had delved in plenty of partying in his high school years, and dabbled in social drug use at said parties, he never developed an addiction. when he was in hollywood, everything changed, starting with the development of his addiction to alcohol when he was nineteen, finding it as a way to cope and to tone down the harsh shades of his personality that blossomed as a result of his childhood

as always, the modeling business wasn’t as glamorous as it seemed, either. behind closed doors, he faced pressures to either lose weight or dehydrate himself in order to gain the illusion of the “ideal” body image of men- naturally wanting to keep the business happy and unable to deal with the anxiety every time he looked at the scale and felt as if he were still missing the mark, bulimia and anorexia reared its ugly head in dustin’s life

among the societal expectations of the modeling business and the partying, he faced other abuses that often remained hidden. someone was too rough here and there during a photoshoot- a manager, maybe- and he would leave covering a bruise, or the sketchier photographers of the business would drug him out of his mind to achieve the intended “look” and “aesthetic” of the shoot. in a way, he felt that at least on the bright side, it deterred him from ever considering doing drugs again, disgusted and mortified by the experiences he would endure, and at times still does

dustin chose to turn his life around when he was twenty, convinced by a mentor that he should check himself into rehab after news that cy’s sister was involved in a drunk driving accident that nearly killed her and cy’s brother, reluctantly- and grudgingly- giving in to accepting help from others, coming out the other end feeling more rejuvenated than he had in the past several, miserable years

life went on and he continued the same routine of frequent travel and business calls and so on, so forth over the next few years, purchasing a summer home in paris, and he graduated with his bachelor’s in scientific research a year early at twenty-one with high honors

unfortunately, the road to recovery couldn’t last forever, and he slipped back into the arms of his vices when he was twenty-two, drinking himself out cold one day when he was twenty-three and waking up in a hospital on the premise of a friend finding him and concerned by his extremely low pulse

luckily, the situation was enough for him to receive a wake-up call loud and clear and taking it upon himself this time to check into a rehab facility, searching for his own happiness and perhaps a scrap of self-love. at this time, he decided to take up cosmetology school on the side of the band he ended up in at twenty-four and managed to obtain his license

lacking confidence in himself to remain on steady ground after the first round, unable to find it in himself to make up for his lack of self-love, the sobriety only lasted until he was twenty-seven and he found himself crashing and burning back into old ways when he moved to queens in the big apple, entranced by the bustling life and atmosphere of it in a lonely way that drew him back to his demons

still has an apartment in los angeles and a summer home in paris, owns his own cosmetology studio in queens where he primarily deals with hair, but has other employees specialized in nail art. still a science nerd but isn’t really sure what he wants to do with that degree at the moment

despite his wayward upbringing, he remained to have a strong moral compass and actually grew to despise violence and lack violent tendencies

has a hobby of photography and painting, a soft side he doesn’t expose to many people to avoid being taken advantage of more than he already is, has never owned a pet in his life because he can barely care for himself, and can come off as an emotionless void with how terribly guarded he is, incredibly vain to the point he has to fix his hair when he walks by a mirror and has a rather sarcastic sense of humor

despite seeming like an asshole outright to try to keep people from getting close to him, anyone with patience or kind words can quickly gather that he is nothing short of a gentleman when it comes down to it, very hard-working and dedicated, and underneath a seemingly selfish personality is just someone who’s never experienced much affection and likes to pretend he’s allergic to it

probably carries a comb in his pocket, trims his own hair over his bathroom sink, wears nerd glasses, lives off of takeout but is an exceptionally decent cook, too many suits in his wardrobe and not enough normal clothes, passed out in the afternoon unless it’s work-related, and would stab someone in the back if he was given a reason to, terrible habit of smoking and cannot make coffee to save his life, lives life in the fast lane

still actively struggling with his alcoholism and eating disorders, starting to slowly come apart at the seams over the last year in the city out of struggling to make connections that really seem to matter

#queensrpooc #eating disorders tw #violence tw #abuse tw #neglect tw #alcoholism tw #drugs tw #cult tw #i think i've edited this all that i need to but i will double check over this #after i have made a quick phone call

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otomeshistarlight-blog · 7 years ago

Note

All for Endeavor & Dabi u v u

Thanks for always bringing me the good shit, Bukii. Since I tend to ramble, this will be broken up into two parts so expect Dabi’s post to come shortly after this one! That’s right, we’re starting with flame daddy! (Warning: one nsfw picture in this post)

1. Sleep: Enji is a big man with a big personality and, as such, he sleeps all sprawled out regardless of whether he has a bed partner or not. He takes up a lot of space and makes no apologies for it. Thats just who he is, so if you’re going to join him for a good nights rest, you’d better be prepared to get jostled around a little bit and maybe even squished when he rolls over on top of you. There won’t be much wiggle room to work with but that shouldn’t be too big of a problem considering what a good bodypillow he’d make. Even though he’s a solid 260 pounds of muscle mass, he still looks meaty enough to have some give and I think having his body curled around yours would be incredibly comforting. The only drawback is that I think his temperature is naturally higher than the average so it would be very easy to get overheated like this. Summer in particular would be excruciatingly hot and I imagine you’d find yourself sleeping naked more often than not, but he certainly wouldn’t have any complaints about that. He does snore but, for better or worse, he’s a very sound sleeper so if you can block out the noise, you won’t have to worry about him tossing and turning constantly. The best strategy would probably be to wait for him to zonk out and then drape yourself over him, using his chest or stomach as a pillow, so that you’re free to adjust your position when you start to get too warm.

