#trying to get myself to concentrate on the latter half of this course is like pulling teeth

[nepsah]

hhhhhhhhh i took a programming class bc i was interested in learning how to do that and i do believe i have learned that i do not like it :')

[masterjasper223]

Then and Now - Blood Moon

(Warnings: underage sex, period sex, angst)

Lupin Then

Dating a werewolf wasn't something to romanticise, but that wasn't to say it didn't come with its advantages.

For one, no one had more sympathy for you when you were on your period. Remus knew all too well what it was like to have to deal with something painful month after month, something that many of your classmates were blissfully exempt from, yet would most likely be repulsed to hear about.

In fact, you were acutely aware that Remus had it worse on every score, especially the latter; his "condition" was a very well kept secret at Hogwarts, and his education was only able to continue for as long as it remained as such.

But somehow, you'd never expected him to understand all of it: the cravings, the sudden drop in self esteem, the bursts of emotion- from irritation, to sadness, to feeling suddenly... well, unbelievably horny.

Yet as it turned out, you were wrong.

********************************************

It's Sunday afternoon, and the two of you are studying together in an empty classroom on the sixth floor. Or, rather, that had been the plan, before you'd woken up with the tell-tale discomfort in your lower abdomen.

There's little chance of your being productive today, but you decided to join Remus anyway, vaguely hoping that you'd absorb a few scraps of revision just by being in proximity to him.

But even those prospects are looking grim, as you have yet to summon the energy to open your textbook, and are currently slumped across the desk with your cheek pressed into the faded leather cover.

"Remus... Why do you have to be so handsome?" you sigh, staring vacantly at his profile. Something about the way his brows knit together when he's concentrating is very alluring all of a sudden.

"Terribly sorry for the inconvenience," Remus replies, a little testily. To his credit, he's actually trying to get some work done, and has already filled half of the roll of parchment in front him.

"I want to study," you grumble. "But I got my period this morning."

Remus pauses mid-scrawl, shooting you a sympathetic glance. "Then I really am sorry. But you'll be all right if you skip a day or two- I'll give you a copy of my notes to go over later."

"Thanks, Remus," you say, smiling up at him affectionately.

He clears his throat, and shakes his hair out of his eyes in that twitchy sort of way that tells you he's feeling self-conscious, before starting writing again- but he's barely jotted down two words before his quill stops on the page.

"Hang on. What does my being handsome have to do with anything, then?" he demands, shooting you a sideways glance.

"Because I'm horny," you whine, watching with some satisfaction as a flush creeps up your boyfriend's neck. "But since I'm on my period, we can't... you know..." You walk your fingers up his arm, searching for the right expression. "...play around." You haven't actually had sex yet, but you've gone a bit further than snogging on more than one occasion.

"Why not?" Remus asks, hoarsely. His quill slides from between his fingers and rolls to the side of his notes, where it lies dripping ink, forgotten.

"Because we'd make a mess, of course. Not to mention, I'm in pain." You grimace, massaging your belly under the desk. "And I don't feel very sexy today."

To your surprise, Remus offers you a wry smile and says, "Ah. That sounds familiar."

"Which part?"

"All of it. The pain, I've told you about. But leading up to the full moon, I'm- something of a mess. Less so now than I used to be, but I still can't stand to see myself in the mirror, and I get... cravings."

"Me, too!" you say, sitting up and swivelling around in your chair to face him. "I crave chocolate worse than if I'd been hounded by dementors."

"I crave red meat," Remus admits. "And, er... human contact."

You raise your eyebrows at him. "You mean you get horny, too?"

Remus nods, his cheeks now very pink. "But I wouldn't want to do anything about it," he says, quickly, glancing away. "I can't. I don't trust myself." He shakes his head, as if to clear it, and you're surprised to find that there's a mischievous spark in his eyes when they flick back to yours. "But it's different in your case. Very different."

"How so?" you ask, a little more sharply than you had intended. You can't help but feel that that's rather presumptuous of him.

"Well, for one, this is the safest time of the month for you to have sex," he points out. "And for another, according to- certain sources- it might just be one of the best times."

You understand 'certain sources' to mean the debauched experiences of Sirius Black.

"At the very least, it could provide some temporary relief," Remus continues, crossing and uncrossing his legs with a wince.

"Are you suggesting we...?"

"Well... yes. I mean, only if you want to."

You smirk at him, but a split-second later all of your confidence evaporates. "You wouldn't find it a turn-off?"

"Of course not. I've seen blood before."

"It's not just the blood. I'm..." you trail off, hugging your stomach, reluctant to put too fine a point on it.

"It won't change how sexy I find you," Remus murmurs, gently. "But if you're uncomfortable, we can wait."

You consider for a moment, weighing your options... but with your heart racing, and desire already pooling in your belly, drowning out the pain, it doesn't take you long to make up your mind.

"If you're sure... I mean, I'd like to." You reach across and place your hand on Remus's knee. He stiffens for a moment, swallowing thickly, before laying his fingers over yours and giving them a squeeze. "But where? When?"

Remus glances around the empty classroom. "Not here- we won't be able to relax. There's always the Astronomy Tower, no one goes up there during the day..." He pauses, glancing up at the ceiling. "But I, er, think I can arrange for the boys' dormitory to be empty for a few hours. Tonight, if you like."

"Tonight, then," you agree, leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek.

*********************************************

It's not your first time in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, and it won't be your last. As promised, the two of you are alone- which is why you're sitting on the end of Remus's four-poster, with your thighs wrapped around his hips, and his arms wrapped around your back, snogging as if your lives depend upon it.

But when you reach between your bodies to grasp his cock through the fabric of his robes, Remus squeezes your waist and draws back, panting, his lips flushed from kissing you and his eyes bright with desire. "Are you sure?" he asks, eyes flicking between yours. You nod impatiently, tugging at the front of his robes. "Okay," he chuckles. "Just- tell me if you want to stop."

"You, too," you say, sucking in a big breath before crashing your lips against his. But you're not content with snogging anymore. While Remus's hands cup your cheeks, yours begin to wander, raking down his back and chest, squeezing his biceps and hips, before slipping under the hem of his robes.

The second your fingers close around the hard length straining at his boxers, Remus's fingers are on your bare thighs, hitching your own robes up to your hips, as if he's been waiting for permission to touch you all this time.

"Robes- off-" you manage, in between kisses, and you part just long enough to allow Remus to tug your robes over your head, and to help him do the same. A moment later, your bra joins the pile of robes on the floor. Then he stands up- your legs tighten instinctively around his hips- and lays you down on your back on the mattress, supporting himself on his elbows in order to get a good look at you.

"What about the blood?" you ask, breathlessly, plucking at the quilt underneath you.

"That's what scouring charms are for," he says, grinning as he nuzzles your cheek.

Your answering giggle turns into a gasp as his warm hands slide along your bare skin. Remus licks and sucks at your neck as his fingers explore every inch of you, relishing in the little hums and moans you make for him, until he works up the courage to remove the last scraps of fabric separating you from him. Then he begins massaging your inner thigh as he kisses his way down your neck, fingers trembling and blood pounding in his ears.

"Remus... Aren't you forgetting something?" you pout, tugging at the waistband of his boxers, and he chuckles nervously before kicking them off.

But soon all trace of nerves are gone as you start pumping him in your closed fist, and he becomes putty in your hands, weeping precum into your palm, fingers digging into your thighs as he pushes them apart.

"Can I- try something?" he asks, squeezing your wrist with shaking fingers to get you to stop. You nod, releasing him, and lick your lips, wondering what he has in store for you.

Remus takes a moment to admire you again as he settles back on his haunches, before slowly lifting your thighs, spreading them, and positioning himself at your entrance. But instead of sliding in, he begins swirling his tip around your slit.

Fuck, that feels good.

You're so warm and slick that the tip of his cock slips in by mistake, and dips in and out of you without any resistance. You're even more sensitive than usual, and the extra moisture feels so delicious on the head of his cock that within minutes the two of you are twitching spasmodically, on the verge of release. Neither of you is going to last long, but as you watch Remus bite down on his lip, and his Adam's apple bob as he moans low in his throat, suddenly you don't care.

"Remus- please..." Your breath catches- you can't think of anything more to say- and a moment later you've stopped thinking altogether as he fills you for the first time.

It's bliss, pure and simple. Even more so when he begins to move, snapping his hips back and forth, creating delicious, slippery friction. You fit him like a glove, but even though you're tight around him he has to be careful only to pull out halfway, in case he slips out.

You can tell that exercising this control is costing Remus a lot; his brows are knitted together in concentration, as if he's studying a particularly tricky revision question, and sweat is trickling down his naked chest.

He's watching you, too; his eyes flick between your face and the place where your bodies are joined, enraptured at the sight of you beneath him. You can feel him drinking it all in: your spread thighs, your trembling breasts, your flushed cheeks and messy hair...

He groans your name, and that's when you feel a throb- a throb so deep within your core, and so unlike anything you've ever felt, that at first you're not sure if it's coming from him or you. Then you feel a tug behind your navel, not unlike the sensation of using a portkey, followed by a flood of wetness between your thighs as a fresh wave of bliss washes over you. Remus's fingers dig into your skin, and he bucks his hips several times before collapsing on top of you and burrowing his face into your neck.

You lie like that for a long time, just holding each other, revelling in one another's warmth; though you can't help but fidget a little, as slick drips from your slit, and his soft cock, still inside you, begins to firm up again, making your sensitive walls tingle.

You wonder if he'll want to go again- wonder if you could even handle it- but eventually Remus pulls out of you and rolls onto his side, propping his chin on one fist. Gazing down at you through half-lidded eyes, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and whispers, "How do you feel?"

"So good." The ache in your belly is gone, and every last muscle in your body seems to sigh with contentment at your release.

"Well, that answers my next question," Remus chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But don't get too comfortable. We'll have to clean up soon."

"Just a bit longer..." you groan, nuzzling your face into his chest. You're already dreading the walk back to your dormitory.

"Of course. I don't mind." He rolls the quilt over you and tucks it under his arm, pressing you more firmly against him. "But- best not stay too long if you want those revision notes. I, er, didn't get much done after our talk earlier."

*******************************************

You're both so spent that neither of you notices the door click shut behind you, or hears the whispered exchange between James and Sirius as they tiptoe down the stairs to the common room.

"Moony, you beast..."

"You owe me ten galleons, Prongs."

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

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Lupin Now

When you open the door, Remus is more surprised than you- but then, Dumbledore had told you to expect him.

Clearly, Remus had not been so well informed.

His eyes fly wide, and he whispers your name like a prayer- before quickly clearing his throat, as if to erase it. "Er, how are you?" he asks, with all the forced politeness one uses when addressing a total stranger.

"I'm all right, Remus. Or should that be Professor Lupin?" you tease, managing a grin in spite of the ache in your chest.

"Just Remus, now," he says, returning the smile a little stiffly. "My teaching career was rather short-lived, I'm afraid."

Ah. Perhaps you're not as well informed as you'd thought.

"Well, come in," you say, throwing the door wide. "I'll make us a cup of tea, and we can catch up a bit before we get down to business."

You make it halfway down the corridor before you realise Remus isn't following you, and turn to see him framed in the doorway, staring at his feet. Without meeting your gaze, he mutters, "I'm... not sure that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

Remus swings his arms, and inspects the frayed sleeve of his robes, clearly stalling for time. In fact, you get the distinct impression that he's searching for an excuse. Finally, he says, "I'm afraid I'll disappoint you."

"Disappoint me?" you echo. You feel a sharp twist in your stomach, and something hot and prickly claws at your throat. "Disappoint me?" you repeat, louder this time. "After all these years, that's what you say to me?"

He flinches, and his face twists as if he's in pain, but he still doesn't look at you.

That does it.

You storm up to him, yank on his sleeve, and, the second he's over the threshold, shove him against the wall next to the door, which slams shut of its own accord. Remus doesn't fight you- in fact, he barely reacts at all- but he does place a hand on your shoulder, as if he's determined to keep you at arm's length.

It's insulting. You grind your teeth, resisting the urge to draw your wand.

"When you cut me out of your life the second we left Hogwarts, do you think I was disappointed? When you made sure none of my owls could find you, do you think I was disappointed? When you tried to get me kicked out of the Order, do you think I was disappointed? When I had to hear about James, and Lily, and Peter, and Sirius second-hand, do you think I was disappointed? Do you? Because I wasn't disappointed! I was bloody heartbroken!"

Silence hangs in the air between you.

Then Remus looks up, and finally meets your eyes. "I am sorry," he says. He pauses for a moment, as if to let the words sink in, before continuing, "I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was doing what was necessary to protect you. It was a foolish notion. I see that now- and I regret it.

"But at the time, I thought that it was right, and that that fact alone justified the pain I was causing you. It was selfish of me. I told myself I was sacrificing my happiness for your safety, when in reality, I was sacrificing your happiness for my peace of mind." He gently squeezes your shoulder, and tries to extract himself from your grip. "I have no intention of asking for your forgiveness. The fact that I tried to avoid this conversation proves that I am a coward. Once we've concluded our business here, I'll make sure you never have to hear from me ag--"

You push him back against the wall, cutting him off. His arms fall limply to his sides.

"I can't believe you. You're about to make the same mistake all over again!"

Still holding your gaze, Remus takes a deep breath and slowly shakes his head. "This is diff--"

"No, it isn't! You're making it seem like you're doing this for me, but this isn't what I want! I've never..." Suddenly, a terrible thought occurs to you, and your fingers curl reflexively into the front of his robes. "Unless... it's what you want?"

He hesitates for only a fraction of a second before answering. "It is."

The words pierce your heart like shards of ice- but you have to be sure. Swallowing thickly, your eyes desperately searching his, you force your numb lips to form the question. "You... don't want to be with me... like we used to... anymore?"

Remus stiffens, and you could swear you feel his pulse skip under your fingers. But his reply is as cold as it is resolute. "No."

"I... I see."

Your heart drops like a stone in your chest. You're not sure if he's being honest with you, but you decide that it doesn't matter anymore. If this is how he wants it, then so be it. You've made up your mind, as well- on two counts.

The first, you retrieve from its clever hiding place in your kitchen. It's a delicate charm bracelet, from which dangle three tiny phials, each brimming with a pearly substance that is neither gas nor liquid. You grab Remus's hand, still hanging limply by his side, and coil it into his palm.

"This is everything I can tell you about the Department of Mysteries. I hope it helps."

Now your Order business is concluded.

As for the second count...

You wait until Remus has tucked the phials safely into his briefcase. Then you splay a hand on his stomach, and spear him with a look so intense that you feel him freeze up under your fingertips.

"When was your last time?"

It takes Remus half a second to catch your meaning. When it dawns on him, his mouth forms a small 'o', and at length he replies, so quietly that you have to read the words off of his lips to make them out, "Seventh year. Right before the end-of-term feast."

Your answer exactly.

So, he hasn't had anyone since you, either. Which means- if your memory of his libido is anything to go by- Remus must be as touch-starved as you are.

"Spend the night."

To your surprise, he places a hand over the one splayed on his stomach. You lace your fingers with his, and he doesn't pull away.

"Please."

But then Remus laughs bitterly and shakes his head. "I cant. Tonight's the full moon." He cups your cheek with his free hand, and his thumb strokes the fullness of your lower lip. "I'll have to lock myself away."

You sigh and lean into his touch, wishing you could be there for him, that he didn't have to go through it alone. But you know he wouldn't want you to see him in that form. So instead of offering, you ask, "Do you have the potion with you?"

He answers with a curt nod. You can't help but notice that his hands still haven't left you.

He wants you.

No, scratch that- he needs you. You can see it in his eyes. Try as he might to hide it, you know that look all too well.

But you also know that he doesn't trust himself enough to be close to anyone right before the full moon. You never did make love during the week leading up to the transformation; he was always careful to put some distance between the two of you, and you respected that distance, knowing that he would close the gap the moment the lunar cycle began anew.

The question is, what will Remus say now? He's already denied himself the chance to be with you. Will he really deny himself this, as well?

You lick your lips, deciding to make this your final push. You've made up your mind- it's time for him to make up his.

"It's still early. You could stay until you need to take it, then disapparate. Or... we could make it quick."

He hesitates. The fingers laced with yours spasm, as if he's on the verge of pulling them away- but his other hand betrays him, thumb gently tugging on your lower lip.

"Do you still remember our first time?" you ask, before you can stop yourself.

"Of course," Remus says, a little too quickly. A flush creeps up his neck, and he clears his throat before continuing. "We were... rather irresponsible." He swallows, and his eyes briefly dart down to your mouth, before flicking back up to meet your gaze. "I suppose nothing's changed."

And, without giving you a chance to process this, he crashes his lips to yours.

There's no preamble, no more hesitation. Your tongues dance, and your fingers waste no time in getting reacquainted with every inch of skin they can reach; seeking out the similarities, and revelling in the changes.

This Remus isn't all that different from the one in your memory, except for his features,(he's aged quite a bit), and the fact that he's a little underweight for his stature. He also has more scars than you remember, more lean muscle, too; and he's bigger, in more ways than one.

You've probably changed more than he has, and you feel his calloused palms and fingers appreciate every last detail, everything that you are- everything that you've become in his absence.

Remus is the first to strip, kicking off his shoes and breaking the kiss just long enough to tear off his robes. Yours come off next, and any remaining scraps of fabric are left in place, to be pulled roughly aside whenever they get in the way.

You throw your arms around his neck, and he picks you up at the waist, spinning you around to press your back against the wall. Squeezing his hips with your thighs, you reach in between your bodies to grip his cock, pulling back just enough to be able to watch his expression as you touch him. Remus's eyes are dark with lust, his breathing ragged- you've never seen such a look of intense desire.

And it's all for you.

Biting your lip, you rub the head of his cock around your slit. He's painfully hard, leaking precum onto your palm. It feels so good- even better than you remember. You could come for him, just like this.

But Remus groans and clutches your wrist. "Mmph. Best stop that- if you want me to last."

So you lean up and brush your nose against his, nibbling on his lower lip and teasing his tongue with yours as you slowly fill yourself up with his cock. You're dripping wet for him, so it doesn't hurt, and any twinge of discomfort is quickly drowned out by the pleasure of being stretched.

It starts off slow, as Remus matches every thrust with a sweet kiss, a sweet caress- but it's not long before you find yourself bouncing up and down on his cock.

He fucks you senseless, and you ride him for all you're worth. It's like you're venting your frustrations together- or maybe on each other. But there's no anger or hatred between the two of you; just understanding. Longing. Need. Years and years of it, pent-up and begging for release.

It's delicious. Intoxicating. He fills you to the brim, rubbing places your fingers could never reach. You come quickly- too quickly- but Remus holds himself back, gently rocking his hips as he kisses you down from your high.