2. Sad: Enji is not someone whose very open with his emotions and I think this one in particular would be among his most guarded. Not only is he reluctant to show any signs of weakness but he also wouldn’t be too keen on letting people into his mind like that, out of self perseverance more than anything else. He’d have to be extremely comfortable with you and trust you implicitly to ever open about something that made him sad but it would be a pivotal moment in any relationship, whether romantic or platonic. I think that, if anything, it would be his insecurities as a hero and as a man that would surface in this regard, i.e, “why am I not good enough?”. He has worked very hard to become the best, perhaps even to point of madness, but yet he still wasn’t able to surpass All Might on equal terms and that clearly upsets him quite a bit. If he did open up to you about these kinds of things, it would be a huge mistake on your part to offer him sympathy. He doesn’t want that, especially not in regards to an already touchy subject. With him its more about listening and understanding where he’s coming from while he sorts through these emotions that are usually kept bottled up and it can become quite tumultuous indeed.

3. Happy: Enji, in the true spirit of a Leo, is happiest when he’s in the spotlight. Not only is he naturally drawn to being the center of attention but he also works extremely hard to earn his spot there, which has perhaps given him a slightly inflated sense of entitlement about how he deserves to be there more than others. Rather than just stroking his ego, I think this drive to be the best would have followed him into any career, whether that be something as mundane as dentistry or even another hero-like profession such as a firefighter. Although this might be a slightly self indulgent opinion, I think he’s fine standing at the top alone but I do believe that what would make him the happiest is finding someone to share the stage with as equals, or something close to it. He’s not opposed to a challenge by any means and I think being able to put on an extravagant show of his prowess would delight him to no end. Being able to prove that he’s truly the best makes him feel accomplished which is why his inability to surpass All Might, no matter how much work he put in, affected him so negatively.

4. Angry/Violent: Enji comes off as a rather aggressive person but I think thats mostly just his personality (gruff, blunt and to the point) and we’ve really only gotten a very brief glimpse of what true anger from him looks like. He also seems like someone who would be easy to set off and, while that might be true in regards to certain topics, I actually believe he’s a fairly levelheaded person in that he’s not going to go critical if someone accidentally steps on his boot in a crowded room. What seems to get him going the most is a sense of inadequacy in which his personal shortcomings weigh heavy on his shoulders and thats understandable when you’ve put in as much effort as he has. However once he finally reaches that snapping point, it is anything but a pretty sight. In addition to lashing out physically and putting holes in the walls or destroying his own belongings, I see him being a screamer. Its hard for me to say, in the case of an interpersonal fight, if he would yell insults at the other person or if he’d just bellow in rage but it would be an intense situation either way. Like I said though, if you were close enough that he trusted you, I think this situation could possibly be diffused but if you’re already on bad terms with the guy, then I’d suggest you get out of dodge. Quickly.

5. Sex: Enji is a domineering man in every sense of the word and given that he treats the whole world as his personal stage, I see no reason why the bedroom would be any different. Truly, he is the king of his kingdom and he expects to be in charge from the get go to the end. You could try to dethrone him, of course, and maybe he’d even let you think you were getting the upper hand for a little while, but rest assured that he will inevitably flip the tables on you at some point and remind you exactly who the boss is. Rather than being inclined to go gentle or hard, he seems to me like the type who simply does everything from the perspective of ownership. If he decides that he’s going to fuck you slow and steady, then he is going to make sure that you’re writhing against him and begging for release before the night is through. Maybe even multiple times throughout the night. But if he decides he’s going to break you in half then, well … hopefully you don’t have to be anywhere in the morning. Its really dependent on his mood, what kind of experience he’s up for and just how loud he wants to hear you scream this time. While he would definitely still find pleasure in watching you lose yourself on his cock, his priority will always be his own needs above anyone else’s and he is certainly a bit of a selfish lover. But by no means does that imply you wont walk away from this completely and utterly satisfied. He does strive to be the best after all, which means that his performance is by no means lacking.

6. Living Quarters: Enji likes things to be clean, tidy and a little bit extravagant. He’s clearly got expensive tastes if his office was anything to go by, so I can only imagine what the inside of his house looks like. Expensive furniture from the best of the best interior designers, one of a kind paintings on the walls and occasionally questionable sculptures in the garden, hand towels no one is allowed to use, top of the line technology in almost every room and a personal gym outfitted with the very best equipment money can buy. However, based on what little we’ve seen of the Todoroki estate, he seems to be a fan of traditionally Japanese things so all of thpse luxuries he enjoys so much have got to be blended in almost seamlessly with the minimalist aesthetic of his mansion style home. My mind is painting a very modern take on the classic, and I think its gotta’ be just beautiful to see in person.

7. Romantic: Enji isn’t much of a romanticist in the typical sense, but I do believe that if you’ve managed to catch his interest then he will make sure you know it. Showing someone that he truly cares for them seems to be one of the things he struggles with the most and he’d probably goof up every once in a while as a result, so you’ll have to be prepared to travel this bumpy road together. Since he does appear to enjoy throwing his money around, I’d imagine he’d treat you to the best five star restaurants in town (maybe even a few on the other side of the country), take you out shopping and on trips to the most highly rated onsen, and even gift you expensive presents. In particular, I think he’d be quite fond of sending you delightfully sinful lingerie sets in the mail and then take you out that same evening with the full knowledge you were wearing them for him. But again, what everything boils down to is his own enjoyment in this relationship and he isn’t likely to do much just for the sake of it. As such, there might be times where you wonder if he actually does care about you or not, and you might even start to feel like a bought woman. This is where his inability to be open about his emotions becomes a bit of an issue but if you can work through that, then I don’t see any reason why this should be a deal breaker.

8. Family & Friends: Enji is, again, not the best about being transparent when it comes to this kind of stuff. I think he does care about his family on a certain level, as it is his and he likely recognizes its importance, but he doesn’t seem to know how to show that. Not to mention the fact that he undoubtedly let his heated rivalry with All Might cloud his judgement and he made mistakes that hurt those closest to him. Recent developments seem to imply that he’s realized the error of his ways and now we just need to see how he goes about trying to amend it. But my point is that by no means do I think he’s some kind of monster who got off on mistreating his family. He seems to have a very solid foundation for right and wrong, and I’m sure that if he came upon someone abusing their family he would put a stop to it immediately, but when you become obsessed with a singular goal like he did, its so easy to lose sight of your personal morality. I’m not justifying his actions or saying that he was in the clear to act however he wanted, I just think he’s not quite the heartless demon a lot of people paint him to be and that he does, indeed, love his family in his own little way.

9. Hobbies: Enji strikes me as the sort to be into more traditional hobbies like sumo, shogi or go, and all manner of martial arts. I could also see him enjoying a nice day at the horse tracks. Unfortunately he doesn’t get a lot of down time to enjoy many hobbies so I think whatever he does enjoy occupying his time with has to be relatively simple and easy to access.

10. Likes/Dislikes: Enji likes being the center of attention, being praised and or put on a pedestal, simple elegance and extravagant displays of wealth, calm moments when he can let his guard down and the finer things in life. He dislikes outright disrespect, being bested in any way, shape or form, being treated like an inferior and wasting his time.

11. Childhood: Enji, in my opinion, probably had a childhood similar to the one he raised Shoto in. Again, this is no excuse, but I think for him to believe that training your five year old son to the point of being physically ill was fine and dandy, he must have experienced a similar upbringing. That is to say, I would not be at all surprised if his father was extremely tough and demanding of him, pushing him well to the breaking point, and just generally expecting more out of him than he could give. This might not be what some of you want to hear, but unfortunately this is often how things go in the more traditionally aligned Japanese families - especially the wealthy ones. There is a certain amount of expectations placed on the men of the household to be better than the last generation and this often culminates in the form of not allowing them much of a childhood at all. I think Enji probably grew up swearing that he would be better than that but at some point his perception of reality was so clouded by his desire to surpass All Might that he just sort of fell into that mindset. Maybe without even realizing it. I subscribe to this idea because it also explains why his personality is so rough and generally off putting to most people. He was likely raised in a harsh environment so he became harsh as a result.

12: Old Age: Enji probably has no desire to retire at any point as he’s poured every ounce of himself into his career and I wouldn’t be surprised if he expects to die in the line of duty at some point. Whether that be from not knowing what else to do with his life or from a sense of wanting to go down in history as a hero who gave the ultimate sacrifice, its hard to say. Either way, he doesn’t strike me as the sort whose mapping out his 401k and looking at cozy cottages in the mountains. However, if he were forced into retirement through one means or another, then that would be an entirely different story. But thats also nothing but conjecture on my part so we’ll have to wait and see what happens in canon. I do think it would be nice if he found the peace of mind to hand off the torch to someone who wants to take up his mantle so he can relax and make up for lost time with his family. If his redemption arc can actually feature, y’know. An actual redemption, I would prefer to see that over him dying in what would simply amount to a revenge killing to mollify the part of the fandom that hates him with a burning passion. Allowing him to grow old and watch his children flourish in ways that he didn’t sounds like the best possible outcome to me.