Then he carries you into your bedroom, (the door standing open on your right), and lays you down on the bed. For a heartbeat, you think it's over- that he's just going to leave you there. But then he settles himself on the floor between your legs, tugs your ankles over his shoulders, and buries his face between your thighs.

"Remus- fuck-"

Remus has always been good with his mouth. He's so eager to taste you- so eager to devour you. He kisses your slit, open-mouthed, no differently to how he claimed your lips; spreading your folds with his tongue and swirling it inside you, sucking on your clit...You run your fingers through his hair, digging your nails into his scalp, torn between holding his head in place and pulling it away. The pleasure is almost too much to bear, and your thighs are shuddering uncontrollably.

Then, just when you think you can't handle it anymore, Remus stands up, rests one knee on the edge of the bed, and slides his cock back inside you.

Your breath hisses through your teeth, but the pain soon fades as he picks up the pace, rubbing your clit and rolling his hips with every thrust.

Finally, you feel a gush of warmth, and Remus judders to a stop, his eyes boring into yours as he groans your name. That's all it takes for you to come undone a second time, and you're still twitching in pleasure as he slumps forward onto your chest.

You wrap your arms around him, eyes fluttering closed. It almost feels like you could be back in the boy's dormitory in Gryffindor tower, taking advantage of your alone time in his four-poster.

"I've missed you." The words spill from your lips before you can hold them back, but you instantly regret them as Remus freezes up again.

"I..." There's so much he wishes he could say, but to do so would mean going back on everything he's said, and undoing the choice he made all those years ago. The choice he reaffirmed the instant you answered the door.

So Remus swallows the words he was going to say, and replaces them with, "I have to go."

Even though you knew this was coming, it still hurts. You pull your arms away from him and roll onto your side, hugging yourself instead. Then, without looking at him, you tilt your head in the direction of the front door. "Lock it behind you for me, will you?"

Remus nods and pulls himself to his feet. He ducks out of the room, dresses quickly and cleans himself up with a wave of his wand. Then he comes back in and gently covers you with your duvet.

"Take care," he murmurs, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

"You, too."

You hear the front door close, and a faint rap on the wood as Remus taps it with his wand, followed by the sound of the lock sliding into place of its own accord.

Then there's a loud crack, and just like that, he's gone.

[studyscrasic]

New year, new attempt at using this blog

Being back in school has really impacted my language learning efforts -- mostly by narrowing my focus to Norwegian for a while now! I've only got one semester of my Norwegian class left though, and I want to set myself up to not lose what I've learned (and focus on some other languages in the latter half of the year!)

I really want to get back to studying Gaelic and Irish again (Maybe 2023 will be the year I finally finish the Gaelic Duolingo course?), and preferably get up the courage to join in the voice chats in the one Celtic language Discord server I'm in again! And both German and Yiddish are tugging at my interest again (maybe a little bit because of playing Pentiment; it's fine... it's fine)

I think I'm also going to try to work with the school business instead of against it. With me starting to really refine my academic interests (biology, but also concentrations in history of science and maybe cultural studies to build myself a nice little scicomm-focused interdisciplinary biology degree?), turning this blog into a little bit more of a studyblr as opposed to just a langblr feels like it will get me posting more often, since I have a lot of other classes I'm excited about this next semester, too!

TL;DR -- Still aiming to be mostly a language blog, but there's going to be some other academic nonsense (especially history of science). I might try a new intro post and/or langblr or studyblr activation challenge to get things rolling again.

Here's hoping I get posting here a bit more often!

[darlingzelda]

Toa Qelsum x MC (Retsuko)

“Try it again.”  

Retsuko sat in the library with Toa at one of the study tables, trying desperately to produce results from the lesson she had just been in. They were supposed to be turning a goblet of water into Honey-mulled wine, but she couldn’t figure out how to do it- and Toa had agreed to tutor her until she could produce results.  

He was getting quite impatient, as they had been there for a half hour and she could not seem to focus.  

“How? I’m visualizing, my hand movements are correct, and I’ve read the theory ten times over already!” She groaned, swiping locks of dark brown hair out of her red eyes.  

“You lack concentration.” Toa narrowed his frosty azure eyes, watching Retsuko valiantly attempt it over again. “Shall I have to be stricter with you, or can you focus a moment longer?”  

Toa sat across from her at the round table, arms crossed while he observed her efforts. She tried hard, he knew, but sometimes lacked proper motivation to do so. Retsuko waved her hand over the cup again, and the look of determination in her crimson eyes momentarily startled him.  

“Nonsense.” he said quietly to himself, closing his eyes. “It will not do to distract myself with such frivolities.”

There was a warmth in his chest, but his icy demeanor pushed it down almost instantly.  

“Again. You are not concentrating.” Toa repeated, watching Retsuko wither at the lack of result she had gotten from her efforts. “You must complete this elementary level of magic to pass your exams, and I will not tolerate dishonor on Qelsum by having one of the students I personally tutor fail her first year at the Academy.”  

“I know. I’m trying, Toa! I promise!” Retsuko begs, sitting up a little straighter. “I just need a little more practice!”  

“We will resume tomorrow. The morning is almost to an end, and I must speak with Knight. See that you practice on your own before we meet tomorrow.” Toa gets up, his deep sapphire-colored Royal cloak brushing the ground as he stands.  

He heard Retsuko sigh self-deprecatingly and turned to face her.  

“You did well for today. I applaud your effort, though you may not have produced proper results.” He said with a straight face, and Retsuko’s face instantly lit up from his rare praise. Her smile became radiant.  

“Thank you, Toa! I promise, I’ll have it down to show you tomorrow!” She smiles winsomely, and Toa turns away, walking in the direction of the many tall bookshelves near the rear exit.  

“Toaaaaaaa!” A teasing drawl sounded from behind one of the shelves, followed by the sound of knowing laughter.  

The prince turned, already aware of who was calling him by the sound of his teasing voice. “Fenn.”

The Luxurian prince leisurely strolled out, a sly smile on his face. “You’ve just been with Treasure, haven’t you? You have that look of adoration on your face just now in lieu of your usual scowls.” He leaned on Toa’s shoulder, draping his arms around him lazily.  

“Desist from your mischief.” the Qelsan prince brushed him off, a look of disapproval replacing his light expression.  

“Oh, but your cozy little study session looked like fun! I daresay that if Treasure got any closer to you, you would have wrapped her in your arms! Mind if I join in next time? We could have tons of fun, you know.” Fenn chuckled, his purple eyes containing a look of seductive wiles.  

“Fenn.” Toa gave him a stern look, disliking his manner of speech in the way he talked about Retsuko. “I am merely tutoring her until she produces satisfactory results. That is all. It is required of me as her mentor.”

“Yes, yes. All that fussy work is getting to your head, dear Toa. Perhaps you might seek Treasure out for a bit of a rest, yes? I find resting with another to be quite entertaining indeed.” Fenn once again draped his lilac-clad body on Toa’s shoulders, causing the latter to sigh in frustration.  

“I have business with Knight I must attend to in the Potions lecture hall.”  

“Of course you do.” Fenn sighed as Toa once again pulled himself away and started walking briskly to the library’s exit. “If you wait much longer, she will slip out of your icy fingers, you know!” he called after Toa, who simply ignored his plea.

“Utter nonsense.” The Qelsan prince said to himself as he set a fast pace to the anterior lecture hall. When he arrived, his loyal valet was already waiting for him with a large box of various magical knick-knacks.  

“Toa.” Knight stood up from the bench he was seated in, gesturing to the wide variety of items he had procured. “I brought the things you asked for from town. This should be enough for your next three lectures, I think."

“Good. I will sort through them anon. Have you any word from Qelsum?” the prince glanced at the box, then back at his valet.  

“No, not yet.” Knight shook his head, his blonde hair swaying. “I don’t think Princess Idina has any tasks for you there for a good while.”

“I expected more of my sister.” Toa comments, adjusting his royal-blue drape. “However, I will wait for her word to return to Qelsum. Bring this box to my chambers and have them ready for when I prepare for tomorrow’s lectures. I am headed to the training grounds to oversee the C ranks in their practice.” he turns to leave, Knight bowing shortly.  

“Yes, Toa.”

He had not been even a minute on his way across the Academy when he was stopped by none other than Roy, the Invidian prince. He wore a winning smile, dressed primly in light pink- ever the picture of a perfect prince.  

“Will you stop and come for a chat, Master Toa? The rest of the S ranks and I have a matter to discuss with you.” he requests politely, yellow eyes looking cheerful and bright.  

“I suppose I have a moment to spare.” Toa nods, following Roy into the S rank lounge. The rest of the Saligian princes sat within, all seated on plush armchairs. Lynt was lightly snoozing on Rio’s shoulder, Fenn seated beside them with a teasing smile on his face. The only princes absent were Guy and Lance- Guy wanting absolutely nothing to do with Toa, and Lance sticking to his antisocial tendencies.  

Toa’s eyebrows shot up. “What is the meaning of all this?”  

Fenn crossed his legs as Roy handed him a cup of steaming Invidian tea. “Oh, nothing. We are only concerned for your wellbeing, dear Toa!”

Toa did not deign to respond, seating himself opposite from the other four nobles.  

“We have all agreed that something must be done between you and Treasure, yes? Treasure seems ever so lonely by herself, and it is plain to see that you harbor feelings for her, hmm?” The Luxurian prince said, to Toa’s utter annoyance.  

“I have already told you that our relationship is to be simple and professional at best.” He answers, to which Fenn sighs dramatically.  

“She will lose interest in you if you do not nurture her feelings in earnest. Do trust me, Toa, we have all seen the care you show her opposed to all the other students you interact with.”

Lynt raises his head, green eyes half-lidded with drowsiness. He rarely bothered to come to gatherings, usually electing to sleep through them- so it was a rather rare occasion that he would take active interest in a matter. “I support Fenn’s opinion here.”

“I must admit, they are quite right. Miss Retsuko looks up to you and seeks out your company quite often. Is that correct?” Roy interjects, taking a careful sip of his own tea.  

“Suppose what you say is true and she indeed harbors feelings for me. Qelsum would never allow us to pursue courtship. By royal tradition, I am to marry into a line of nobles, and she lacks royal blood of any kind. There is also the fact that she is a subject of Avari, and our kingdoms carry a deep hatred for one another. You know this.” Toa answers with a sigh of resignation.  

“Dear Toa. You must learn to look past royal duty for now and follow your own path.” Fenn smiles, knowing that he struck a chord within Toa’s reasoning.  

“My own path....” Qelsum frowns, thinking to himself.  

It was possible that his sister Princess Idina would strike out against Retsuko if they were to pursue courtship, and that could harm her or even start a conflict with Avari. However, Fenn did have a point. His entire life, Toa was raised to think his life’s purpose was to faithfully serve only Qelsum to prepare for his inheritance of the kingdom’s throne. Perhaps it was time to start contemplating an alternate path, where balance could be found between serving Qelsum’s people and following his own desires.

“Retsuko deserves to be happy, as do you, Toa.” Lynt said sleepily, bringing Toa out of his own deep thoughts.  

“I for one think that you’d be right pleased with the way things turn out if you just give chase!” Rio said cheerily, holding a plate piled full of cinnamon buns. “You know, give her a little present, write some sentimental letters...?”

“What sort of gift would you suggest?” Toa asked thoughtfully, now entertaining the idea. It was true, he and Retsuko had been spending a lot of time together of late, and he could not deny the soft looks she had been giving him.  

“Everyone enjoys sweets, right? Even you, Toa!” Rio took a large bite of one of his pastries.  

“Sweets are a good idea. If I recall correctly, in Qelsan culture, paramours gift one another homemade chocolates as a display of romantic affection, or as a proposal to become something more than friends. Is that correct?” Roy asked, crossing his legs in a dignified manner.  

“Yes, that is correct. However, I have no knowledge of how to make such things.” Toa frowns.  

“Books on how to do so can be obtained in the library, yes? You should have no trouble following a simple recipe.” Fenn says indulgently, leaning back on the plush red cushions of his couch.

“I suppose so.”  

“I think Retsuko would enjoy sweets. She liked the caramels that you gave her on Holy Night.” Lynt closed his eyes again, curling up next to Rio with a sleepy yawn. “Phwaagh...”

“I will look into it.” Toa says resolutely, standing up to leave and head now for the library instead of the training grounds.  

“We’re cheering for you, Toa!” Rio says with a sunny smile, Lynt opening his eyes to give a lethargic nod. “Indeed. Fare you well, Master Toa! I know Miss Retsuko will be perfectly pleased with your efforts.” Roy adds with a princely smile, his soft pink hair falling into his eyes.  

Toa gave a nod of acknowledgement and set a brisk pace back to the library to find a book for making chocolates from scratch.  

“Making sweets for Retsuko....” he mused to himself, making a mental note to stop by and tell Knight to reserve the S rank kitchens for his use. “I never thought I would go such lengths to please an Avarian woman.”  

The library had an extensive section on culinary instruction, but Toa had never had such reason to look into it before. Selecting several thick tomes, he carried them out and brought them to Knight, who was faithfully waiting in his chambers for him.  

“Knight. I will be spending a few hours in the S rank kitchen tonight to prepare a gift for someone. See that you reserve it for my use.” he came in bearing four thick tomes, setting them down momentarily on his bedside table.  

Knight stared.  

“You, Toa? Cooking?” he had a look of mild disbelief in his blue eyes, watching Toa nod in agreement. “Are you feeling poorly? Come to think of it, your color’s been off lately-” 

“Knight.” Toa cut him off sharply, and his valet closed his mouth.  

“Sorry. But, who are you making food for, Toa? It must be a very special occasion for you to gift handmade.... sweets? Is that for chocolate?” Knight peers at the titles of the tomes, his light blue adornments hanging loose on his arms as he bent down to look.  

“I have been coerced into giving Retsuko a gift to tell her of my feelings.” the Prince admits, causing Knight’s blue eyes to widen in shock.  

“You’re truly telling her, then? I thought you had resolved to keep your feelings secret because of how Princess Idina might react to an Avarian commoner in the Qelsan throne.” his valet asked in a hushed tone.  

“Idina will have to tolerate Retsuko, because I have chosen her above all others to be my Queen... if she so chooses. I would not let Avari usurp her power, nor would my Father permit Qelsum to fall under Avari’s rule if Retsuko should lend her power elsewhere.” Toa states in a quiet voice.  

“Will you tell her of Retsuko’s power, then? She and she alone in all of Saligia has the power to greatly amplify the ancient magic of a Royal. If a kingdom should claim her, it would have the power to then subdue the rest of Saligia if it wanted to.” Knight thinks aloud, and Toa shakes his head.  

“Not yet. The headmaster may decide when Retsuko is to make her power known to Saligia. If every kingdom should know, it is likely a war would be started over her.” he answers. “For now, I will not bring her to Qelsum until she has been given permission to speak of it.”

“Right. So... you’re going to make her chocolate to ask her to be your paramour?” Knight queries.  

“Correct. Reserve use of the kitchens. That will be all for tonight, then your duties will be ended for the day.” Toa rises from his seat and picks up the books, leaving for the kitchens immediately.  

At a first glance through the cabinets, he found everything he needed to get started and laid it all out on the spacious counters.  

“I do not think this should be too hard... But then again. I do not want these to have any imperfections, as they will accompany my feelings for her.” he said to himself in an undertone, reading the instructions as he swept his dark blue hair into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.  

Toa ended up staying in the kitchens for hours on end, frustrated each time with the results of his labor. One batch came out entirely too chalky, the next too bitter, and there was one that just kept falling apart.  

Finally, in the early hours of the morning, he made one last batch that turned out to be his best work. The chocolates were sweet and soft, and they melted in the mouth to reveal a filling of salted caramel and sweet cream. He took care to lay them gently in a gift box, topping them with a layer of thin pink paper and tying the gold box with a crisp white ribbon.  

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t exhausted from working into the morning, but Toa felt a strong sense of satisfaction as he took the small box to his chambers to finally sleep.  

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ -

Knight woke him in the late morning, seemingly distressed over his Master.  

“Toa! Please tell me you didn’t spend all night making those chocolates....” he shook Toa awake, the latter groaning and sitting up to wipe the sleep from his eyes.  

“It was entirely worth it for Retsuko.” the Qelsan prince replied, holding back a yawn. The underneath of his azure eyes was slightly purple from the lack of sleep.  

Knight looked apprehensively at the gift box laying on Toa’s nightstand.  

“Will you give them to her today?”  

Toa nodded his assent. “There is no better time than now. If I am to convince her to my side, it must be sooner rather than later. I would not have her consider any other man.”

“Alright, if you say so...” Knight sighed, helping Toa into his formalwear. He wore a gray vest, a tie with a clip, neatly smoothed black pants, and his blue drape with golden adornments.  

“Go and assist Hawke with his lesson preparations. He needs help preparing the gardens for his students.” the Prince sent his valet off, and then off he went himself to find Retsuko.  

The young lady was with her frequent lunchmates- Roy's sister Princess Sherry and Fenn’s valet Violet. They chattered merrily as they walked, Retsuko’s face the perfect picture of beauty as she smiled and laughed among her friends.  

“Sherry! I promise, I’ll do it soon! It’s no good to make me do it now, I haven’t seen him at all this morning!” Retsuko pleaded, laughing as Sherry poked her in the shoulder.  

“You’d better! You know, I think Toa really likes you! That little blush shows up every time you look him in the eyes...” Violet chuckles beside them, watching Retsuko melt into a blushing panic.  

“Violet! You can’t say things like that!” she yelped, placing a hand over her heart.  

Toa froze with the gift in his hands. It seemed that the only one who was unaware of the feelings between himself and Retsuko had been,...him. Even the other students in Retsuko’s classes seemed to see the chemistry between them.  

He cleared his throat and strode over to the three women, gift box in hand.  

“Retsuko.”

“Eep!” she jumped, her crimson eyes going wide at the sight of him. Evidently she wasn’t expecting him to seek her out. “T-Toa!”

“I should like your company for a moment.” he said with a straight face, looking her in the eye.  

“Okay....” Retsuko excused herself quickly from the other two young ladies, following Toa as he led her gently away and to the flower- covered rooftop gardens.  

He had to admit, he was left quite breathless with her appearance. Maybe it was the fact that he was just now realizing what she was to him, through the advice from the other princes. Her long, dark brown hair fell in a cascade down her back, held in place with a sparkling blue pin. His gift to her from Dies Amoris, he realized.  

She wore a simple blue dress, almost the same shade as his formal attire. It hugged her body in such a way that he could not help but admire her beautiful form as he walked behind her.  

The flowers bloomed brightly in the rooftop garden as Toa took a seat across from Retsuko at the small tea-table.  

“So, what did you want to talk about? Is this your way of following up on me practicing my lesson?” she quirked her head, eyes big and sparkling.  

Toa shook his head.  

“No, I merely wanted to ask you a question away from prying eyes. Here. This is yours.” He took the package from his lap and set it in her hands, and Retsuko pulled the ribbon, opening the box.  