13: Cooking: Enji does not cook. He has neither the time nor the interest. But thats not to say he doesn’t enjoy a good meal and, in fact, he’s more than willing to shell out exorbitant amounts of money to indulge on fine dining. I see him being a very big fan of expensive steakhouses and he’d likely be quite knowledgeable when it comes to wine. That being said, it takes a lot of food to maintain that brickhouse physique of his so I imagine the kitchen at home is fully stocked with all the best ingredients and any housekeepers he staffs are likely kept quite busy between him and his two children that are still living at home.

14: Random: Enji’s favorite positions are the Torch (ironically enough) because it just makes you feel so damn tight around him and the fact its a perfect position to relentlessly slam your g-spot is just mere coincidence. Mhm. He knows what he’s doing.

The Prison Guard because, well, I shouldn’t have to explain this one.

And my personal favorite, the Full Nelson (sorry, I couldn’t find this one on the other site)

If you asked him where he stood on kinky sex, Enji would scoff and tell you that it was none of your business but once you get him in the bedroom, it will quickly become apparent that this man is just as much of a dom as you’d expect him to be. He’s down for M/s, petplay, bondage, just about any kind of humiliation you can think of and, if you ask nicely enough, he’d even incorporate some daddy dom aspects just for you. Keep in mind that everything truly revolves around him, especially when its just the two of you, so he expects to have your full attention and what better way to accomplish that than literally dominating you into submission? Sounds like a good time to me.

#Hero Academia #todoroki enji #Endeavor #my writing #self insert bullshit

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judememories · 7 years ago

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#001 CHARACTER SHEET:

Full Name: Jude Bellamy Hayward Meaning of Name: Jude means ‘praise’ in Hebrew and was chosen by his parents as an ironic joke about the fact that they’re adamantly Atheist. Nickname: Judas. Birth Date: November 29th, 1994. Astrological Sign and Details: Sagittarius. Known as the most independent and flighty of the star signs, as well as being philosophically geared. Birth Place: Saint Francis Memorial Hospital, San Francisco. Age: 23.

Nationality: American. Race: White. Hair Color: Brown. Hair Style: Short, messy, always in his eyes or mussed up. Distinct Features of Face: Full lips and prominently defined jawline. Glasses or Contacts: Wears glasses when he’s reading, in spite of the fact that he despises them. They’re old fashioned and vintage looking to keep up his Indie Soft Boy aesthetic. Eye Color: Hazel. Skin Tone: Fair. Scars or Distinguishing Marks: A thin scar, predominantly hidden, that laces through his left eyebrow from an ill healed split he got there when he was fifteen. He got into a fight with a boy being pushy to a drunk girl at a party and since he was much bigger than Jude, it was a quick and ugly loss. He ended up having his head smacked into a kitchen sink and needing stitches. He also has a cigarette burn on his arm from when a drunken poet laureate staying at his parents place disagreed with Jude’s take on his recently published anthology. Jude had to go and knock on the neighbouring apartment door in the building and sleep on a pull out sofa because he was too scared to stay at home alone again with him around when he’d been drinking. Disabilities: None. Build or Body Type: Broad shoulders, somewhat gangly. He has subtly defined muscles in his arms from years of playing guitar but nothing too obnoxious or over the top. Height: 6″1′. Weight: 170 lbs. Speech Patterns: Talks reasonably slowly, mostly as a result of being high and sleep deprived a lot of the time, therefore it takes him a while to string his thoughts together. Tag Words: Says “uh” and “you know” a lot. Also refers to most people, gender irrelevant, as “man” or “handsome”. Gestures: Rubs at his jaw a lot when he’s sketching or trying to think of something. He also frequently nods and chews at the corner of his thumbnail.

FAMILY AND CHILDHOOD

Mother: Bethany Hayward. Father: Jack Hayward. Mother’s Occupation: Trust fund baby, currently co-owns an art gallery with her husband that she travels the world to buy pieces for. Father’s Occupation: Amateur photographer. He used to be a bartender to support his art and has had four collections of his photos showcased in popular galleries. Ever since he met and fell in love with Bethany, he gave up working as a bartender and pursued the arts full time, opening up a gallery using her parents money. Family Finances: Reasonably wealthy but not in the millions by any means. Brothers: None. Sisters: None. Other Close Family: Jude has a handful of cousins he knows only vaguely, although he’s actually close with Elias Elliot. Best Friend: Teddy Lawrence. Other Friends: Blake Knox, Ophelia Knox, Gabe Leitner, Frankie Vigo, Wesley Costa, Imogen Bauer, Anastasia Costa, Jesse Harmon, Lana Jameson. Enemies: None. Pets: None. Home Life During Childhood: Jude was always treated like a distant acquaintance growing up rather than a child. His parents would leave him for weeks on end to live in their loft apartment alone, surrounded by numerous mid thirties adults all smoking pot and using the place as a glorified sort of squatter den. He grew up seeing and hearing things that no child should particularly have to, always walking in on drunken hook-ups and hearing lewd and suggestive comments that made him feel uncomfortable. He gets on with his parents in the respect that he can always make them laugh and vice versa, but they don’t particularly care about what he gets up to or how he’s doing. He’s merely a conversational piece and a tick off a checklist, a failed science experiment that they long since grew bored of. What Did His, Her or Their Bedroom Look Like: Mostly bare. Jude was too paranoid to keep anything of sentimental value in his room because of how many strangers were always sleeping in his loft and nosing around in there. He had a few sketches tacked up onto the wall above his bed with scotch tape and a lock box beneath it that he kept his actual valuables in. Very minimal. Very impersonal. To Jude, his house had never once looked or felt like a home. Any Sports or Clubs: He used to be on a baseball team until he got drunk one night and was spotted using his bat to beat up a dingy Volkswagen parked just off school campus belonging to one of his parent’s friends. She was actually a teacher’s assistant at the school and therefore they took it extremely seriously. He got pulled from the team and put in detention for six weeks. Nobody ever asked why he did it. Schooling: He went to high school in downtown San Francisco before moving to New York in order to pursue his higher education. Favorite Subject: A tie between art and music. Popular or Loner: Unwillingly and begrudgingly popular. He tries his best to shake people and can never seem to manage it. Important Experiences or Events: The second time he had sex, it was with his girlfriend of the time at sixteen. He only got maybe two minutes through until he started having an anxiety attack, something that he still finds hideously embarrassing to recall, even to this day. She’d insisted that it was fine, that she didn’t mind and he’d blamed it on the fact that he’d smoked two joints prior to it and it had triggered some sort of weird reaction. The fact that there might still be some sort of underlying issue and baggage there from his first time dare’n't even cross his mind. Health Problems: Anxiety, insomnia and severe depression. Religion and beliefs: Atheist.

PERSONAL

Bad Habits: Smoking weed instead of coping with his problems in a healthy and rational manner, repressing things rather than confronting them, trying to save everyone. Good Habits: Writing out odd snippets of poem lines on napkins when he’s bored in restaurants and leaving them for the waiters to find and blink at in confusion, keeping a secret sketchbook where he draws the profiles of all his favourite people, investing his all into people in spite of how many times he’s been hurt before. Best Characteristic: His dry and sometimes absurd sense of humour. Worst Characteristic: His proneness to acting pretentious or condescending when someone has different interests to his. Worst Memory: At a small party when he was sixteen, they decided to go around in a circle and play truth or dare. He chose truth and everyone waited with baited breath for someone to cook up the kind of question that would get even Jude Hayward, master of playing it cool, squirming with embarrassment. “Are you a virgin? If not, how’d you lose it?” A dozen crinkle cornered eyes had all curiously blinked back at him mid broad grins as he offered a limp shrug, face glazed over with something that looked like an oddly forced attempt at pride. It was only after he’d told them and the room had fallen quiet that he realised it perhaps wasn’t quite something to be proud of, but for parents to anxiously whisper in the corner over and worriedly shake their heads. The fact that it had been with his mother’s best friend while she was out of town had never truly struck him as strange until he saw the dawning horror on all of those faces staring back at him. Needless to say, he never went to one of their parties or mentioned it to anyone ever again. Best Memory: The old lady down the hall from his parent’s loft used to make homemade cherry pie and cut him a slither to eat after school. One sun soaked afternoon they sat in front of her dingy television set, chomping silently during a leaked new episode of Mad Men, and when she ruffled his hair after he finished in a record breaking five minutes, he found himself pretending and believing for those set few seconds that she was actually his family. Proud of: His artwork. Embarrassed by: Ever speaking honestly about his emotions. Driving Style: Fairly regulation. Bumps up onto the sidewalk a lot, chuckles under his breath and calmly recites the Harry Potter floating head that says “it’s gonna be a bumpy ride” in a Jamaican accent. Strong Points: Charismatic, witty, laid-back, easygoing, independent and undemanding. Temperament: Fairly neutral unless you give him reason not to be. Weakness: People that seem just as sad and lonely as he is deep down. Fears: Being left alone in a room with strangers, eating bad chicken and getting salmonella, heights. Phobias: Moths and horses. Secrets: How bad his relationship with his parents actually is. How he lost his virginity. Regrets: Not trying harder to grow into someone his parents would find interesting enough to stay. Feels Vulnerable When: People notice how often he pretends to be something he isn’t. Pet Peeves: Chart music, chino pants, modern art. Sexuality: Heterosexual. He tried to experiment once and just couldn’t get into it. Exercise Routine: None in particular. Day or Night Person: Night. Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert. Optimist or Pessimist: Pessimist.