“Toa, you’re giving me chocolates??”

He nodded simply. For the first time in his life, Toa felt nervous. His heart raced against his chest, and he could not hide the tinge of pink on his cheeks as she examined his handiwork.  

“Wow, these are really pretty! Where did you get them?” she took a bite out of one, smiling blissfully as the taste melted over her tongue.  

“I made them for you. It is Qelsan tradition to gift a person handmade chocolate to express gratitude or if asking a rather personal question.”  

She stared at him. “What?? Toa? You made these?? I didn’t know you were interested in the culinary arts! They’re just....delicious!”

“My thanks. However, I have somewhat of an admission to make to you.” the Prince replied, watching her with a strong sense of relief.  

“Upon the end of our lesson yesterday, I have come upon a realization. You and I have spent quite a lot of time together, have we not? It took the persuasion of all the rest of the S ranks to finally bring these thoughts to light.” he continues, his eyes firmly locked on hers.  

“Retsuko. I harbor feelings for you.”

At that moment, Retsuko froze, her hand stopped halfway between the table and her mouth. “I..... Toa. Wait. You’re...... you’re not joking, right? This isn’t about... Qelsum conquering the magical realm?”

Toa reached for Retsuko’s hand and brought it softly to his lips, keeping eye contact all the while.  

“I cherish you.”  

“Toa.........” Retsuko’s breathing quickened, and tears pricked in the corners of her eyes. “Truly?”

Qelsum nods, guiding her hand to his chest, laying over his beating heart. “Do not mistake my meaning. If you so wish, I mean to make you my paramour and the future Queen of Qelsum.”  

She seemed to be lost for words, instead giving Toa a radiant look of joy. “Toa, I couldn’t ever be happier....”

Retsuko’s joyous expression melted into one of suspicion. “....Toa? You look tired. VERY tired.” she paused for a few seconds, then let out a horrified gasp. “You didn’t stay up all night just to make me chocolates, did you?!”

Toa gave her a resigned nod. “I did. I wanted to make sure they were satisfactory.”  

“Toa Qelsum!” she groans, pulling him up by the arm. “Come on, you look so exhausted! How could Knight have just let you do that??”

“He knew the importance of this confession and so left me to my own devices.” Toa answered, puzzled by her sudden actions. “Where in Saligia do you intend on taking me?”

“To your room. You need sleep.” she responded, tugging on his hand and walking him to the door of his chambers. “You can’t just..... sacrifice your wellbeing like that! I would have been more than satisfied with your lovely confession....”

Knight answered the door, ever the loyal valet. “Toa! And..... Retsuko? I trust it went well, then?” he raised his eyebrows, moving aside to let them in.  

Toa gave a short nod in response. “Retsuko is my paramour from today forward.”

The young lady blushed as she ushered Toa into his bed and under the covers, draping his formal cloak over a chair. “Please, Toa. Rest. For me?” Knight took his leave, sensing that they wanted to be alone.

The room was silent as they regarded each other, finally aware of the meaning in their relationship.

Toa took Retsuko’s hand once again, looking at her longingly. “You will nap with me, yes? I am loathe to be parted from you yet.” He gently pulled her into his large bed, wrapping her in the blankets that covered it. “You are my paramour. I will not let you go.”  

As he drifted off, the last thing he saw before sleep took him was Retsuko’s head, nestled on his chest, with a smile on her face.  

[awanderingtortoise]

a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

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

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame.  Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol.  “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot.  Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.

[simpsiren]

mark lee x reader

description. Over the years of being a close friend of Mark Lee, I realised that my platonic love for him slowly began to develop into a feeling far beyond the love of a friend; it’s just simply what happens when you love someone.

genre. FLUFF! JUST FLUFFY FLUFF! your classic best friends to lovers!au

word count. 2.8k~

warnings. nonee

a/n. hellooo! adding onto this series, i really wanted to do this song by day6 because its just so sweet and romantic cjdndndn

“It was a hard day wasn’t it?

It hurts my heart just looking at you

There’s not much I can do for you except being next to you, I’m sorry.”

I laid down on the couch in pure silence, the noise coming from the clock above me ticked ever so softly as the seconds passed that turned to minutes, that turned to hours as I waited for Mark to come home.

He offered me to stay at his place for the weekend. Well actually I invited myself over since I have always done that and he doesn’t mind. He’d always welcome me. I came here in the afternoon, his keys hidden under the welcome rug outside his apartment. I didn’t go out. I knew he was about to come home from work, but I got worried when I looked at the time on my lockscreen. “One in the morning? Where are you markie...” I couldn’t help but mumble under my breath.

Mark wasn’t one to get home late. Except for when he’s drunk. But he wouldn’t be out drinking if he wasn’t with me or his other friends. He would’ve texted me before he drank as well. it was out of the ordinary for him to not be home yet, which was why I stood up from the couch and frantically started pacing back and forth from one end of the living room to the other, thinking if I should go out and search for him.

“Fucking hell.” I gave up, refusing to stay put. I grabbed whatever belongings I could, which was only my wallet and shoved it into my sweatpants. Before I could reach my hand out for the doorknob, the door swung open, revealing Mark.

I looked at his figure. He’s extremely tired. His posture was terrible with his slouched body, his eyes looked like they were about to close at any second, his face was droopy and it felt like he could collapse if he doesn’t make a run for the bed.

“Mark! Where were you?!” I half-shouted, moving myself to the side to make way for Mark to come in. He dragged himself, feet sliding against the floor with each step. I closed the door for him. I watched as he made his way to the closest most comfortable spot, which was the couch.

He dropped himself onto it, his face planted against the pillow. He didn’t even bother moving his body to get comfortable. He just laid there. Sighing, I walked up to him, bending down on my knees and tapping his shoulder lightly. “Mark... Are you drunk?” I whispered, seeing his body moving up and down as he breathed.

Mark groaned, turning his body so that his back was against the couch. He grabbed a random pillow and hugged it tightly, his face digging into it. My heart softened at the act, but it also made it ache as I noticed just how tired he looked. I began to wonder what happened at work, or anything that happened for him to end up like this. He’s so worn out physically that it just somehow pained me to look at him.

I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to bother him for an explanation. Instead, I brought my hand up warily to his hair, threading my fingers through his black locks and patting his head as he slowly fell asleep. His eyes were closed, but I couldn’t tell if he was just closing his eyes or was he actually asleep. I assumed the latter.

I stared at him, when I hoped that he finally slept so that he wouldn’t think that I’m weird for watching him sleep. His figure made him look small and fragile, innocent and sweet, which he was. He was everything that’s bright and soft and loving. And that’s what I liked about him.

I decided to sleep next to him on the floor, my head resting on his arm. I felt bad. I didn’t know what to do. How to be there for him, how to help lift off some burden or the things that’s made him end up in such a state. I’d do anything to make his life lighter. Isn’t that what a best friend should do? Sadly, I could only be here for him. Just like this, next to him. Despite thinking that it wouldn’t even help, I’d still do it, since I just liked having his presence next to me.

“You’re so beautiful when you smile

So whenever I see you’ve lost your smile

I want to give it back to you

Whatever it takes.”

The next morning, I was the first to wake up. Just like last night, I stared at his sleeping figure. It calmed my heart seeing out peacefully at sleep he was. I smiled softly. Slowly but surely, I lifted a finger up, tracing his features in the air, the urge of wanting to touch his face was there, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to wake him.

I stood up and went to make a simple breakfast. Toasted bread with butter. I made two in case Mark wakes up so I wouldn’t have to make him wait while I make another. I went back to the living room, sitting down on the floor again and turning on the tv to watch Netflix. I lowered the volume, considerate of the sleeping Mark behind me.

As I munched on the toast and watched the show will full concentration, I was immediately alerted when I felt something weighted on my left shoulder. I turned lightly, seeing Mark’s head resting. His eyes were still closed. Shocked, I couldn’t help but flinched, which sent Mark’s eyes flying open and making contact with mine. “What?” He whispered.

“Good morning to you.” I breathed out, trying not to freak out at the fact that Mark’s face was so close to him as I faced forward instantly to continue watching the show. “Sorry about last night. Coming home late I mean.” Mark said, his morning voice tone shining through. Another thing I liked about Mark. He used to call me first thing in the morning sometimes, I liked hearing his voice. But to have it this close to my ear, I really had to stop my urge of screaming and jumping out of my skin.

“You had me worried sick.” I said, my words muffled as I chewed on my food. Mark exhaled, his breathe warming up a part of my skin that sent a shock all over my body. “Last night was rough, physically and mentally.”

“Work?” I felt his head lifting off my shoulder as I heard him moving his body so that he’s sitting normally. I turned around, waiting for his answer. I noticed how his eyes got gloomy, a looked I didn’t see on him for a long time. It was only for a split second. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “That. And other things you don’t have to worry about.” Mark smiled softly, reaching forward to grab the other toast and taking a bite.

I finished mine, I rested my head on the palm of my hand as I leaned against the table. “Don’t lie.” I simply stated. I knew that he knew that I knew him well. I knew when he’s feeling down, when something’s out of place. He could never lie to me. He’s terrible at it. With a defeated sigh, he brought his hand with the toast down to his thigh.

“It’s just... Rose. I saw her cheating on me.” Mark muttered, looking down and fiddling with the hem on his white shirt. Now this, this thing, Mark in front of me, I felt a piece of my heart falling off. It broke me, seeing Mark without his smile, not hearing his laughter. It’s like the happy switch on him turned off and now he’s under the weather. I know he’d probably be standing in the rain pathetically if he could.

“I told you she wasn’t trustable.” I replied, not wanting to have that i-told-you-so tone to it. I didn’t like Rose. She’s always bossing Mark around, she’d force him to agree with her though I knew very well that Mark was uncomfortable. I didn’t like how Mark simply followed her, thinking it was love when really, it was abuse and manipulation.

“Thanks. I got your advice stabbed in my back now.” Mark ran a hand through his messy hair, strands falling back down to his face, some covering his eyes.

On instinct, I brought a hand up to sweep away the strands off his eyes, making him look up at him. I held his face in my hand, feeling his cold skin against my warmth. “Let’s go out. We can forget about her. We can go wherever you want. How’s that sound?” I put on a smile, one that I hope will cheer him up somehow. He responded, a light chuckle escaping his lips.

“You’re seriously the only one that can make my day.”

Thank you, but why wouldn’t you consider me any more than a friend? Is what I would reply, but I kept silent. Like I said and promised, I’d so anything for Mark Lee, whether he sees it as a gesture of a friend, or perhaps a potential lover. I don’t care what he thinks of me. I just want him to be happy, even if it meant sacrificing my unsaid feelings for him.

“I want to be hurt rather than letting you be hurt

I don’t want you to get hurt ever again.”

We came back home from running around the whole city. Going to parks, shopping malls for window shopping, did a photoshoot, and ended the way on the beach, walking at the shoreline as the sun sets. We got home at night, Mark stretched his arm over his head. “Today was so fun!” He shouted as he placed the take out that we got from the beach onto the kitchen counter. His giggles echoed as he made his way to the living room, which of course made me smile to myself like a dummy.

I chuckled, the day being recalled in my mind like scenes from a movie tape. It felt like any other day to be honest. But I guess it felt more special and serene since we didn’t experience such a day in a long time due to our separate lives interfering with our time together.

“I’m glad that you’re back to normal.” I said, unpacking the take out and throwing the plastic bags. I brought it to the living room where Mark sat down. I took the space next to him, not bothering to leave a gap between us.

Mark leaned forward to grab the coke can, opening it to take a sip and exhaling after. “I wouldn’t say she’s completely off my mind. But your plan definitely made me feel a whole lot better.” Mark suddenly laid his head on my shoulder, his soft hair brushing my skin. I shivered at the touch.

“All I can say is don’t let yourself fall in love with someone like her again. I don’t want you to end up like last night. I would take your spot if I could, so you wouldn’t suffer. But don’t be stupid.” I gave a firm advice. Like a child heeding his mother’s words, he nodded agreeably. “Got it, maam.”

“But who will ever treat me like you?”

“What do you mean?”

“They say I should find someone like my best friend. But no one does it like you do.”

I didn’t give a reply. His sentence resonated in my head. No one does it like me, Mark claimed. So why wouldn’t he even look at me as a woman?

“Loving someone

More than I can take

It’s so strange

When you love someone.”

Mark and I ended up falling asleep on the couch. I jolted awake suddenly. I searched for my phone which was hidden under a pillow, looking at the time and realising it was two in the morning. I looked over to Mark, who again was peacefully sleeping on my shoulder. All I could see was his fluffy hair. I sighed quietly as I examined him.

The more I look at him, the more I fell in love. I didn’t even have to see his face for the memories of us to come crashing at me like big waves against my heart. Though I never want to admit, and though I never thought that I even could feel this way, I whispered softly. “I think I’m in love with you, Mark Lee.”

“I want to be helpful even just a little bit

I want to be your resting place

If you think of me on a busy day

I’ll do my best to comfort you.”

The next morning, I woke up. Mark was gone. And I knew he went for work since I don’t work of Mondays like he does. I went along with my day, Mark’s laptop on my lap as I looked through my work emails and got some work done for the day.

Late afternoon, I got bored. Absentmindedly, my feet took me to Mark’s room. The first thing that caught my eye was his guitar. It leaned against the bed. I didn’t know why, but I had the sudden urge to take it to the living room. I walked up and grabbed it, forgetting the weight of it from not holding it for a long time now (though it wasn’t even that heavy).

I sat back down on the living room couch. I propped the guitar on my lap, one hand placed on the top part of the guitar while my other hovered over the strings. I forgot how to play to the guitar. Mark used to teach me. It was one of the few ways I got Mark to sit so close to me and to just have that bit his touch that I absolutely adored.

I pulled on one string, the sound ringing through my ears. I strummed on the guitar, not exactly caring about playing an actual song. My mind took me back to when Mark taught me how to play. It’s like I could feel his fingers on mine as he would scold, laugh and giggle with everything I do to the guitar. He would play me songs, he even sang. I could fall asleep every time I heard him play. His grey hoodie, thin glasses, messy black hair. The transparency of him; a feature I’ll always indulge myself with.

It was now seven. And at around seven thirty, the door opened. Mark walked in with his black suit and tie, his hair pushed back with hair gel though now it looked slightly messy. “How was work?” I asked, adverting my focus from the guitar and to him.

Mark plopped onto the couch next to me. “Brain deteriorating. Mentally and physically draining. Why did I even get this job?” Mark groaned and complained, running a hand down his face. I chuckled and punched his arm lightly. “You told me it’s because of the money.”

“Yeah well I’m starting to regret that I used to think money is everything.”

Mark snaked his around me, pulling me into his embrace. I was completely shocked and confused as to why he’s suddenly being so clingy. I liked it yes, but I never thought he’d grow attached to me in this manner. It made my heart race and my face heating up.

“Why are you-”

“Just... Let me hug you for awhile, please. You just make me feel at peace that’s all.” Mark whispered, digging his head into the crook of my neck as the two of us just sat there in silence, admiring each other’s presence.

“Mind playing something?” Mark asked. I chuckled lightly, giving a gentle smile. “I play like shit.”

“It’s fine.”

Comfortable silence filled the room for a moment. I wasn’t sure how to feel. I could already feel my cheeks burning and probably blushing a light pink. I gulped.

“Since when were you like this?” I questioned curiously. Mark looked up at me, his face looking as cute and indulging as ever. “Since I liked you?” He replied in a cheeky manner. My eyes widened. “Wait what-”

“Shush. I wanna sleep.” Mark pulled me closer to him. I looked down and saw that he’s closing his eyes with a light smile on his face. I couldn’t believe it. Mark likes me after all this time...? “Play me something to sleep.”

“Why?”

“I like you, _____.”

I didn’t reply, wanting that to be the last thing I heard from Mark before he changed his mind. Slowly, I strummed on the guitar, trying my hardest to make it sound decent. Mark giggled softly and gave up, his hands traced from my arms and to my hands, his head still on my shoulder with his eyes closed. He guided my fingers with each strum ever so carefully.

“I like you.”

[chatonne-rousse]

Orange You Glad I'm Not Seeing Green (Nope, Totally Not Jealous At All)

A continuation of my Gifts from the Heart series, the whole of which is written as a gift for my dear friend @sketchy-panda.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Follows Great Minds (and Kind Hearts) Think Alike, which can be found here.

*********

The first forty-two minutes had gone so well.

Marinette was acting weird, but a normal, endearing weird - the kind of weird that warms his chest with affection and makes him smile. There is no one quite like her, and Adrien knows her friendship is a sweet blessing indeed. Even if it takes a moment or two to decipher her jumbled sentences sometimes. Even if she's a teeny tiny bit of a disaster.

When Ms. Bustier had paired them up for a literature project, he was thrilled. Adrien would never scoff at the chance to spend time with his dear friend, much less to enjoy a window of escape, however short, from the echoing silence of his own home. He'd turned to her with unabashed excitement to find her cheeks and ears pink and a strange mix of joy and terror in her eyes.

"Yay!" she'd squeaked, the word accompanied by awkward jazz hands. This had prompted a nudge under the table from Alya that didn't escape his notice. With that, she'd taken a deep breath, set her shoulders, and asked if he'd like to come over after school to work on it together.

Would he ever! The wave of happiness that had risen in his chest must have shown on his face, but when Marinette's smile had softened to match, he realized he didn't care if he grinned like a fool in front of the class. An afternoon with a friend - a friend! - was such a rare treat. And he's already read The Three Musketeers, so he'd been sure this would be a breeze.

And it was. Until six minutes ago, when they realized that the plate of cookies they'd been snacking on had dwindled to one. This discovery came by way of both of them reaching for it without looking, hands meeting over the plate amidst blushing cheeks and murmured apologies. With an awkward laugh, he'd taken the final cookie, carefully broken it roughly in half, and offered the slightly larger piece to his wide-eyed project partner.

Their fingers brushed in the handoff. She breathed a thank you. He smiled graciously.

It all happened so quickly after that.

Before he could take a bite of his cookie, her elbow had knocked into her glass, sending orange juice across her desk, her lap, his stocking feet.

"Disaster!" Marinette had shrieked, prompting Mrs. Cheng to peek through the open trap door a few moments later, looking first at her daughter dancing frantically around her now-toppled desk chair and then to a bewildered Adrien, still holding half a cookie in one hand and Marinette's keyboard, rescued from the rogue wave of orange juice, in the other.

She'd just smiled. "I'll bring up some towels, dears."

Adrien could only nod.

Now, Marinette stands in front of her sink, wiping the front of her pants with a damp towel and sighing every thirty seconds. He's barefoot, his socks whisked off to parts unknown, ostensibly to be laundered, though he'd protested that wasn't necessary. Their cookie and juice supply has been refilled, and calm has settled over the room again. Sort of.