LIKES AND PREFERENCES

Music: Indie rock, mod rock -- any shade of rock, really. He loves The Smiths and any kind of broody sad boy music, too. Books: Anything classic and old, he loves. He’s a huge Kerouac fan as well as Kurt Vonnegut and Chuck Palahniuk. Foods: Hates to admit it but he loves Chipotle. He also loves sushi and any kind of noodle soup. Drinks: He tends to mainly drink beer or cider but most of the time at parties he’ll just drink whatever someone gives to him. He isn’t fussy. Animals: Doesn’t care much about any of them. He’s pretty neutral. Sports: N/A. Social Issues: Democrat. Walked in the women’s march and got black out drunk before waking up on a public bench with a pair of bachelorette party antlers where they’re dick themed instead of deer. Favorite Saying: “In the land of gods and monsters I was a fella. Lookin’ to just hang out.” Color: Blue. Clothing: Wears a lot of thrifted shirts over thin white t-shirts. Dr. Martens and cuffed jeans. Almost always has some sort of charcoal smudge on his sleeve. Band t-shirts and t-shirts with a scan of obscure and unknown artworks also feature heavily in his wardrobe. Games: Once he played Red Dead Redemption for three days straight and the first time he tried mushrooms, he hallucinated that he was riding along on a donkey besides a river with a strand of wheat chewed in his mouth like a lone ranger on the run from the law. In reality he was just sat on a swing at the local park. Websites: Vine and PornHub. TV Shows: Breaking Bad and Mad Men. Movies: American Beauty and Trainspotting. Greatest Want: To flee civilisation and abandon his responsibilities by moving to a remote goat farm in Cambodia. Greatest Need: Therapy.

LIFESTYLE

Home: Currently lives in college dormitories. Household furnishings: Very minimal. Pinstriped duvet and an obnoxiously bright desk lamp for when he wants to do his sketches there. He has stacks of lined up, overflowing sketchbooks by the wall beneath his window and he’s plonked a cushion onto the sill so he can sit there and draw while he smokes some mornings. That aside, the only other stand out piece of furniture is his acoustic guitar. Favorite Possession: His oil paints. They were a departing gift from his elderly neighbour before he moved to Rochester. She saved up for months to afford them and they mean a great deal to him, sentimentally. Significant Other Before: He’s had three ex-girlfriends. His first meant a lot to him and he was head-over-heels in love with her, but the second was more of a fling to get over the one before her. His most recent was Saskia Cohen, who he still hasn’t managed to get over just yet, particularly so given that she cheated on him and the breakup was hideously messy. Children: N/A. Relationship with Family: He texts them every so often and receives an updated photo from their travels. It’s very impersonal and more like having a long distance pen pal than a family. Car: None. Pets: None. Career: Student. Salary: N/A. Other Income: N/A. Dream Career: Photographic journalist. Love Life: A board certified mess. Sexual Turn Ons: Dirty talk that is subtle and not over-the-top, prolonged foreplay, confidence. Sexual Turn Offs: Pushiness, foot fetishists, people who try too hard to sound appealing. Hobbies: Drawing, reading up on philosophical theory, collecting dollar store vinyls from thrift shops, practising his guitar, writing short stories and poems that he deletes after reading them back. Guilty Pleasure: Watching Spanish soap operas and making up what they’re saying as he goes along. Almost always occurs when he’s hideously high. Talents or Skills: Drawing, photography, playing guitar. Intelligence Level: Jude has an impressively high IQ, although this isn’t something he ever boasts about or makes a point of asserting.

#lockwoodtask001 #lockwood:points #statutory rape tw #rape tw #not explicitly bt its alluded to #abuse tw #this prob has typos bt its Late here ok forgiv me

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mountphoenixrp · 8 years ago

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We have a returning citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Chang’e, the Goddess of the Moon, whose origins stem from Ancient China. She is now the owner of the Jade Rabbit Planetarium.

FC NAME/GROUP: Fan Bingbing // Actress GOD NAME: Chang’e PANTHEON: Chinese OCCUPATION: jade rabbit planetarium HEIGHT: 168 cm // 5’5 ft WEIGHT: 50 kg // 110 lbs DEFINING FEATURES: silver eyes (cloudy during the day, clear during the night), beautifully ethereal

PERSONALITY: Chang’e moves with the body of an elegant dove on windswept currents, each action calculated and fluid. Though there is a playful gleam in her eyes, her lips speak silently of a cunning woman hiding behind delicate pale skin. Within each flick of her wrist is the story of centuries above the earth in her heavenly palace. She walks amongst mortals through gentle moonlight, shining fondly upon their smiling faces. The words that slip from her mouth are chosen with their intended effect ━ eloquence at its finest. Her silk robes drip in elegance, rippling with her breath. Those that win her fondness see her open heart with the warmth of spring. That same heart is the very thing that leads Chang’e to her drive, a goddess that follows her core, rather than mind. Once she has set her heart on something, it’s quite difficult to sway her views, which, at times, may seem traditional.