"I'm so sorry, Adrien," she says quietly, a tinge of misery at the edge of her voice. "I'm so clumsy."

He tries to make her smile the best way he knows how. "It's okay, Marinette. Orange you glad it didn't get on your drawings for the project?"

She stops trying to clean off her jeans and raises her eyes to his. "Did you just...?"

His eyes gleam. "You know, workers in the orange juice factory will lose their jobs if they can't concentrate."

Her surprised giggle is incredibly gratifying. He takes it as a green light to continue. "Do you know what language oranges use to talk to each other?" When she shakes her head, he gleefully answers, "Mandarin!"

"You'd fit right in, then!" Marinette laughs heartily, the sound making his grin widen until it hurts. (It's worth it.)

"Well, I am very a-peeling. I have a real zest for life."

She groans, though she's still laughing, and facepalms with the hand holding the towel. Adrien watches as she realizes how sticky it is against her face, throws it on the counter, and blushes when she makes eye contact with him once more. His own smile never dims. Making a friend laugh like this is one of life's great joys. Laughing with a friend like this is one of the greatest.

Finally, she washes her hands at the sink and he takes a moment to right her desk chair, gazing around the room to the sound of her drying her hands. Magazine photos of him still remain, though they mix on corkboards and wall collages with pictures of friends and family. His own face smiles - truly smiles - back at him from several of them. He remembers each of these days, shining memories with beloved friends that he treasures. He's glad Marinette treasures them, too.

His gaze slides to the corner of her desk, near her sewing machine and a large box he assumes is full of sewing notions, and his breath catches. There, on twin display stands to keep them upright, are two figurines he doesn't know how he missed earlier. Ladybug holds her yo-yo in her right hand, Chat Noir's baton is held in his left. Their tiny plastic hands clasp in the middle, just as they were molded to do for the 1st Anniversary Special Partners Edition figures he would know anywhere.

Marinette sits back down in her desk chair, looks at him, then follows his gaze to the figurines. Adrien turns his eyes to her.

"I didn't know you were a superhero fan, Marinette!"

She laughs a nervous laugh as a blush rises to her cheeks. "Me? A fan of Chat Noir? Psssh." She waves a hand as if to dismiss the idea.

He isn't sure if he should be offended or gratified. He'd certainly prefer the latter.

"Why wouldn't you be a fan? I am. I think the heroes are awesome."

"You do?" she breathes, eyes wide.

"Of course! Paris is lucky," he elbows her arm gently and winks, "to have them."

Her giggle makes him smile again. He always feels so light and so carefree here, in her warm home, with her friendly parents and a plate of cookies and the sweetness she seems to radiate in his presence. Paris is lucky to have superhero protectors, but he's lucky in his own way to have found this kind of gentle contentment in a world denied to him for so long.

"I guess we should get back to the project--"

"Where did you get them?"

They each speak at the same time, twin blushes and stammered apologies following just as with the cookie incident.

Marinette breaks the ensuing awkward silence first. "One of my best friends gave them to me."

"I'm not surprised," Adrien responds with a grin. "Alya might be the biggest fan in Paris!"

The blush on her cheeks spreads to the tips of her ears and her eyes widen before she blinks. "Oh, um...it wasn't Alya." Marinette looks at her hands in her lap and then back up to him. "But she does have this set. She's kind of obsessed."

Strange, he'd never heard about any other best friends from Nino or Alya, though that didn't mean Marinette didn't have a very close online friend or someone in the design community she just hadn't talked much about before. He hopes this person knows what a good friend she has in Marinette, that she treasures her like Marinette deserves to be treasured. Though of course she'd gifted her with the set of figurines, so this friend at least knows quality merch when she sees it. Adrien's heart warms at the thought of Marinette having such good friends. She deserves nothing less.

"Adrien? Are you okay?"

He blinks twice, shaking himself from his reverie. "Oh. Yeah. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You were far away for a minute there."

He smiles warmly. Marinette is so thoughtful. "I promise. I was just thinking what a great best friend she must be to have given you such a cool gift."

"Oh," she says quietly, looking at the figures again, though Adrien is still focused on his friend. He watches as her eyes soften and her smile turns gentle before she speaks again. "He definitely is. There's no one better."

Her gaze snaps to his again. "I mean! I'll bet you're better! At being hot. I mean cool! I mean..." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "So! The Three Musketeers, eh?" She pulls her notebook back in front of her and opens it to a random page that contains nothing having to do with Alexandre Dumas. She laughs nervously, resolutely staring at the page and not the boy beside her.

The boy who hasn't breathed since her quiet "oh." The boy whose brain is still stuck on one word.

He.

Adrien can feel his smile turn brittle at the edges and forces his face to remain neutral, but it's difficult all of a sudden.

It shouldn't bother him. It shouldn't affect him at all. Marinette is friends with Nino, Kim, and Max, and he doesn't think twice about it. Why should he? This is different, though, somehow. An unknown entity. A boy friend he's never heard of who makes her expression soften like that, with memories of private jokes and gift exchanges and laughter. Probably. That's probably what it's like with Marinette and her other best friend, who isn't Alya and whose name he doesn't know.

An odd feeling twists his stomach. Adrien doesn't like it.

"Well," he starts, sliding his own notebook over and opening to the last page they'd been working on before the orange juice spill, "he has very good taste in Ladybug and Chat Noir merchandise. I have that same set myself."

"You do?" she squeaks, and their eyes meet again.

"I do. But I didn't take mine out of the packaging." He chances a cheeky half-smile at her, the knot in his stomach loosening just a fraction at the smile she returns. "Mine will be pristine when the set is worth millions someday."

When she laughs, the tension in his chest dissipates like springtime dandelion seeds, floating away on a sudden breeze of fresh, sweet joy.

Maybe Marinette's mysterious best friend can make her laugh like this, but right now, Adrien is the one sitting beside her - something rare and precious and not to be taken for granted - and it makes no sense to do anything other than enjoy the moment.

[sadviper]

Woo Do Hwan: Interview with Kankoku TV Drama vol. 97 (Aug 2020)

Once again, much thanks to @staidwaters​ for graciously reviewing and correcting!!! This was a really hefty interview, hope you enjoy~

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

Woo Do Hwan

Sword, bow, and horseback riding for the first time

A “Monstrous Newcomer” in a career-making, historical drama debut

In 2016, in the movie “Master”, Woo Do Hwan played the role of Lee Byung Hyun’s subordinate. Even though he appeared onscreen for just three minutes, he left a strong impression, attracting attention. Since then, he starred in “Save Me” (2017 OCN), taking on the nickname of “Monstrous Newcomer” and setting out on a brilliant career path. The next step he takes will be his first historical drama “My Country” (2019 JTBC).

Tackling a historical drama is an ideal chance for young and promising actors to grow; they have a rare chance to study in depth with multiple superb veteran actors over the long filming period. Woo Do Hwan did not miss this opportunity. His new work “The King: Eternal Monarch” (2020 SBS) leverages 120% of what he learned from “My Country”, and his popularity is surging.

Struck by a midwinter waterfall, the most dreadful and frigid opportunity to showcase yourself

--What kind of work is ”My Country”?

WDH: Each of the characters clash with the others for the sake of their personal convictions. This drama depicts their love and friendships. The country they are each reaching for … in a way, you could say they seek the same goal. Everyone wants a country in which they can live happily, but each person has a different path to that goal. This work skillfully depicts the conflicts that arise in the midst of this.

--Please introduce the role that you play.

WDH: Nam Seon-ho is an illegitimate child born to a family of nobles (yanban), and he has suffered greatly because of his birth. The poor guy is only able to relax his guard and laugh when he is with Seo Hwi (played by Yang Se Jong) and his younger sister Yeon (played by Jo Yi Hyun). However, even under such circumstances, he holds onto his ambitions. He doesn’t want other people to experience the same kind of pain that he has endured, so he strives to become the right-hand man of Yi Seong-gye (played by Kim Young-cheol), the future founder and king of the Joseon Dynasty. However, it doesn’t go as expected and I end up in opposition to Hwi, my dearest friend.

--What things did you pay attention to when creating the role?

WDH: Since it’s a period drama, it was difficult to get used to the way of speaking and tone of voice. It took me a while to get the hang of it. Now  I have the opposite problem, I’m doing my best to shake off the historical tone (laughs).

--The gorgeous hairstyles and clothing were a sight to behold.

WDH: Honestly, at first I thought “Long hair probably won’t suit me…” (laugh). So early on, I participated in many concept meetings and tried out different hairstyles. Even with long hair, there are many different hairstyles that can be made, such as wearing with armor or tying it up. I collaborated with the director to choose the most suitable style according to the situation in the drama. I was able to try on as many outfits as hairstyles, but I really enjoyed being  able to wear the special costumes such as the armor and the inspector’s garments; things we normally don’t get the chance to wear.

--How did you practice horseback riding, swordsmanship, and archery?

WDH: Before filming started, I studied martial arts for about two months. Filming lasted nine months, so in total I was focused on this work for a whole year. While filming action, it’s important to skillfully capture the scene, but the most essential thing is to not to get hurt. For that reason, the cinematographer, my co-stars, and I always had to be in perfect sync. It took time to match movements for the sword fights.

--You became the topic of much discussion when you revealed your magnificent physique in a waterfall during the opening of the drama. What are your secrets for managing your fitness?

WDH: I train on a regular basis. If I only started working out when I knew there were going to be scenes with skin showing, it’d be stressful trying to build up my body in a short period of time for shooting. After all, I don’t know when or where I will have to strip down for a scene! (laugh) Usually I play a lot of soccer, and I’ll go to the gym to train if I have time. If I take care of myself properly as a habit, then I don’t need to worry if my body looks good or if I should put in more effort during acting; I can just concentrate on my performance.

--Was the director’s reaction a good one?

WDH: He was extremely happy, hahaha. They keep trying to make me take my clothes off, so I was like, “Come on, give me a break!” The road to the filming location for the waterfall scene was rugged and steep and it was incredibly cold; it was the most difficult scene. Se-jong even said “I never want to go into water that cold again”.

--A lot of viewers said that “Nam Seon-ho is the most pitiful man in the world.” How do you personally feel?

WDH: I wanted to present Seon-ho as a tragic figure, so I was glad that the audience saw him the same way; it encouraged me to put in even more effort and I worked hard to build up his character. Seon-ho constantly stands on the boundary between life and death, living a life where he might die at any moment. He never manages to accomplish any of his dreams, and it is only at the very end that he realizes what is most precious to him. However, even though Seon-ho is a tragic character, if we just focused on the sadness the drama would be hard to watch and it wouldn’t be interesting at all. Therefore I wanted to show many things with him, such as him being a powerful figure, and the loneliness his power hides.

He was able to finish the drama because he was with Se-jong, his co-star of the same age.

--At what points did you sympathize with Seon-ho?

WDH: There is always a conflict in Seon-ho’s life in that he always has to sacrifice something in order to get something he wants. Seon-ho’s situation is an extreme case, of course, but I think that in our lives there are many moments like his, even if they are small and trivial. Moments when we desire what we can’t have, or throw away things we shouldn’t throw away. There are also moments when we all have to give something up for the sake of a goal that we are reaching for.  In the midst of that, I worried about the things that I should protect, so I deeply sympathized with Seon-ho, whose ideals and emotions were in conflict with each other.

--Your portrayal of the character’s emotions was well-received. When was Seon-ho the most emotional?

WDH: It would be when he heard that Seo Hwi was alive. I had a deep rapport with Se-jong in all my scenes with him. From a certain point onwards, the events in the drama truly felt real, and I fell more and more in love with Se-jong (laugh). I deeply empathized with Seon-ho’s emotions, which made me want to perform even more intensely in this work.

--Concerning expressing emotions, are you the type to do a lot of preparation beforehand? Or are you the type to perform what you feel on the spot?

WDH: I think I am half-and-half. Beforehand, I’ll think, “So we’re filming this kind of scene today”,  why is this happening, and what was the situation before this scene? However, it’s difficult to continuously hold onto emotions because there are rehearsals and blocking out our positions with the director. So I will concentrate on creating the emotion in the moment when acting.

--And what about your mutually dependent relationship with Yang Se-jong, who played the role of Seo Hwi?

WDH: I believe it would have been very difficult if Se-jong hadn’t been there. I relied on him a lot. The make-up room was set up in a large van onsite, and while our hair was being done, we would go over our lines. If one person said their lines, then the other person would just naturally respond with their own lines. We are the same age, not just in the drama but also in real life, so in both the Goryeo and modern eras, we were always communicating well, back and forth.

Se-jong always helped me, and even though we were together on location for very long periods of time, not once did we fight or have a conflict of opinion. We spent our time together as good friends, always being considerate of each other.

--There were many scenes of Seon-ho and Hwi’s friendship that brought out tears, but was there a particular scene where you especially felt the friendship between the two?

WDH: All those scenes where we rescued each other. Especially that scene in the latter half, where Hwi took Seon-ho out of Yi Bang-won’s (played by Jang Hyuk) house; that was memorable. Then in the first half, during the massacre of the Liaodong Punitive Expedition advance party, there’s a scene where we cross swords in the midst of combat and I recognize my dear friend Hwi. That scene was very good and had a big impact.

--What is your impression of Seolhyun (AOA) as Han Hee-jae?

WDH: Seolhyun was truly a “celebrity” to me (laugh). She is one of Korea’s top idols; I’ve seen her movies. When I heard that she would be co-starring with me, I was very much looking forward to it. Once we were actually performing together, I was amazed that her acting was even better than I expected. Seolhyun was the youngest on location, but she had a very mature attitude during filming. In front of a large crowd of her seniors, she played a bold and strong woman. I was impressed.

--The antagonism between Seon-ho and his father was one of the highlights of the drama. How was it like to co-star with Ahn Nae-sang, who played the role of your father?

WDH: Ahn Nae-sang sunbae was like a real father, a very interesting person. Although he’d say “Seon-ho is an impertinent son” (laugh), he worked well with me, and did a lot for me. During breaks, he tells jokes and lightens the atmosphere on set, but once filming starts, his gaze radically changes and he becomes a terrifying father. He’s not someone who hands out advice left and right to juniors, rather, he is a person who reacts kindly and looks after us. 

Extremely jealous of Se-jong’s Japanese fanmeet

--What are your thoughts on successfully wrapping up your first historical drama?

WDH: I wore hanbok, long wigs, and armor--I got to experience all of these things for the first time. I’ve also never done things like swordsmanship, archery, or horseback riding, so each one of those was a new challenge. Because I have never lived in that time period, I worried about how I should portray it. Despite that, I enjoyed everything. The remote locations that I visited were very beautiful, and during breaks it was a wonderful experience to enjoy the scenery and watch the seasons change instead of sitting in the dressing room. I’ve heard from my seniors that once you’ve done one historical drama, you’ll want to do another, and now I know what that feeling is like for myself.

--What was the most memorable location?

WDH: In the opening scenes, I often went to the countryside, but first I filmed the waterfall scene and the cliff scene. That cliff scene was absolutely terrifying. I scaled the cliff and did the action scene, but I thought...I might actually die if I fall (strained laugh).

--Watching the behind-the-scenes footage, you seem the quiet type but at the Japanese fanmeeting, I feel that you were skilled at speaking onstage. What is your actual personality?

WDH: Do I look like someone who doesn’t say much? I’m definitely not the talkative type, though. Hahaha. I talk a lot when I’m with Se-jong, but the interesting thing is, how much Se-jong and I will say changes depending on the day. On some days Se-jong speaks more than I do, and on other days I won’t shut up (laugh).

--Since filming continued for about a year, was it difficult to break free from the role of Seon-ho?

WDH: Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought about Seon-ho without today’s interview. However, Seon-ho’s sword is in my living room, so whenever I see it, I’m going to remember (laugh). But because I can’t use historical speech in the drama that I’m currently filming, I try to forget as much as possible.

--Currently you’re in the middle of filming the drama “The King”, right?

WDH: In “The King”, one person plays two different roles. The show depicts parallel worlds. In one world, Lee Min-ho sunbae plays the emperor and my character, Jo Yeong, has been by the emperor’s side since childhood and is the captain of the Royal Guard. In the other world, I am Jo Eun-seop, a social service worker whose personality is the complete opposite to Yeong’s. I’m having a lot of fun filming this, so please look forward to it.

--What does “my country” mean to you?

WDH: I believe it’s the people around me. I have family, I have friends, and I also have colleagues. A life where I can live happily with all of them, that is my dream country, I guess. No one goes on without desire, so I want to live together while caring for each other.

--You’ve been called the “Monstrous Newcomer”. With this kind of recognition, do you feel pressured?

WDH: I’m always under pressure. However, I tell myself I can’t lose to it, I have to work harder to overcome it.

--Finally, a message to your Japanese fans.

WDH: 2020 was the year I definitely wanted to meet all my Japanese fans, but filming for “The King” started earlier than expected and hasn’t finished yet. I was incredibly jealous when I heard that Se-jong held a Japanese fan meeting at the end of 2019. When “The King” finishes, I would like to meet you all. Until then, please take care of yourself and be happy. I will do my best to finish my work and greet you in good form. If you haven’t seen “My Country” yet, I definitely invite you to watch it.  I also hope you look forward to “The King”.

You can direct fan mail to:

KEYEAST / 30, 11-Gil, Hakdong-ro, Gangnam-gu, Seoul 06042 Korea

[fandom-necromancer]

Brothers take care of each others

This was prompted by an amazing anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | Character: Elijah Kamski

The ceiling above him was still clad in total darkness, the sky outside the window turning light blue only at the horizon and stars sparkling peacefully. It was an hour that demanded everyone to stay in bed and get a couple hours’ worth of sleep. Yet Gavin laid in his bed and stared up at his ceiling unable to fall asleep ever since the call of ‘Hah, it worked!’ had woken him up ten minutes to four o’clock. Since then he tried to ignore the distant sounds of tools clattering to the floor. One thing was for sure: Sleeping over these noises was far easier than falling asleep to them. he cursed, looking at his alarm that read 4:30 completely indifferent to what that time meant for Gavin. He sighed deeply. There was no use staying under the sheets any longer, he was awake now. Might as well stand up.

Not bothering with any clothes other than the boxer shorts and the loose old T-shirt he had slept with, he opened the door and yawned heartily on his way to the bathroom. ‘Oh, you are awake!’ Gavin’s lids fell in resignation, as he showed his brother the middle finger and continued walking towards the bathroom without even looking at him. Ten minutes later, he had splashed some water in his face and had readied himself for another day. Sort of. He had zero interest in trimming his stubble and trying to hide the dark rings under his eyes was of no use either. At least he felt ready to deal with his brother now.

‘Morning’, he hummed as he entered the living room, stifling yet another yawn. ‘Good morning indeed.’ ‘Says you’, Gavin commented. ‘I didn’t phcking asked to be woken up at four.’ ‘Sorry. Forgot you’re not a morning person.’ ‘Nah, I’m normal, other than you’, he huffed. ‘Okay, I need a coffee now.’ ‘Perfect! Then you can already try out my improvements!’ Gavin stopped in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Improvements?’

‘Yes! I hooked up your coffee machine with the internet! It is now able to import recipes for any kind of coffee you might like and start brewing it – if you have given it the right ingredients of course.’ Gavin looked at Elijah with a face that expressed to equal measures pain and frustration. ‘And what about a regular damn coffee, like I always make it?’ ‘I called that program a “phcking” coffee’, Elijah mocked him, tapping at the display hastily attached to the machine. Gavin watched how his favourite mug filled with his life saving drink and sighed. ‘Oh, the wonders of technology…’ ‘Oh, then you will love what I did to your microwave!’

Gavin groaned, sipping on his coffee instead of commenting. It had only been three days so far and already Elijah had “improved” half of the technology he had in the house. He would have told him to stop, but as long as Elijah was busy tinkering with his stuff, he wouldn’t become bored. And if Gavin remembered one thing from his childhood, then he knew that was about the worst state one could meet his brother in. Even with Elijah no longer being part of Cyberlife, he was still an influential and rather public person. His latest talk about the autonomy of androids had had quiet the impact, especially in the anti-android community, as they had looked up to him as the creator of these “supposedly alive” machines. It shouldn’t have surprised Eli as much as it had that afterwards, people would come to him with their hate. But since someone had broken into his heavily secured house and had killed one of the Chloes without leaving as much as a trace, his home was an active crime-scene and it was either a hotel room or Gavin’s apartment for the man.

Elijah, curious as ever, had of course taken the latter, if not to spy on police investigation, then to spend a few weeks with his brother he hadn’t seen in ages. Not that Gavin really could complain - it was fun having him around. But he was also a usually very private person and Elijah’s constant energy had quickly started getting on his nerves.

‘And? When will you drive to work today?’, Elijah asked. ‘Still time for breakfast?’ Gavin sighed. ‘Yeah, sure. Want some toast? Don’t think I have much-‘ ‘I want to come with you.’ That made even sleep deprived Gavin suddenly attentive. ‘What?’ ‘To your workplace’, Eli explained. ‘I could find out more about the status of the investigation of my home. Also, I could finally see for myself who that certain android is you put an eye on!’ ‘I don’t- Elijah, you can’t just stay at the station. You are a civilian! I will keep you updated.’ ‘I’m also one of the richest men in the world. I doubt anyone would want to stop me.’ ‘I- Elijah, you still can’t-‘ ‘Come on!’, the man just talked over him. ‘It will be fun! I’ll drive us.’ Unable to stop his brother storming out of the flat with the keys, Gavin sighed, downed the rest of his coffee and hastily got dressed. That would be the worst day of his work life for sure.

-

‘So this is where you work. Interesting.’ ‘You’ve been here before’, Gavin grumbled, not really sure if he was more tired or more embarrassed at the moment. ‘Promise me you’ll leave me alone for at least the first hour, okay? I seriously have to get some stuff done.’ ‘Oh, of course!’ But despite his words, Elijah followed him to his desk. Gavin decided to ignore him in favour of starting up his terminal, but Nines had never been the one to hide what he was thinking: ‘Mr. Kamski? What are you doing here?’ ‘Oh, you must be Nines! I’m just accompanying my brother to work. Wanted to take a look at the place he keeps complaining about.’ ‘You can’t be here.’ ‘Well, but I am, am I not?’ ‘That… That really isn’t a valid argument.’ ‘Listen, Nines. How about instead of talking about something you can’t change anyways, you show me around a bit?’ Nines looked at Gavin for help, but it was his partner’s silent pleading him to “yes, please, get him away from me” that let him cave in. ‘Okay, but I can’t show you everything.’

Gavin watched them walk off and praised the blissful silence. He concentrated on the screen in front of him, knowing he had to finish all the important work now before Eli would come back and annoy him further. He loved his brother. But some distance was clearly needed after all these years. He actually managed to answer his mails and find himself back into his case, reviewing evidence and the first lab results that had come in regarding blood analysis and genetic information about the murderer. Then Nines and Elijah came back. Gavin saw him passing Fowler’s glass cube and his heart sunk. But then the door opened.

‘What the hell is Kamski doing here?’, the Captain shouted in the room, effectively silencing any conversations. ‘I wanted to take a look around’, Elijah simply answered. Fowler looked at him as if he had just lost his mind. ‘This is a police station! Not some kind of tourist attraction! You can’t be here.’ Every other person would have long apologised and run for their life with Fowler this angry, but Elijah stood his ground and smiled. ‘And you can’t make my brother work his ass off like a Lieutenant and still pay him Detective money, especially after his recent achievements, yet here we both are.’ In over eighteen years of working in this precinct, Gavin had never seen Fowler speechless. The man stared at Elijah, who smiled at him in all confidence, while most of the officers in the precinct seemed ready to duck behind their tables.

‘Leave’, was all the Captain pressed out. ‘Now.’ ‘Alright, don’t want any trouble.’ Elijah grinned, winked at Nines and made his way over to the door. ‘Gonna pick you up later, bro!’ Gavin didn’t give him any answer as he knit his brows and rubbed his forehead. Too little sleep, too much early morning conversation, too little coffee and now the whole precinct’s attention. Great. He just wanted to get his work done, get home and sleep. And exactly that he was going to do.

Until his break began and Nines approached him. With a sigh of regret, Gavin turned around and waited. ‘Is it true?’ ‘Is what true, tin-can? I had a really shitty day so far and I still can’t read minds.’ Nines shifted his weight on his other leg and continued: ‘Your brother… When I led him through the building, he told me you had a crush on me.’ Thinking about everything that could have happened today, Gavin certainly hadn’t expected that.

‘This asshole! I will phcking kill him, I swear!’ ‘So… It’s not true?’ ‘Hell, of course it’s true!’ Gavin froze. Why had he said that? ‘Oh.’ Gavin looked up at the android, that was smiling to himself, cheeks tinged blue. ‘That’s… nice to hear.’ ‘Is it?’ ‘I mean, I like you a lot, Gavin. To learn it’s mutual is… very nice.’ Gavin sighed deeply, holding his head. ‘I will phcking kill him…’ ‘Are you not happy about this?’ ‘Phck, Nines, I am. I really am. But I’m tired, I have an annoying as phck brother at home that just won’t shut up and I really wanted to ask you out any other way than this.’

‘I understand’, the android nodded. ‘But it’s nice to have it out now, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah. Yeah it is. Listen, I… Let’s forget this happened for just this day, okay? I will leave early today, speak to my brother about all of this and if I’m not charged with murder tomorrow morning, how about we do this properly? Tomorrow is your free day, right?’

Nines nodded and smirked. ‘Call me if you need to hide the body.’

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

I know you guys are always swamped with requests and asks but can you do more vinca fics or hc fluff or smut plz? I feel like Vinca is a underrated character other than waiting till the day she gets a route

Pairing with: Vinca realizing she had fallen in love with SWM MC when Yvette asked her about MC

Yvette smugly tells Vinca that the latter totally has romantic feelings for mc. Pride continues to deny it until got kicked of home out cuz Greed want her to go to the bike shop to confess to mc 👀👀👀

Vinca taking care of MC sick?

...

Written by @an-awkward-ghost

“You seem excited for tonight’s show, Vinca.”

“When aren’t I?”

“No, I mean… more than usual.”

Vinca’s eyes flick upwards, instantly wary when she sees Yvette’s lopsided smirk, the one she gets when she’s planning something that will ultimately unveil in pure chaos she can smugly observe from afar with amusement.

She pauses the videogame she’s playing, squinting at her best friend.

“Out with it, Yvette.”

She looks down at her gloved nails with false nonchalance. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You don’t get to play that game with me. Be direct.”

“I have nothing interesting to say, Vinca.” A small shrug, which tells Vinca she definitely has something interesting to say. “I just think you should know MC just texted me. She can’t make it to the show tonight.”

There are several things wrong with that statement. Vinca narrows her eyes without realizing, hand snapping up towards her phone before she catches herself. There’s a sudden, strange, burning feeling in the pit of her stomach that makes it hard to think clearly.

“Why?” Slips out of her like a bullet. She freezes for a split-second, and then adds, perhaps a bit too hastily. “Pff, I knew she was bluffing when she said she could endure whatever I threw at her during the show.”

Yvette’s smirk remains in place. “There’s always next time.”

“If she couldn’t gather enough courage for this one, I don’t have much faith in the next one.”

“Then again, the act you had planned for tonight was specifically for her. If the guest of honor won’t show up, I’d say there’s not much sense in your part of the show for tonight.”

Vinca blinks at her. “Someone else can volunteer-”

“But it wouldn’t be the same, would it? You want that act to be for her and her alone.”

“…The pipsqueak is hardly that important, you know. I didn’t plan that act only for her.” Except Vinca had pictured MC’s face under the spotlight, expression fierce and defiant, spirit blazing and unwavering despite the hundreds of eyes that would be on her. Her eyes would be fixed on Vinca’s, tracking every little movement with a concentration that would make a hunter jealous. She had been looking forward to the banter that would spark between them with the same energy of a crazed storm, something Vinca couldn’t get enough of.

She hadn’t even considered the act with anyone else, and when she tries to imagine, everything falls apart. There’s no point. No excitement. The volunteer would be a jittery mess and Vinca wouldn’t get anything out of it. It’d be plain boring, because it wouldn’t be MC standing on stage.

The entire show would be plain boring. It wouldn’t be the same without MC watching. Vinca had expected to spend quite some time with her, too, after the show, ready to mock MC’s inevitable failure in the act despite the fight she would give her.

Yvette didn’t need to know that.

“I can still do my part of the show.” Vinca says, shoving her thoughts aside. Despite being the one with the mind-reading abilities, Yvette could be unnervingly sharp when she wanted to, and Vinca preferred not giving her anything to work with. “I have plenty of acts to work with.”

Yvette pauses. Gives her a pointed glance from her side of the couch when Vinca resumes her game, obviously considering the conversation over.

“You can take the night off. Lazareth and I can handle the show just fine.”

Vinca huffs. “You aren’t trying to kick me out, are you? Besides, what the heck would I do for the night? I’d just bore myself to death here. There won’t be anything interesting to watch on TV.” The casino wouldn’t even offer a great distraction anyways, since Vinca would just be too stuck on the ‘could have been’ to properly enjoy it.

Yvette’s glance turns into a full-blown stare.

“What?”

“You won’t stay here.”

“Oh yeah, sure, kick me out of our house just like you kick me out of the show, no hard feelings-” Vinca pauses, suddenly realizing where this is going. “You want me to go see the pipsqueak?” She pauses the game, suddenly grinning as a plethora of ideas come to her mind. “Of course! I can go mock her for chickening out! Oh, it’ll be glorious-”

“You’re excited again.” Yvette notices, as if it’s a world-changing observation.

“I mean. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh yes.” Yvette’s smirk turns predatory. “Why wouldn’t you be excited to see your crush?”

Vinca stares at her. Yvette’s words don’t click right away, because the idea seems too ludicrous and definitely not the right thing someone as sharp as Yvette should come up with. But the clock ticks away in the background and Yvette’s expression remains unchanged, and Vinca feels like she should rectify this horrible misunderstanding before it gets out of control, because honestly, falling in love with the pipsqueak of all people?

Vinca snorts. She has better tastes than that.

“Uh, hello? This is MC we are talking about. The girl who crashed her bike during my shoot and forced us to do the whole thing over again? The girl who can’t take two steps without breaking something? A rock has better fashion sense and finesse than she ever could. That girl?”

“Yes, the girl you are always visiting.”

“That’s only because she gets in so much trouble. You’ve seen it, she attracts demons left and right.”

“The girl you’re always talking about during dinner.”

“C’mon, I always let you vent when someone gets on your nerves, why can’t I do the same?”

“The girl who you know wouldn’t cancel something like this without good reason.”

That makes Vinca pause, because it’s true. The whole reason Vinca had even gotten the idea for the act was because she knew MC was up to the challenge. That she would rather give up a limp than back out and give Vinca the satisfaction of winning.

That burning feeling was back. Vinca swallows.

“Is she okay?”

If something had happened, why hadn’t she told Vinca? Why did she text Yvette instead? Did she think Yvette cared more than Vinca did? Why would she-

“Nothing plenty of rest can’t fix.” All hints of smugness are gone. Yvette’s expression is carefully neutral, her voice gentle. “But you should go see her, if you’re worried.”

“…Thank you for telling me, even if you were annoyingly slow about it.” Vinca says, half-way to the door before Yvette can finish speaking. “I just- want her to be in the show, is all. I’m not doing this any other reason.”

“Sure.” The faint amusement Vinca can detect in her response makes Vinca huff and quicken her pace.

…

She knows something is wrong when she enters the shop and sees Joyce on the counter, chatting with a costumer. MC usually takes the morning shift on Thursdays.

She’s tempted to fish around Joyce’s mind for an answer, but the idea makes her uncomfortable, just like reading Yvette and Lazareth’s minds made her feel. She blinks, equally parts annoyed and surprised. Since when had she begun to care about other people’s privacy? Was it just because Joyce was MC’s mom? Joyce wouldn’t even know if Vinca read her mind, and their relationship was rocky enough that it wouldn’t surprise her if Joyce flat out refused to tell her what was going on.

…so it would make it all the more special if she did tell her on her own volition. Not that Vinca hoped she would.

“Vinca.” Greets the older woman, voice less warm than it had been a second ago.

“Miss.” Is all she says in return, meeting Joyce’s gaze in kind, refusing to back down.

“You’re not here to buy a bike, are you.” It’s not a question. She almost looks resigned. When Vinca shakes her head, she pauses for a second, like she’s mulling something over.  She lets out a long sigh. “Fine. Go on upstairs.”

Vinca blinks. She hadn’t been expecting this to be so easy. It usually wasn’t. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Joyce narrows her eyes and gives her another look. Her stern expression melts into a small smile. “It took me a while, but I can see you care about her. Go. Her room is down the hall.”

Vinca shuffles awkwardly, not sure how to process this new development. She nods mutely, infinitely grateful, and makes her way upstairs. She still doesn’t know what was up with MC, but if Joyce didn’t look overly worried, it was probably nothing too serious.

She frowns again, deeply bothered by the fact that MC hadn’t texted her. She’s in front of the door to the apartment in less than a second, emboldened by her need of answers and growing concern.

She goes in without knocking.

MC’s head snaps towards her, so startled that she loses her grip on her phone. It falls and bounces on floor with a dull thud, cat videos on full display for the world to see. Vinca smirks.

“What… Vinca?!” She splutters. Her expression is pure gold, all wide eyes and open mouth. Vinca doesn’t get to admire it for long, instantly distracted by her pale, miserable complexion. There are dark circles under her eyes, like she couldn’t sleep well, and her voice sounded wrong, as if she were holding her hand over her nose. “What the heck are you-?”

“Shut up, pipsqueak.” Vinca hisses, leaning down to retrieve the phone. Her eyes roam over MC’s body, taking in the sweat on her skin, the way she’s shivering. “You’re sick. You should be in bed.” Her eyes shift to the pot in MC’s hands, and she instantly reaches out to take it. “Let me take care of that.”

“No!” MC takes a step back, glaring. “Why are you even here? I can take care of myself just fine.”

“You’ll just get worse. Look at you, you can barely stand.”

“Don’t exaggerate, I can-”

Vinca pokes her directly in the chest and watches her flail around, trying to recover her balance. She steadies her with a pointed glare.

“You were saying?”

“That’s… I wasn’t…”

“Go back to bed, I’ll make you something.”

MC freezes under her hands, looking up at her warily.

“What? Are you deaf now, too?”

It feels natural to offer this. It’s something Vinca would do for her friends and sister in a heartbeat, without really thinking about it. Only when MC continues to stare does she realize what just happened.

When had she begun to care so much for her, anyway?

“I mean. I-if I want you to recover for the next show, I need to…” She trails off, feeling stupider by the second.

MC’s lips curl into an amused smile. It’s so similar to the one Yvette gave her earlier that Vinca instantly looks away, annoyed. They usually only smile like that when they know – or think they know – something Vinca doesn’t.

“Need to make sure you… don’t do anything stupid. It’s a cold day. You should be in bed.”

“You won’t poison it, will you?” MC says.

“If you keep bothering me, I will. I’d be doing the world a favor, anyway.”

“Maybe I should stay. I’ll go quicker if we both-”

Vinca grabs her by the wrist and drags her down the hallway before she can finish, ignoring her protests. She needs some time alone to process everything, anyway, and MC would just make everything worse. As per usual.

“Rest.” She barks, all but closing the door in MC’s face. She hopes she shoved her in the right room.

The next half-hour goes by in a blur, but it’s enough time to ponder the strange effect MC has on her. She doesn’t know how, she doesn’t know when, but MC had become someone important to her. Almost as important as Yvette and Lazareth were, just in a different way. There was something else there. Something that made her yearn for presence, for her witty responses, for the way her eyes sparkled, for the way she laughed. The sound has been with Vinca for ages, stuck in her head, refusing to come out.

And now here she is, skipping both the show and whatever lame thing would be on TV at this hour, just because MC was sick and Vinca cared too much.

Vinca scowls down at the soup. Swears loudly.

Vinca’s tastes must be shit, because she definitely is in love with this insufferable pipsqueak. And that’s another thing Yvette – or anyone, for that matter – didn’t need to know.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Inspiration (Nathan Young x Reader)

A/N: I’ve been thinking more about my headcanon that Nathan has some sort of secret artistic talent. And then I had a flash of inspiration. Word Count: 1902 Content Warnings: drinking/alcohol, criminal activity, mention of animal abuse Cross-posted to AO3: here

“Hey,” Nathan said, waving his hand in front of your face, making you jump. “Earth to Y/N!”

“Sorry, what?” you said, slightly embarrassed that you had been zoning out.

“Am I borin’ ye?” he asked, pretending to pout. 

“No of course not,” you were quick to assure him, before pausing a moment. “Well…”

He gasped.

“No! You’re not boring me. It’s just…we are just sitting around drinking stolen, bad, vodka,” you took a swig of the bottle in question and grimaced at its rubbing alcohol aftertaste.

“We could do somethin’ else,” he said, smirking and waggling his eyebrows before plucking the vodka out of your hands and chugging some. 

You laughed and rolled your eyes, leaning over to punch him lightly in the shoulder.

“I was thinking more like...how do you feel about petty crime and vandalism?”

He gave you a curious look. “I’d say I’m a fan.”

“Good,” you said, taking out your phone to send a quick text to your friend to see if they could drop you some supplies. “Because I noticed a lovely barren expanse of walls on my walk over here that are just begging to be graffitied.”

“I’ve never done it,” he said with a shrug, “but I’m game.”