A millennia after the separation and death of her husband has created what could be called a certain affection for lovers, and those that are on the verge falling into the swirling pool of love. She looks upon them with the most tender of gazes, as well as those that offer themselves to the benevolent goddess. Chang’e blesses those with legendary beauty and warm whispers that visit them at night. The ancient deity harbors an intense attachment to the twinkling stars, staring at them constantly once she walks upon the earth, and lives with the shining gems in her home amongst the heavens.

HISTORY:

1. A young woman walks amongst mortals with features that boast of powers greater than them. She is one of them. Her delicate movements match melodies perfectly and lures in admirers with each shift of her body. There is one among them that manages to catch her gentle heart. His skill in archery matches the legend of her beauty, they are intertwined in both love and life.

2. Ten blazing suns scorch the earth and raze a path of devastation and death. Still, the dancer twirls for her archer. She continues to dance through the choking heat, feet and hips still following the wind that has disappeared from their world, ripped away by the orbs of flame high in the sky. A high held chin presses back tears threatening to spill over the edge, grip tightening over a single square of silk. The mortals watch as even the heavens swirl in turmoil ━ until a great warrior steps forward. Her dance becomes frantic, jerking wildly rather than a tender shift, growing in desperation as she cannot bear to see her archer fly higher and higher into the sky until he reaches the blinding suns. She does not cry for him, she dances. With each pirouette, the sky reaches a change in disposition, a gentle warmth upon her skin rather than a harsh whip. She dances more. All is well. She is in the embrace of her archer by the last twirl. His love consumes her.

3. The heavens praise her archer as if he is one of their own, her cheers joining with them. A single glass bottle, filled inside with a swirling liquid as if it is made of the stars, given with honor. A gift of glory, yet the young woman weeps with sadness rather than joy. There is enough for one mortal, yet they are two. She wonders to herself if perhaps the heart can be wrong. She is alone. He has not left yet, but he will be. She is prepared. No she is not.

4. He comes to her at night, but he is not her archer. This man is unforgiving, rough like scrape of metal against metal. Her ears beg for mercy at the sound of his fury-filled voice, bellowing for the gift he is after: a liquid made of pearls. She did not know blood could turn to ice. The tiny glass bottle burns within her hands; there is no other way. The man grabs for his blade as the smooth fluid slips down her throat. It is too late. It wasn’t supposed to be her. It was not meant for her. She is not welcome. Delicate ethereal features turn to snarls at the sight of a glowing woman rather than a man. She holds a guzhen rather than a bow. She dances rather than fights. The stars seem to fill her with dread, instead of the awe she regarded them with as a mortal. They still shine beautifully, but there is such a thing as terrifying magnificence. The woman is stuck, not quite on the earth yet not soaring in the heavens. She fly higher and higher, yet not enough. Her palace is stunning, yet lonely. A melancholy beauty surrounds the moon, glowing with grace. At times, laughter can be heard from above. Perhaps they would enjoy her dance. She is not quite sure where it comes from, but the timid companionship of the rabbit comforts her in times loneliness. The heavens may have granted the simple gift, though the woman is of yet to know. It follows her, and for the first time, she smiles.

5. Her archer has not forgotten her━ will not forget her. His blood is still amongst the mortals, but he stares at the starry night sky every night with a nostalgic gaze, staring upon his wife in her heavenly moon palace. He hopes she is not alone. An offering is placed out for her every night without fail, shining in the moonlight. Again, the woman finds herself smiling at the rice cakes and fruits piled upon the woven mat. All her favorites. The moon isn’t starting to feel so lonely anymore.

6. It has been a millennia. She walks amongst the heavens in comfort, reigning over the lunar halls with a graceful turn of her lips. There are still suspicious whispers that slither across the high clouds, but she has made her place. Silver shining robes hang from her lithe body, looking as if it were a river made of molten silver with each step. Her eyes have grown wiser, yet retain the gleam of an amused dancer. They glow with the color of the stars.

Her archer has died long ago. She does not weep for him. Her name is Chang’e, and she belongs with the stars.

POWERS:

lunar manipulation : create, shape and manipulate lunar energy/matter of beneficial nature

001. lunar empowerment - stronger, faster, more durable, etc. in contact with moon, moonlight, or lunar energy/substance

002. lunar constructs - turn lunar energy into tools, objects, weapons and other items, create semi-living constructs and/or create structures/buildings of varying permanence.

003. lunar healing - heal themselves or others by using lunar elements or the power of the moon itself.

lunar vision : extremely limited sight during the day, verging on the edge of blind, yet vision is extremely clear at night

001. extended vision - if object or person is under clear moonlight, chang'e may channel her sight through the moonlight to watch upon them

beauty inducement : alter the physical qualities of people so that they will become more pleasing aesthetically

001. blessings - she may only bless the inducement on those who have given the correct offerings and prayer

STRENGTHS: eloquent; intelligent; elegant WEAKNESSES: impulsive; stubborn; weak eyesight (during the day);

#kpop rp #crp #fan bingbing #mp; welcome

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gabrielreyesofsunshine · 8 years ago

Text

A story

loriizsuleyk submitted:

More years had passed than Jack Morrison would like to admit as he hunted down the terrorist organization called Talon. He knew precious little about its membership, but he knew even less about its base of operations.