~

“Well,” you said, digging through the shopping bag you had found in the open boot of an abandoned car, right where you were expecting it, “El really came through with the supplies and the world is our canvas.”

You threw your hands in a broad gesture, before planting your fist on your hip. “And by that, I mean these two walls are our canvas.”

Nathan laughed, shaking his head wryly at you. “Lovely. So, what d’ we do?”

“Oh.” Your face fell slightly. You didn’t really know how to explain it to him. You had been painting street art for so long that it just came naturally to you. “Um...I guess you just, pick a can of paint and go for it. Paint whatever you’re feeling or thinking about. Or just your initials or something in a cool way. Whatever you want.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should watch ya for a bit, get some inspiration,” he drawled, giving you a cocky half-smile.

“I...uh...sure, if you want.” You shifted awkwardly, trying to ignore his gaze that felt like it was burning into the back of your neck as you riffled through the options to find the color you wanted. Stepping back, you looked critically at the wall, calculating it’s dimensions and what to start with. Satisfied that you had everything mapped out in your head, you set to work on the outline.

Nathan watched you work, your whole body moving fluidly in a way that sent his thoughts racing (not there was much you could do that didn’t), your brow knitted in fierce concentration. Once you had a vague outline of whatever you were designing, which he couldn’t even begin to guess, you shifted your focus to each individual section and detail. Occasionally, you would take a step back to see how the whole thing was coming together, tilting your head one way or the other, tongue poking out between your teeth slightly. He had never seen you so free and relaxed.

Suddenly, inspiration struck him and he practically dove into the shopping bag, rooting about for what he’d need. Taking a couple of the cans, he ducked around the corner to get started, a strange creative fire lighting in him. 

“Finally come up with something?” you called softly, teasing. 

“Yeah, yeah I did,” he said, almost absently. “But it’s a surprise, so no peekin’.”

“Ooh, mysterious.”

“Ye gotta promise ye won’t look til I say, Y/N,” he insisted.

“Alright,” you frowned, surprised he was getting so tetchy. “Cross my heart, I won’t peek. I’m pretty busy over here anyway.”

~

About an hour later, you put the final touch on your piece, your artist’s mark at the bottom so that anyone who knew anything would know who painted it. Stepping back, you smiled, wiping the slight sheen of sweat from your brow, formed by your exertion despite the cool night.

“You almost done, Nathan?” you called, surprised that he had been practically silent since he started working. 

“Oh, yeah,” he called back distractedly. “Nearly. But I’ll come over there.”

“Sure,” you answered, puzzled by his odd behavior. 

While you waited, you started gathering up the spray paints, putting any cans that still had paint in them back in the bag and tossing the empties in a nearby bin. 

“Wow,” you heard Nathan say, making you jump as he appeared behind your back. 

He was looking up at your art piece in awe. You had painted one of your signature designs: a laughing skull with flowers spilling from its open mouth. This time, the flowers were marigolds and foxgloves, and you had added a twist in the form of literal emerald eyes. You were quite proud of it, and Nathan seemed impressed. 

“You like it?” you asked sheepishly, the heat of a blush creeping across your face.

“I love it,” he exclaimed, pulling out his phone to snap a grainy picture of it. “Make a cool shirt or somethin’. Or a pirate tattoo. Very punk.”

You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him. “It’s been an...evolving design since I was like 14. Leave me alone.”

“I’m not messin with ya, Y/N. I really like it.”

“Well, thank you.” You smiled and he grinned back, and for a moment you were lost in that. And then you remembered his very secret work.

“So Hotshot, do I get to see yours now?” you asked.

He jumped, startled and then shrugged, mumbling. “‘F you want ta.”

“Of course I do,” you said, taking a step toward the corner.

“No wait! If it’s a surprise, I should cover your eyes and lead you to it.”

Knowing him, you were suspicious that he had some prank or ulterior motive in mind, but you nodded your ascent. He moved up behind you, pressing his chest against your back and curling his long fingers over your eyes. 

“Can ya see anything?” he asked. 

“Nope. Totally blind.” 

Slowly he walked you across the gravel ground. Once you stopped, he started shifting you around by little steps in one direction or another, as if trying to get you into exactly the right spot. 

“Alright,” he said, a nervous tick to his voice. “Ta-dah!”

He dramatically uncovered your eyes to show what he'd been working on.

“Oh,” you breathed, stunned.

Staring back at you from the wall were a pair of eyes caught in mid-wink. Your eyes. Captured in exquisite detail, right down to the scar in your brow, earned as a child trying to stop a group of older boys from dropping a paper sack full of kittens into the drainage ditch during a downpour. 

“Nathan.” You felt your heart swell at the level of dedication, the obvious emotion he’d put into this, and tried to keep your voice from breaking. 

He scuffed the toe of his dirty sneakers in the gravel, looking down and away sheepishly. 

“I know. It ain't very good and it's jus' yer eyes instead o’ yer whole face but I thought this way you wouldn't get busted. And ye said t' paint what I was thinkin of…”

You turned to face him, reluctantly pulling your eyes away from the work of art before you. Tucking a hand gently under his chin, you drew his gaze back to you.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, making sure he could see the sincerity in your expression. 

He blushed, barely noticeable under the dim lights. “Ya think?”

You nodded, snaking your arm around his neck and stepping closer. His hand dropped to your waist as if on instinct.

“And very sweet. Some might say romantic even.”

“Hey, don’t go spreading those lies! I have a reputation to maintain ya know,” he joked, obviously trying to hide his discomfort at your praise.

“Nah, I like keeping that secret all to myself better anyway,” you teased, smirking before stretching up on your toes to press a teasing kiss to his lips. 

He groaned, pulling you closer and kissing you back, tongue trailing over your lip almost immediately. You parted to let him explore your mouth, toying with an errant curl at the nape of his neck. Slowly he guided you backward, only to suddenly jerk you to the side, accidentally biting your lip in the process. 

“Ow,” you whined, pulling back and bringing a finger to your lip to see if you were bleeding. “What was that?”

“Didn’t want to mess up the art,” he explained. “Or my jacket.”

“What do you mean?” you frowned.

He looked at you incredulously. You glanced down, realizing that in your haste to get ready, you had indeed pulled on his signature plaid-lined black garment.  

“Oh,” you said softly before turning your face back up toward his with a smirk and a shrug to rival his most unapologetic expressions. “Oops.”

“Ye’re lucky ye’re so damn cute, or I might be mad at ya,” he teased. 

“I’m sure I can think of some way to make it up to you,” you hummed, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned at you, and you stretched up to kiss him again, but just as your lips met, a strong, chill wind cut whistling through, causing you both to shiver. 

“Maybe we should take this back to my place?” he asked, breath ghosting across your face. 

“I like the sound of that,” you smiled back.

Quickly, slid the bag of remaining paint cans under the nearby dumpster for your friend to pick up later. All traces of your presence in the area (except of course the now much more beautiful wall) removed, you turned back to Nathan, ready to head out. He draped an arm around your shoulders and you happily leaned in to the gesture, tucking yourself against his side. As you walked back toward the community center, your head resting on his shoulder, you thought of something. 

“Nathan,” you asked, slightly hesitant, fearful that he might put up walls against you again. “I thought you said you’d never done this before?”

“I haven’t,” he answered casually.

“Then how were you so good at it? The level of detail and real, genuine artistry…”

He shrugged, taking his arm from around you to fumble in his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter, the latter of which he couldn’t seem to find. You reached into the pocket of your jeans, holding out yours and letting him light the end of the cig with it. The distraction passed, you looked back at him as he looked pointedly away and took a long drag. 

“I dunno. I mean it’s not that different from doodlin’ on paper with a pen or whatever, right?” he said finally with another shrug. 

“That was more than ‘doodling’, Nathan,” you said, plucking the cigarette from his lips and placing it between your own.

He pouted at you as you took a drag and offered it back. His lips brushed against your fingers as he took it back, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“Guess I’m just a man of mystery,” he said vaguely, draping his arm back around your shoulder. 

“I guess so,” you murmured, not voicing how much you look forward to finding them all out.

[one-boring-person]

A lost boys x reader who is an dance mentor (idk if you know blackpink but a member 'lisa' is a mentor in dance.) can you maybe write an sort of one shot about what would happen if the reader would teach the kids and if the boys would be there?

I'm sorry this is a bit short, but I hope you enjoy it!

Isn't It Just?

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: slight injury

Masterlist

Their eyes are on me again as I go through the choreography with the children, watching every movement I do with fascinated scrutiny, completely ignoring the smaller people in the room. I can feel a blush rising to my cheeks again, the attention from the four boys in particular not unwanted but incredibly distracting, especially when I know how they feel about seeing me dance.

My own eyes flick across to them momentarily, sheepish pride filling me at their mostly admiring expressions, biting back a smile as i see Paul itching to get involved, the playful vampire having told me before how he'd like to try joining in some time. Of course, I'd had to turn him down, aware of the safeguarding issues that came with even just having them in the room, eventually just letting them sneak themselves in and use their mind games to hide themselves whenever necessary. None of the kids really minded, most of them totally ignoring the four random men at the back of the room, deeming them unimportant and keeping their concentration solely on me, which I love to bring up around my four counterparts whenever it comes to it, knowing it annoys them a lot.

For months now, the boys have sat in on my lessons, finding them somehow entertaining to watch, despite the fact that they can't get involved themselves. I've offered many times to teach them at the cave, or even on the beach, but they've never really taken the interest, except Paul, who tried it a couple of times, an experience which I will keep with me for the rest of my life. Dwayne had also expressed interest at one point, but somehow we'd never actually gotten round to trying anything even remotely close to dancing, even when alone on the few occasions we had the cave to ourselves. Neither David or Marko had ever explicitly told me they wanted to try it, but something in the way the latter watches the younger children moving makes me think he may be slightly curious, though it's unlikely he'll ever confess to this.

Distracted by my thoughts, I go to lead the children through a particular movement, not quite judging it well enough and going over on my ankle a bit. Pain instantly flares up at the joint, but I ignore it, gritting my teeth as I choose to keep going. I can tell the boys have noticed something is wrong; my movements are now slightly stilted, disjointed due to my reluctance to put too much weight on the affected limb, giving way to a pretty poor performance of my usual skill. Thankfully, no one else seems to notice anything, so I continue on, wincing every now and then as it smarts.

Eventually, the lesson draws to a close, the children filing out with their parents, who are mostly glad to see their kids having fun. Naturally, none of them realise the boys are in the room, the four vampires having used their mind tricks to conceal themselves once more, but I can tell already that they're getting antsy. As soon as the room is empty, they're by my side, each trying to get close enough to help me out.

"(Y/n), what happened? Did you hurt yourself?" Paul starts off, earning him an irritated scowl from David, who most likely wanted to be the one to ask.

"Er, maybe just a little bit." I admit, grimacing slightly as I hobble over to the bench pushed up against the wall, sitting on it and pulling off my shoe and sock,  examining the injured area.

"How badly does it hurt?" David questions me, standing over me worriedly.

Flexing the joint, I bite my lip as a bolt of pain goes up my leg from the movement.

"Quite." I tell him, knowing there's no point in lying to him, "But I'm sure it will be fine tomorrow."

"I'm not so sure. Can I take a look?" Dwayne asks me, gesturing to my foot.

"Go ahead."

The tall vampire kneels beside me, carefully reaching out and taking my foot in his hands, running his fingers over the smooth skin. Shuddering slightly at the sensation of his touch, I can only watch as he nimbly moves my appendage around in his grip, gently feeling over the inflicted area. Small but definitely noticeable waves of pain radiate from the joint, drawing sharp gasps from me every now and then, Dwayne's dark eyes flicking up to me with each sound. Sighing, he stands up again.

"I think you might have sprained it." He reveals, looking a little sympathetic as he steps back.

"Sprained? How can you tell?" I inquire, feeling a little put out by the idea that I may have injured myself enough to render me useless for a couple of days.

"Well, it's bruising and swelling as if it were broken, but the bones are all still intact from what I can tell, so I think you've sprained it."

"Oh." Pouting, I slump back in my seat, groaning to myself.

"What's wrong?" Marko questions me, frowning at me in confusion.

"Well, this means I can't teach for a couple of days, which is annoying for me because it means I'm missing out on work." I explain, gesturing to the room around us as I do so.

"That's annoying, I guess, but at least you didn't give yourself a worse injury." The shorter blonde vampire replies, shrugging.

"True." I huff, still annoyed at myself.

"Come on, grumpy, let's get you home. We'll order you some takeout and watch a movie or something." Paul proposes, smirking down at me as I smile up at him.

"You know me too well." I grin at him, shaking my head.

"Too right we do." David interjects, chuckling as he scoops me into his arms.

"Hey, I can still walk, you know!" I protest half-heartedly, settling into his grip.

"Like we're gonna let you walk around with an injury." Marko scoffs, grabbing my bag and chucking it at Paul, who catches it with a grunt.

"How gentlemanly of you all." I roll my eyes, trying not to flush out of embarrassment as David carries me from the room.

"Isn't it just." The platinum blonde replies, holding me tighter.

[rvmmm21]

. you’re gonna spaghet it .

summary : a home-cooked meal and a baking show is too much to ask for. but only when the person asking is seungwan.

small note : i'm tentatively back. and here's the worse news. you get this pile of 'what-the-fic-is-this?!' before i start clonking you over the head with my leg of yandere ham.

think of it as your pre-christmas coal in your stocking.

(this sat in my drafts for so long its not even funny. if i had a cent for every second i spent thinking about whether i wanted this out here, i'd have accumulated enough for the plane ticket, the lawyers and the hospital fees to fly over to SM to clonk them myself.)

just for tumblr. if you want to read this but in pretty, it’s here.

tw : tickling, probably many grammar errors because i do not know how to write anymore, and my cretinous knowledge of how tv recordings work.

[irene x white-winged dove!wendy]

. . .

[6:15pm] A mischievous smile tugs at her lips when she sees how Seungwan struggles.

. . .

Bae Joohyun blithely watches her girlfriend titter around the kitchen preparing vegetables for the chopping board. When the sound of water beginning to boil reaches attentive ears, she secretly smiles at the melodious hum of a happy tune.

Everything is going as planned!

However.

Pangs of guilt are beginning to tweak at Joohyun’s conscience. Because what she really wants to do is not to be a good girlfriend and offer a hand at stirring the pot. She doesn’t even want to sit patiently and wait to hear Seungwan sing out for her when dinner’s ready.

No. Joohyun wants to play. And she knows who she wants to play with. Even though it’s going to be a complete setback to the lovely night she’s sure her Wannie has planned out for them.

It was Seungwan’s idea to cook tonight, then eat together while they watch their favourite TV program. Pfft, ‘their favourite’. What Joohyun really means is she’ll happily watch the season finale of the unorthodox cooking show her girlfriend is currently obsessed with.

. . .

“It gives me ideas, unnie,” Seungwan had explained when, about a week ago, Joohyun had walked in on a very experimental game of muffin-making.

The latest episode of “Baking for the Seoul” flashed through Joohyun’s memory.

“Don’t the ingredients have to be… in the bowl, though?” she asked incredulously, eyes searching for any part of their countertop that was actually visible.

“Hm?” Seungwan looked up, wiping the frosting off her nose… with the wrong hand.

Joohyun raised an eyebrow. “And which one are we putting in the oven, your sludge mix or you?” She inquired, now searching for any part of her girlfriend’s face – that was actually visible.

When the girl in question stayed concentrated, apprehension bubbled in her gut at the state of that exceptionally thick bowl of frosting. She surreptitiously strained to peer behind a thoroughly battered Seungwan, trying her hardest to not actually step foot into the kitchen.

Her girlfriend has this… ‘thing’ about work space. Especially the kitchen.

“Wan-ah,” Joohyun’s tone was equal parts warning and concern. “You didn’t get any on your wings, did you… that frosting looks too thick and last time you got yourself all mucky, remember we had to – ”

“It’s fine it’s fine, look! I’m being careful!” Seungwan quipped cheerfully, pirouetting round to give a worried Joohyun a glimpse of her wings which were nicely folded through each designated slit in the back of her sky-blue jumper.

The latter breathed a sigh of relief when she saw them; all white, fluffy and – most importantly – clean. She inwardly shuddered at how much of a nightmare that bath was. Thank god she’s behaving this time, she thought.

Although momentary relief didn’t stop her from contemplating an alternative method of keeping her mind at ease.

But the thought of having Seungwan wear her wing guards in their own home tugged at her unpleasantly. It was bad enough she had to have them on when they were out in potentially stressful situations. So she wouldn’t accidentally hurt herself or anyone around her… which had unfortunately happened once or twice before. It was clearly a burden to go about so obviously restricted, and despite Seungwan’s insistence on having grown used to them, Joohyun could always feel how upset she’d get whenever she was helping to do the clasps up behind her.

Definitely no wing guards then. And if that meant Joohyun would be bruising her knees for hours on end trying to keep dense baking mix and her messy baby bird two separate entities, then she’d happily do it.

Whatever kept Seungwan chirping.

Plus, her little chef looked damned determined, so she thought it appropriate to slip in one last passing remark before plucking a banana from the rack. “Yah, Wannie! Let me know if I’m gonna have to pick out birdie feathers from my cupcakes, okay?”

Seungwan grumbled something along the lines of a ‘hm, yeah whatever unnie’ in response.

Joohyun just laughed, heading back to their room and leaving the mastermind to her latest trial.

> > > > > 

[7:00 p.m] Seungwan doesn't know which she finds more horrifying: what Joohyun intends to do to her or the fact that they're going to have to have take-away two nights in a row.

. . .

It should’ve been a simple mission.

Retrieve a fresh packet of spaghetti from the topmost shelf.

Her attempts are… laughable. She’s clearly doing her best.

Though she doesn't realise it yet, she’s still being watched. From the living room, Joohyun is watching. And she isn’t laughing. Hands ball into unconscious fists as a tight wave of numbness washes over her at how adorable Seungwan looks.

Just… like that: both wings tucked against her back, beautiful and neat as their owner. Strained muscles from reaching for something Joohyun already knows she’s going to have to help out with. And the tiny grunts when fingertips barely graze the edges of the packet.

Seungwan looks so soft, so frustrated. So vulnerable.

A small spike of inexplicable adrenaline leads Joohyun to head over to the huffing, moon-hopping girl.

She really needs to teach her little dove that being this cute comes with a price.

. . . 

When a lithe body slides up behind her and presses against her back, Seungwan’s wings give a gentle flutter to mimic the stutter in her heart. She sighs affectionately at the pair of hands resting low on her hips.

The task is almost forgotten. Almost.

Unnie’s here to help, Seungwan thinks… ever so mistakenly.

“Hyun – ahh,” she’s interrupted by a slight shiver when the tip of her right wing is stroked between a finger and a thumb, delicately running across pure, downy feathers. A tried and tested (Bae Joohyun-certified) method of getting the girl absolutely weak.

Judging by the sound of strained breaths filling the space between them, it’s working.

Alas, dinner hasn’t been cooked, the sun’s setting and Seungwan’s time-management brain is screaming at her to get a move on. She points to the shelf, trying her hardest to block out the dangerously wonderful feeling. “Could you – could you please get that for me?”

Instead of complying, Joohyun chuckles, moving her hands from her back to glide them lightly up and down her sides. She isn’t surprised that Seungwan is already shivering, terribly overwhelmed from that alone.

Her smirk twitches when she feels the smaller girl squirm.

Seungwan has always been like this… so responsive, so susceptible to touch. Her touch. She’s jelly in her clutches, and even Joohyun has to admit that sometimes she really doesn’t deserve to be.

Sneaky hands grow bolder, finding their way under the hem of Seungwan’s fleecy jumper to continue tracing teasing lines against soft, sensitive skin.

“But it’s so cute to watch you struggle, baby,” Joohyun coos, beginning to rest more of her weight into Seungwan’s hips, keeping her trapped against the kitchen counter.

“U-unnie,” Seungwan tries, half-heartedly writhing against Joohyun’s hold, torn between wanting to cook dinner and wanting to be dinner. “Not – ah… not right now… it’s already late, we have to – ”

“And you smell so nice. Is this new shampoo?” Joohyun presses her nose into her nape, cutting her short, nuzzling into that pleasant fruity shampoo scent. She then pauses to nudge Seungwan’s legs suggestively ajar with her knee before leaning in to whisper into a ruby-tipped ear. “ Should I give you a reason to shower again later, hm?”

The younger’s eyes widen at the sinful implication.

Gosh, really? Right now? In the kitchen?

The kitchen. The place she cooks and handles food? (Sure, Joohyun will – once in a blue moon – dice the odd carrot or something, but that certainly does not give her the right to be making any unauthorised, hormonal messes for her to clean up). She must be off her rocker if she thinks Seungwan’s going to allow her precious workstation to be tainted by what she can already foresee to be copious amounts of bodily fluid just because someone can’t keep it in their pants.

It snaps something inside her. And – with all the strength neither of them knew she possessed – Seungwan wrenches out from under Joohyun’s weight with a firm “YAH! Stop fooling around!”, sending the older woman stumbling a few steps back.

For a second, they’re just as stunned and disbelieving as each other; Seungwan at her own apprently dormant Herculean strength –

– and Joohyun at the sheer audacity.

Then again, could this be any more timely?

God, Joohyun could kiss herself.

She straightens her blouse, putting on her best ‘I-can’t-believe-you’ve-done-this’ expression, and turning to lock the now slightly (and rightfully so) terrified-looking Seungwan with a stare. This is the best part. The part where she just glares, secretly gleeful as the other girl absolutely crumbles with apprehension.

The part where Seungwan thinks it’s her fault.

“Uh oh,” she tuts, sporting a grin to match that mischievous glint in her eyes, “someone’s in trouble, aren’t they?”

Seungwan is, of course, at a total loss for words, but she fumbles around anyway, desperate to justify whatever the hell she’s just done. It’s almost too much for Joohyun to handle, watching her dig her own grave like this.

Finally, Seungwan tries to back up, only to let out a sharp gasp when she trips over her own feet in her haste. She’s on the floor in seconds with Joohyun immediately following. There’s hardly a chance for her to get her bearings before she’s stuck on her back with a weight straddling her hips.

Seungwan goes wide-eyed. She might as well kiss the prospect of a candlelit dinner bye-bye… for tonight, at least.

“My clumsy, clumsy Wannie,” Joohyun mocks, holding herself above the smaller girl on her hands and purposely tangling their legs together. “Tonight was very thoughtful of you, baby, but I’m postponing our dinner plans to tomorrow night. I think we should order in, don’t you?”

“Ah unnie...” Seungwan groans, failing to ignore the way Joohyun’s predatory expression crayons her cheeks a soft pink, “we had take-away last night! I don’t wanna eat chicken aga – ”

“Then let’s get pizza,” Joohyun offers unhelpfully. She’s clearly got her own agenda that she’s determined to follow through with. “Okay? Hm, let’s see… you have to the count of five to agree with me or…”

She pauses to savour the panic in those deep brown eyes. “I’m going to have a very tired little birdie to take care of.”

That satisfied smirk leaves nothing to the imagination. Seungwan can practically read her fate on her girlfriend's rosy lips before they delve into hers, causing her eyes to roll back as they melt hotly into each other.

Seungwan hardly notices Joohyun lacing their fingers together until her eyes flutter open and she finds herself held down, arms stretched securely above her head. Joohyun adjusts her grip so she has both wrists pinned under one hand and the other free.

Ah, fuck, not again. Seungwan laughs emptily, fidgeting with high-strung premonition. When her one final struggle proves useless, she resorts to asserting herself with her voice. “Yah, unnie, I’m cooking tonight. Stop being annoying or you’re not getting fed.”

Ah, too easy.

Joohyun contemplates elaborating further. But she’s said enough. Besides, Seungwan doesn’t even deserve a response to that. That was a threat, wasn’t it? The prospect of starvation is a serious threat that should be promptly dealt with. And what do you do when you’re faced with a threat? Be that a burglar, a murderer or a very flustered Son Seungwan.

Tickle them. Obviously.

Joohyun leers over her, wiggling her fingers in anticipation. “Five…”

Seungwan’s eyes blow wide, and – with miserable luck – she renews her efforts at breaking free once again. “Hyun! Seriously?! You – I can’t believe you’re d – ”

“Four.”

“HYUN!”

“Three.”

“Okay! Okay! Let’s get pizza tonight! There, happy?! You can even choose the flav – ”

Seungwan hears a scoff above her. “Nope. Sorry Wannie. I made that decision. You’ve changed nothing.”

“YAH, YOU TRICKED ME YOU BIRDBRAIN! LET ME UP. YOU’RE SO DEAD!!”

One click of a tongue and Seungwan has never retracted any statement faster in her life.

“Okayokayokay! Sorry that was super mean! Please I – ”

“Two…”

Too late. She’s dead. She’s one hundred percent about to be on the list of the unfairly deceased.

Seungwan whines hopelessly. “Unnieeeee, you’re not being fair!”

It’s a ditch attempt, but one Seungwan doesn’t intend to miss. “OKAY SERIOUSLY I MEAN IT, GET OFF!”

Joohyun snickers. “One.”

With five fingers and wicked intent, she dives in.

. . .

A pair of pretty wings and an even prettier face make for an impossible choosing.

Even now, as she has Seungwan flat on her back with her eyes screwed shut and tears streaming down her face, she wants to flip her over so she can be blinded by white insulation. So those feathers can brush against her as she drives their owner to the brink of sanity.

She wants to feel her dove respond to what she does to her.

“Hyu – Hyun, p-please!”

Joohyun smirks down at her victim, who’s weakly pawing at the front of her blouse in what she can only assume is an attempt to get her to stop.

Pathetic.

Seungwan never fails to struggle. But then again, she never fails to forget that Joohyun, too, is much, much stronger than she looks.

All that tiresome squirming is easily dealt with. Only a fraction more pressure from Joohyun’s fingertips, and Seungwan’s arms fall to either side, limp and useless just like the rest of her. The only indication she’s even conscious is the violent trembling and – when she’s able to muster up the lung space – the occasional plea for mercy.

Even the laughter is silent.

Joohyun loves it this way. She loves having Seungwan all sweaty and flustered beyond belief; whenever and wherever she pleases, the younger girl is reduced to a quivering mess, trapped beneath her cruel dexterity.

So instead of getting the pasta boiling for a romantic dinner, Seungwan is graciously letting Joohyun have her one-sided fun while she’s forced to cough, splutter and laugh so hard her insides hurt. The reflex to try to buck Joohyun off or twist out of her clutches nips at her incessantly.

Although she really shouldn’t worm around like that, because it’s only making Joohyun’s job easier with how her jumper rides further and further up with every inch she wriggles away.

It almost makes Joohyun think her little songbird wants to be tickled.

“Aw,” she coos, playfully tweaking unintentionally exposed ribs. “So cute, Wannie. You want it here, too?”

Seungwan is breathless from the tickles before she’s even processed what Joohyun’s said. Those tantalising touches never linger on any part of her long enough for her to develop a resistance to them. Not that she could even if she tried. She’s as sensitive as Joohyun is skilled. And Joohyun strikes with dreadful precision, switching between light skittering and then deftly kneading her fingers into every spot that wrings Seungwan’s lungs for all they’re worth.

The smooth tile is cooling against her feathers, even if her wings are twitching beyond her control, trying their hardest to flip her over to give her some shot at escaping. She barely manages to crawl a few inches away before there’s a firm grip on her ankle, all but dragging her back because Joohyun sure as hell isn’t done with her that quickly.

Trying to get away? She cocks an eyebrow, scooting up to sit on Seungwan’s butt, pinning her hips to the floor.

“Oh no, my poor birdie’s flipped herself over,” she feigns concern, gently resting her palms on Seungwan’s wings, stilling their fluttering and holding them steady. The sight of them unfolded, outstretched from the struggle and completely exposed has Joohyun catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Did you hurt yourself here, Wannie? You need unnie to kiss it better?”

Seungwan shrieks at a pitch that’d have every dog in the neighbourhood cowering when she feels a pair of pillowy lips settle on that excruciating spot right where the arch of her wings meet her back, where she absolutely cannot stand to be touched.

Even under normal circumstances, Seungwan had made her swear to never spring upon her like that. And of course, by virtue of that alone, it quickly became one of Joohyun’s favourite places to touch her.

Luckily she’s too distracted now to protest.

The ‘kisses’ aren’t any less torturous than ten fingers going all at once.

Poor, tired Seungwan hardly has the energy to writhe as Joohyun continues to press her hellish butterfly kisses all along the length of those oversensitive appendages, nosing into her feathers and ruffling them gently with her breath. The younger’s expression contorts into silent agony when she feels the fingers return, this time digging into her armpits. 

Fresh tears well up in the corners of her eyes as she lays there, flailing like a fish out of water, face down with zero leverage to combat her girlfriend’s merciless onslaught.

She’s as defenceless as a turtle on its back (or rather, a dove on its tummy). Her squirms are getting weaker, the laughter more strained, but it’s all so rewarding to her loving tormentor.

Seungwan is kept laughing till the hollow ring of the doorbell sounds through their apartment.

. . .

[An hour post stuffed crust pepperoni pizza with extra cheese]

 Joohyun enters their room just as her girlfriend is getting dressed for bed, freshly showered… again. She lets out a low chuckle when Seungwan catches sight of her in her peripheral vision and hastily pulls the loose necked pajama t-shirt over her head.

“How was dinner?” she asks, arms folded and leaning against the door.

Seungwan rolls her eyes and releases her hair from its bun. “Too much cheese. We need to drink lots of water tonight or we’ll be pufferfish in the morning.”

“Aw, is someone grumpy?” Joohyun gives an uncharacteristically exaggerated pout and the latter hides a shiver.

Good god, please someone save her.

“Unnie, of course I am. We’re going to eat reheated carbonara sauce tomorrow no thanks to you,” Seungwan bluntly retaliates. “You’ve had your fun, now can you stop talking to me like I’m five, please?”

Naturally, her request falls on selectively deafened ears.

“Yah, seriously,” she punctuates the severity by manually unfolding her trembling left wing and pointing at it. “Look. I’m still shaking because of you. Now you're done, I really – ”

That’s all the grumpy talk she’s allowed before Joohyun jump-tackles her onto their bed, pinning her to it and watching sheer panic etch into deep cinnamon irises.

“When did I say I was done?” she asks, suggestiveness tracing the edges of her tone. She hovers above her, bringing a hand up to cup her face.

Seungwan hisses a laugh. “Unnie, I have a limit too, you know. You can’t just keep finding excuses to tickle the crap out of – ”

She chokes on a gasp when she feels a hand – the one she’d been as good as tortured under not two hours ago – trailing down her stomach… slipping past the elastic of her panties and –

– it just reminds her why she’ll always let Joohyun have her fun.

Because no matter how much she laughs, screams, cries or begs, there’s always a reward. Much sweeter than anything Seungwan thinks she could ever bake. Their sex life is anything but stagnant, however this is, more often than not, Joohyun’s way of making it up to her afterwards (much to her approval).

Or maybe she just wants to drive Seungwan to the brink of losing her voice so she won't have to hear the nagging about the next episode of Baking For the Seoul.

Which, by the way, came out tonight. And Joohyun made them miss it. She had better be praying they’d be able to find a copy online somewhere.

Either way, it’s so much more gratifying after an eternity spent howling your lungs out on the floor. Seungwan’s full attention is lasered down to where Joohyun is now softly caressing her under the thin cotton barrier. The warm ache beginning to settle in between her thighs prompts her to try to squeeze them together, but Joohyun catches on and wedges her knees in between them, spreading her even further.

“Ah,” she raises a smug brow as she leans in to press her lips to the base of her ear. Her own eyes darken with lust in response to her little dove writhing helplessly below her. “Be a good girl for me, okay, baby?”

It’s late. Seungwan can barely keep her eyes open. Oh, but she aches so badly.

“Still grumpy, hm?” Joohyun murmurs questioningly, hot breath fanning over Seungwan’s neck and echoing goosebumps over her skin. She glances down at the bulge of her hand stretching the fabric, fingers already coated in slick. Her index finger rubs against Seungwan’s clit. “Feel good, Wannie?”

Hopelessly turned on, it’s all the other girl can do to whimper in agreement.

The pleasing sound of those soft whines escaping right into her ear turns Joohyun’s grin into something downright wolfish. She gives the swollen bud a few more leisurely strokes before retracting her hand completely, leaving Seungwan squirming in anticipation with whatever energy she has left.

Joohyun tastes the arousal on her fingertips. “Mm, I love how small you look right now, in my hands. So small and needy.”

Seungwan pants out a quiet “please, unnie”, clasping a shuddering hand over Joohyun’s and guiding it back down to the heat in her panties. She rolls her hips up into her palm, silently begging for her reward for being such a ‘willing’ participant in the one-sided games they played today.

After letting her gaze linger for a second, Joohyun shifts so she’s lying next to Seungwan. She slips her hand back in and squeezes firmly, revelling in the hoarseness of the girl’s voice. Velvety lips delicately map out her shoulder, and Seungwan has to fight to keep her eyes open to drink in the image of Joohyun pressed up against her, right hand cradled under her neck, propping her head up so they can both see the other one teasing her down her underwear.

It’s when Seungwan turns away to frustratedly pout at the suspense that Joohyun smiles and gives her a quick peck on the nose.

“I’ll continue if you promise not to pass out this time, okay baby bird?”

She bites back a snort watching Seungwan nod like she’s ever been able to stay awake after.

Then she has to bite back another because since when has she ever not continued even after being fed these empty promises, time and time again.

Anything to keep her precious Seungwan happy.

[thewhumperinwhite]

ATTD: A Magician, Not a Healer (1)

ATTD Masterlist

dream road trip companions: jasper “all my friends are dead” run, will “maybe if i’m polite enough they won’t notice my debilitating ptsd” price, and, you know... Chorus

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

TW for: gore/body horror, impalement; emeto; coughing up blood; near death experience (all in flashback); sick/feverish whumpee; infected wounds; brief manhandling of a touch-averse whumpee.

----

Once, in the latter half of his time with Mulciber’s Company, when they could all feel their time running out, the Company had been sheltering in a temple when it was brought tumbling down around their ears, and a beam from the ceiling, three inches thick, had skewered Jasper through the right side of his midsection.

It hadn’t severed his spine, which had been pure luck on his part; if it had he would have been dead and out of reach of any magic but the gods’. But it had pinned him to the floor, and left him juddering on the ground like a gutted fish, vomiting stomachfuls of blood onto the painted tile of the temple floor, and he had had about thirty seconds to watch his life flash before his eyes at double speed.

Then he had raised his head—with more effort than anything he’d done before or since—and seen Silex leaping toward him through the rubble, the Healer’s sweet open face blazing with single-minded focus.

All these years later—and Silex three years in the ground—Jasper did not remember the pain of the wound itself with any clarity. He remembered the terrible wet feeling of his throat being filled entirely with blood, and he remembered thinking—though he should have known better by then—that there would be little enough Silex could do, and hoping only that Silex would hold his hand and speak kindly to him while he shuddered and puked himself to death. And then he remembered the sensation, unlike anything he’d ever felt, of Silex reaching into his guts and pulling them back into the right shape; pulling the blood off the tile and shoving it back inside him, and bullying his viscera back together, in the shape God meant them to be in the first place.

He remembered that first breath, clear of blood, and Silex’s answering cry, weak with relief, and the Healer crushing him forward into a bear-hug, before the rest of the Company converged on them, to pull them both from the wreckage.

There had been classes in Healing at the Academy at Wizard’s City, even in Jasper’s general undergraduate program, and at the time he’d not taken much interest in them. He had thought, along with most of his classmates, that Healers were necessary, but not very glamorous; certainly he had had no interest in pursuing the specialization. They had taught him, then, how to speed the natural healing of a wound, and he could still do it competently enough, which was fine for the normal cuts and scrapes he received in his life as a wandering Magician, without his Company.

However, sometimes the natural course for a wounded man was to die, and in those cases, there was not much an ordinary Magician, like Jasper, could do.

Silex would have taken one look at the boy called Will, tutted in sympathy, and gathered him in like a brooding hen; Silex could, doubtless, have set the boy right in the time it took Jasper to boil a pot of tea.

But Silex had been dead three years, now, a betrayal for which Jasper had still not forgiven him. And Jasper was not a Healer.

Jasper prodded at Will’s wound once more, before they started the day-long trek back to the port city, despite the boy’s obvious discomfort with the physical contact involved. Jasper knew exactly enough to know the wound was bad—that it was at least slightly septic, and probably seeping poison into the boy’s blood—but not nearly enough to effectively treat it.

Which meant the best he could do was get the boy moving, preferably at some speed. That, thankfully, he did have the skill for.

As the dust-storm died down around them, Jasper got to his feet, and pulled his staff free from where it was slung through the straps of his pack. He used the end of it—which was capped in metal, to keep the wood from wearing, and to use as a blunt instrument, occasionally—to sketch a long rectangle in the dust. Then he rubbed his finger in a circle around the blank side of his Runes, and concentrated hard on pulling a largish oblong lump of earth up out of the ground, thinning the packed dust underneath, to avoid leaving too large a hole behind.

With a little more concentration, he carved the earth into a sort of—makeshift saw horse, out of dust and clay. Jasper nudged it forward with his staff, and it obligingly shuffled forward, sliding along the ground, picking up and leaving behind new dust as it moved.

He’d given the dust-horse four blobby legs and a little lump at the front, to make a head. It didn’t strictly need any of those, but Jasper found it comforted people, when magical things came in recognizable shapes.