Jack sat in a hotel room in the United States, staring blankly at a pile of documents and photos spread across the bed of his hotel room. It was night out, Jack knew from the time on the wall clock, but it really didn’t matter; he kept the blinds tightly shut at all times and had enough caffeine in his body to keep him awake another week or so.

All the same, his mind was unfocused. He had tried several times that night to read and absorb the documents, but each time, he found his mind wandering. He was wasting time. Even his iron will wasn’t enough to keep his mind on the task at hand, not tonight.

Heaving a sigh, Jack gathered the documents into a large folder. He stuffed them in haphazardly despite knowing that, come morning, he’d regret that carelessness. The stuffed-to-bursting folder went in his backpack for later, in case he had to move quickly as he had so many times before on this hunt.

He collapsed onto the bed, letting his tired body splay out and take up most of the small mattress. Still, though, the caffeine in his blood wouldn’t let him sleep. He lay there, spread-eagle, for an indeterminate amount of time before boredom finally won out.

Jack snatched the remote control for the room’s main monitor and, with a button, brought it to life. He appreciated the old-fashioned aesthetics of the remote and the monitor; they brought back happy memories of televisions from his childhood. In fact, this monitor was primed for watching livestreams, making it a close analogue to those televisions of yesteryear in function as well as looks.

Jack flipped through the popular streams quickly, uninterested. He made a point of avoiding streams that reminded him of Overwatch, and video of former members most of all. This avoidance of mainstream content quickly left Jack adrift in the more bizarre and unusual streams.

After a minute or two of browsing, selecting streams, and then getting bored with them, one particular video caught his attention. It was called “Ghost Hunting!” and was uploaded by a relatively unknown poster; only two other people were shown to be watching the steam.

Jack clicked on the steam, and was rewarded with a low quality night vision camera’s view of a large dark building in the midst of the forest.

“Hello! We have another viewer!” The cameraman said, and the view shook a bit with their excitement.

“Shhh. Keep your voice low,” came the reply. A person stepped into frame, holding her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. "But James is right, welcome to our steam.“

James, seemingly the cameraman, held out a thumbs up so it was in frame. "You’re just in time. Parker is getting the sound equipment set up and then we’re gonna get started."

A nasally voice came from behind the camera. "I have the boom mic and the lav mic. What do you want me to bring?”

The woman in frame, seemingly the hostess, glanced behind the cameraman. Even with the graininess of the night vision camera, deep dark bags were visible under her eyes. “Get the boom mic, Parker. Now, let’s go.”

The hostess turned and began heading forward toward the dark building. The hostess began to give background on what was happening. “All right, if you were here last week you saw us finally getting our first footage of the Grim Phantom - the black specter that has haunted the woods for years. We found this creepy building yesterday on satellite, and nobody knew anything about it, so today we’re checking if the Grim Phantom comes from this place.”

The group made it to a door in the building, plated in black steel. The hostess hesitated, then knocked sharply on the door.

There was, of course, no reply. However, the sound man came forward with an armful of tubing that was affixed to the door frame; a few seconds later and with a loud bang, the door was off its hinges. The hostess pushed it aside, revealing a corridor as dark and gloomy as the night outside.

The party proceeded into the building, camera sweeping left and right as the hostess continued narrating.

“We’re now inside the building. I sense a presence here. This is the source of the Phantom, I know it.” The hostess said, leading the group in a slow creep through the hallway. Soon, doors began popping up on both sides of the hall; the hostess bristled and the progress of the group slowed to a crawl.

Finally, they rounded a corner into a vast main area. It looked like a military training facility, complete with exercise equipment and practice weapons all throughout the space. The practice dummies caught the group by surprise, but the passage through to the other side of the space was uneventful, if eerie.

Finally, the trio came to a barracks area. They crept into the lobby and looked around, seeing lockers, a washroom, and a door with a bunk bed visible on the other side.

The group moved toward the bunk bed, and the hostess stepped over the threshold into the sleeping quarters.

Suddenly, a deep voice rang out, not one belonging to any of the ghost hunters. “Hey, what the fuck? Intruders!”

A figure leapt from one of the upper beds, clad in a pair of pajama pants. Where his skin was visible, it was horribly scarred and tendrils of darkness wafted off of it.

Jack started. “Gabe?!” He shouted disbelievingly at the steam.

On screen, Gabe was pointing a finger at the hostess’s chest and shouting. “You can’t be here! This is trespassing! How did you even get inside?! Turn that damn camera off!”

Jack was already packed and driving.

Author’s note: I had this mental image of Gabe getting caught by shitty ghost hunters due to his wraith form and it spiraled out of control.

#oh my god #submission

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