Will watched this process very closely, blue eyes fever-bright. The monster, Chorus, had several minutes since curled up beside him like a large white cat, and gone to sleep.

“There,” Jasper said, satisfied with his work, and turned back to give Will a grin. “Think you can get on yourself?”

Will nodded--though Jasper frankly didn’t believe him--and began to climb unsteadily to his feet, using the walls of Jasper’s makeshift lean-to for support.

“Why don’t you travel that way all the time?” Will said, eyeing the dust-horse with wonder, and perhaps a degree of distrust.

“Two reasons,” Jasper said, and then without warning picked the boy up around the waste and deposited him easily on the dust-horse’s back, where he sat stiffly, looking comically surprised, like a cat dropped in a bath; with a little effort Jasper did not laugh at him.

“One,” he said, and then had to stop to cough the laughter from his voice. “Ahem. One, I can cast only one spell at a time, so as long as our friend here is active—” Here he smacked the dust-horse on its lumpy flank; the dust-horse didn’t react, though the boy on its back winced slightly— “I’ve got no defensive magic. So if those wolves decide against leaving us alone, get ready to land on your arse.” Will blinked at him, looking alarmed, though he made no move to dismount; Jasper hoped that meant he was accepting the ride. “Two,” Jasper went on, “I may as well hang a sign around my neck that says, ‘I Am A Great Magician, Please Bother Me With All Your Problems.’ I will carry you into Limani myself before I let the general public see this spell.”

“Oh,” Will said, blinking wide eyes at Jasper. “So… laziness, then.”

Jasper laughed, startled. “He says, atop my spellwork,” he replied, pleased the boy still had the faculties left for mild insults.

Jasper turned to squint back into the semi-darkness of the mostly-empty storm shelter. The monster, Chorus, had raised up on one elbow, and was eyeing him lazily, red eyes glowing very slightly in the dark.

“You coming?” Jasper said, and was relieved when his voice came out relatively steady.

“Ugh,” Chorus said, and yawned widely, showing her many teeth.

“It doesn’t matter,” Will said, shifting to keep his balance on the dust-horse’s back. “She can’t go more than a league away from the sword; if she tried she’d just get dragged along behind. She’ll have to come.”

“Ugh,” Chorus said again, with more feeling, and then dematerialized in a puff of white smoke, and was suddenly seated pillion behind Will, on the horse.

Jasper took an involuntary step back, trying to hide the sudden spike in his heart rate.

“You could walk,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow at her.

Chorus sniffed, raising her chin proudly. One of her white arms was wrapped loosely around Will’s waist. Again, her touch seemed not to bother him at all, which seemed entirely backwards, at least to Jasper.

“Walking is for peasants,” Chorus said haughtily, and Will gave a little huff, half laughter and half annoyance, and shook his head, leaning forward a little to support himself against the dust-horse’s head-lump.

The dust-horse was no harder to move with the addition of Chorus’s weight. In fact, between the boy’s gaunt frame and the lady’s semi-corporeal one, it moved more or less as easily as if it was carrying no weight at all.

“Well—fine,” Jasper said, swinging his pack back over his shoulder, and prodded the dust-horse in the rear with his staff, to get it moving. “Let’s get a move on, then, before the sun’s too hot to walk under.”

It would be the first time he’d traveled with another living creature, since the last of the Company left him. Jasper determined then and there that he would try not to enjoy it. It felt like bad form, to be so grateful for the distraction.

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies: Prologue

yeah okay I ship pinecest and I’m writing a soulmate AU nobody asks for or needs but you know what either I write it and not post it or I write it and post it so I might as well post it. If you’re not into pinecest, that’s fine, you can skip on by. TBOAS chapter 23 is coming out soon.

Regarding this fic, let me explain a few things about it. So in this universe, everyone has a soulmark that appears as soon as you touch your soulmate. It's exactly the same as theirs. Soulmarks appear regardless of age, but once you hit seventeen, you start to feel an insanely strong attraction to your soulmate whether you've touched them already or not. When you do actually touch them, you get a very very strong urge to, well. Bone. It's also very draining to be away from them for too long, so most soulmates who find each other move in with each other right away, just so it's easier on them. There are no laws against incest-y soulmates, but it is still strictly taboo. Most people think that incestuous soulmates should just live separately and not be around each other at all. It’s not gonna be the most angsty fic on the face of the earth, but there is definitely gonna be some in there. And probably a healthy amount of sexy stuff because, despite being in a happy relationship, I am also a huge pervert and like to see my ships do the do so that’s gonna happen. Buckle up. And now, without further ado, welcome to the prologue of Looks like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies. Starts under the cut.

“No one is ever ready to be a parent. We’re all just varying degrees of not ready.”- my Mom

August 30th, 1999, 10:42pm

“…and as we get closer and to the new millennium, more and more people are coming forward with opinions on the new studies indicating that 17% of mated couples are actually siblings, with an astonishing 73% majority being twins. We have one of the researchers here who has her own opinions about the issue, Dr. Eleanor Robinson. Thanks so much for joining us this evening, Dr. Robinson,” said the news reporter on the television.

Mildly interested, Mr. Will Pines took a sip of his can of Pitt soda as a blonde woman in a lab coat came on screen.

“No problem, Robert, happy to be here,” said the doctor.

“So Dr. Robinson, are these statistics true?” asked the reporter.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, absolutely. I participated in the research myself, and we made some very interesting discoveries.”

“Really?” The reporter leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What kind of findings are you at liberty to share with us?”

“Well,” the doctor continued. “We’ve found that biological sex doesn’t seem to have much of an impact on the soulmarks showing up. The rules seem to be the same as they are with anybody else- except the twins we’ve studied, their marks have been there since birth.”

“So they never have that “ahah!” moment the rest of us experience when we first touch our soulmate?” Robert wondered.

The doctor twisted her lips slightly. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. They get the same sort of… electricity when touching their soulmate prior to accepting the bond, and they certainly feel drawn to them both romantically and sexually, but that doesn’t happen until later in life.”

“Oh, so they don’t experience it as children, then?”

“No,” Dr. Robinson shook her head. “As with all children who find their soulmate early in life, while touching them does cause the mark to show up, it does not elicit any biological reactions until both parties are at least seventeen.”

“Interesting,” the reporter said with a nod. “And is it true that you support attempts to eliminate the social backlash that these couples experience?”

“Oh, absolutely, absolutely,” Dr. Robinson nodded. “Soulmarked couples are in no way at fault for their feelings for one another, and should not be criticized or judged for acting on those feelings. It’s completely biological.”

“What about the risks of inbreeding? Is that a concern?” Wondered Robert.

The doctor shook her head. “Not really, no. Soulmarked couples are at a much lower risk of genetic birth defects, because they are chosen partially because of their abilities to produce the healthiest children each individual is able to produce. So you see the statistics of soulmarked couples who aren’t related compared to couples that are not soulmarked, and the percentage of birth defects in the former is so much lower than the latter that I’d have difficulty believing it had I not done the research myself.”

So, wait,” the reporter interrupted. “There’s no risks at all?”

“Well of course there are risks, there are always risks when having a child,” reasoned Dr. Robinson. However, with soulmarked couples, the risks are vastly lower than with non-soulmarked couples. The pregnancies are much safer, the births are much safer, and the children themselves are much healthier. According to the research we’ve done, that doesn’t change in the slightest when factoring in the biological relationship, if any, of the couple.”

“Fascinating, just fascinating. Do you have any personal recommendations for parents who have soulmarked children?”

“You mean children who are soulmates with their siblings?” The reporter nodded, and Dr. Robinson tilted her head slightly in thought. “Well,” she began. “I’d recommend that those parents don’t panic or try to separate their children from each other. Even at a young age, after you’ve already had your soulmark appear, not having your soulmate nearby at all can lead to difficulty concentrating and depression. This can, of course, be counteracted with medication, but that’s wholly unnecessary if you allow the children to spend adequate time together in a way that’s age-appropriate and healthy. Supervise them, of course, but the reason most people move in with their soulmate as soon as they find out they share a soulmark is because it’s incredibly draining to be apart. As a doctor, I cannot, in good conscience, recommend attempting to have them live separately if it can be avoided.”

Mr. Pines snorted. Obviously such a thing could never happen. Not to anyone he knew, anyway.

At that moment, Mrs. Caroline Pines staggered into the room, one hand clutching the wall and the other clutching her very large belly.

“Will!” She cried out, wincing. He whipped his head around, startled. “It’s time,” she told him in a shaky voice.

In their haste to get to the hospital, he barely managed to turn off the television.

~~~~~

Six and a half hours later, Mrs. Pines had given birth to two children, a boy and a girl. She was too exhausted to give them names just yet, and when the nurse placed them in her arms, she smiled tearfully.

Mr. Pines smiled affectionately at his family. “I’ll be right back, honey. I’m going to go grab us some water bottles.”

She barely noticed him, cradling her newborn children.

Mr. Pines jogged out of the room and found the vending machine down the hall. Putting in fifty cents for each water bottle, he leaned down to grab them from the vending machine. Standing back up, he heard a horrified screech he recognized as belonging to his wife.

He felt a horrible drop in his stomach. No. No, it isn’t possible.

“Caroline!” He called out, running as fast as he could, coming to an abrupt stop at the hospital room door, his shoes squeaking on the waxed floors as he did. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Two nurses had taken the children from Mrs. Pines, rocking the newborns in their arms to calm their crying. Mrs. Pines was sobbing uncontrollably, clutching at her hair. A third nurse was desperately trying to calm the new mother down, but was unsuccessful.

“Their wrists!” She gasped out. “Look at their wrists, Will!” The drop in his stomach worsened, and dread filled his veins, but he did as she told him, gently turning each squalling child’s wrists so that he could examine them.

To his horror, he discovered what had upset her so much. Both children had soulmarks.

And they matched.

~~~

Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns that aren’t insults about my new ship? Cool, message me! I’m always happy to talk about pinecest.

[mrs-geuse]

Toys (Hank Anderson x Reader)

Anonymous requested: “Hank x reader where Hank is working on paperwork from home or on a work call at home or something and he catches reader playing with herself? I need something smutty with being stuck indoors. Only if it peaks your interest though!”

Pairing: Hank x fem!reader

Warnings: Language, Smut…this is smut.

           Hank hates bringing work home with him, you know this, but nights like tonight he has to. There is something shady going on at Central Station and he doesn’t know exactly who he can trust. God forbid he walks away from his desk for a minute, leaves paperwork out, asks questions to the wrong coworker…

           Something is going on and someone is covering it up and it maybe involves an android which seems to make Connor feel invested.

           It’s late, really, way later than he wants to be working on this. His eyes burn from reading, and re-reading files he’d printed off before he left work.

           A beer sits on the kitchen table, untouched. You’d popped the top for him before kissing his cheek and leaving him alone.

           “Just a little bit, babe, I just…I gotta figure it out.”

           It is rare seeing him this invested in his work, but you know when not to push so you sit in the living room, quietly petting Sumo and barely watching a movie.

           Hank is way more interesting to you than this movie. He doesn’t even know you’ve been staring but you can’t help it; the focused look on his face, the knitted brow, the way he gnaws on his lower lip in concentration every so often…it’s unlike him and you are invested.

           When Sumo lays down, you flop over on your belly, pulling the couch cushion under your chin as you snake your hand between your hips and the couch. Your fingers maneuver down until you press against your clit and bite your lip at the sensation.

           Is this wrong? Weird? Maybe. But you were very aware that you’re ovulating and your sex drive increased significantly. You just hadn’t had the chance to tell your boyfriend – but a part of you wants to. You debate if you should share this information with the class just yet. On one hand, he’s been working for almost two hours and probably needs to knuckle down, on the other hand you really need him.

           You figure you can last a little longer and you’re sure he is going to make it worth your time, he always does.

           So, you settle for playing with yourself just a little.

           The pressure in this position, with your palm cupped against your pubic bone, your fingers dancing across your clit – is the perfect sensation and always makes you come.

           “Hey, y/n?” Hank’s deep voice startles you and you slip your hand away, pulling it back up to fold calmly under the pillow you’re lying face-down on. Hank glances over at you. “C’mere,” he says it gruff and you’re feeling even more aroused. Slowly, you rise and make your way to him, tentative steps. Had he seen? Is he going to make demands? Punish you?

           “Yes?” you manage.

           He doesn’t even glance at you. “These symbols were at the scene. I snagged a note off their desk and…does the writing look similar to you?”

           The two items are vastly different mediums, and if you squint maybe you can see a similarity.

           “Honestly, Hank, no…”

           “Fuck,” he grumbles, balling the paper in his palm before tossing it toward the kitchen trash.

           “Hey, honey, come to bed…you can look at this in the morning,” you’re kissing at his neck.

           “Mmmm…” Hank’s moan shoots arousal to your core, like he’s aware of what he’s doing to you, like he enjoys it. “You know I’d like that very much,” he hums against your ear. “But m’so close, I can feel it.”

           You try not to let his words bug you; you knew it was going to be longer of a wait and he would take care of you. Why are you rushing?

           Only you can feel the heat pooling between your legs as you stood there and Hank rubs his beard, making that delicious scratching sound. You want his face between your legs but you know the second you said anything he’d be abandoning his work and maybe losing his hot streak of finding clues.

           So, you tell him you’re going to take a shower. You need the space. The water is hot and you’re satisfied enough with his clean, fluffy towels you’d bought him. Not to mention your little friend…

           Your vibrator had been shoved in a drawer in Hank’s room, but you manage to find the one you left at his place. Not your favorite, but it’ll get the job done.

           You assume that this would satiate you for now and the water running would cut down on the hum…maybe Hank won’t hear.

           It was like a little game: he always loved watching you pleasure yourself. You feel the same in regards to him. He’d shared, one drunken night together, that none of his other flames had ever been ‘interested enough’ to watch him wank it (his words, not yours)

           There was something alluring about the whole thing. You love watching him pleasure himself, it gave fuel to your fire, let you see just how he likes to be touched, what speed he wants it, how hard…

           Fighting the moan that threatens to leave your throat, you lean your head back against the wall of the shower. The vibrator is on the lowest setting and the speed is tantalizing. You want it faster, you want Hank.

           “Fuck,” you huff, pressure building as you think of Hank’s fist closed around his cock – stroking – the muscles in his forearms…

           With your free hand, you grasp at your hardened nipples, pinching them between your thumb and forefinger the way that Hank usually did.

           And then…it stops.

           Your eyes shoot open, blinded by the running shower water for a moment as you gaze down at the toy in your hand. The light no longer illuminated, you practically growl  at the realization that you hadn’t charged it last use.

           “God damn it…” you slam it on the shelf by the soap then let your hand fall back between your thighs. The frustration made you lose that edge and you sigh heavily. “Fuck me…”

           You begin to wash your hair, mind drifting to thoughts of Hank taking you in the shower last week. Your arousal was overwhelming and one swift touch to your clit makes you hiss at the sensation.

           By the time you start washing your body, you wonder how long the charge would take…could you use it while it charged?

           And suddenly it hit you: the cock ring. You’d bought it for Hank as sort of a gag gift last Christmas. The two of you had a running joke that he was too girthy for a cock ring. You could remember the boisterous laugh he let out when he opened your gift.

           Of course you tried it, it would have been a waste of money otherwise. But…it was a flop. Hank was, indeed, girthy and it made the thing…uncomfortable he said. Not painful, just not great.

           You, however, enjoyed the vibrating feature on it.

           It isn’t your first choice, but desperate times…it will have to do.

           Quickly, you finish washing yourself. Water shut off, fluffy towel wrapped around yourself, you rush to dry off and make your way into Hank’s room.

           In the kitchen, Hank sighs at the paperwork. His eyes are getting dry, beer warm by now.

           When Hank’s phone rings, he reaches to answer it. Connor. Again. Third time in an hour.

           “Damn it, you’re gonna need to cool it with these calls, Connor.”

           He stands to put the beer in the fridge, phone pressed to his ear. Leaning back against the closed fridge, he listens to Connor ramble on and then pauses, pulling the phone from his ear for a second.

           While he’d been reading, he must not have realized: the sound of the shower shut off. How long ago? Weren’t you going to come by and lay on the couch until he was done?

           His mind trails to you slipping and hurting yourself and he pushes off the fridge to check on you.

           And then he freezes.

           Is that…

           No.

           Can’t be.

           Quietly, Hank steps toward the hallway, listening in.

           His bedroom door is open only a crack, which was odd. Taking a few quiet steps forward, he draws closer to the room and listens.

           Fuck…

           Tentative fingers press against the wood of the door, pushing gently so as not to make himself known.

           Connor’s voice still drones on the phone but Hank is long past the point of paying attention.

           Hungry eyes take in the scene before him: y/n lying on your back, head on his pillow, legs arched, fingers pressing his vibrating cock ring against your clit, a pleasured expression on your face in the dim light.

           The hum of the vibration had alerted him in the kitchen and, fuck, are you in trouble…

           Feeling bold, Hank forces the door open further, a resounding squeak making you jump.

           You look like a sight; mouth an ‘o’ shape, rising to your elbows.

           “Hank!” you gasp.

           The man puts the phone back to his ear. “Connor, gotta go.” And he hangs up, slamming the thing on the wardrobe. “What do you think you’re doin’ in here, sweetheart?” his voice seems kind, even, but you can tell he’s a mix of irritation and arousal right now and you’re hoping to play on that latter half.

           “Hank, I swear…I didn’t want to disturb you. I just…” he draws closer to the bed, looking contemplative, slightly menacing. “The-the shower. I was…in the shower and…an the vibrator it…lost its juice so I thought…” your sentence trailed off.

           “You thought what, exactly?” his deep voice is right beside your ear as he snatches the cock ring from you, feeling your wetness having coated it. “Thought you’d take care of it yourself?”

           “I didn’t want to disturb you,” you admit. “M’sorry, baby, I know how much you like to watch and I just…I couldn’t help myself. You looked so good sitting there, hard at work.”

           He raises a brow at that and you realize for the first time tonight that Hank is extremely aroused, cock pressing harshly against the zip of his pants.

           You watch him insert a digit into his mouth, tasting you from your wetness on the cock ring which still vibes in his hand. A deep moan leaves him, distracting you for a second. You’d been so damn close once again when he caught you and all you wanna do is come.

           Abruptly, Hank presses the vibrating thing to your clit, rubbing deep circles and you fall back on the bed, hand reaching for his arm and clawing at the skin as his pressure is unrelenting.

           “F-fuck, Hank…” you cry out.

           “Now you’re going to continue and I’m going to watch,” he waits a little longer, lets the vibration do its thing, enjoys watching you writhe beneath him. He’s absentmindedly palming himself through his pants and his precum is leaving a wet mark in the jeans.

           Thumb pressed to the toy, he slips a digit inside of you, arching it just the way he knows you like it. You’re practically crying at this point, so grateful to be so close to climax once again.

           And then he’s gone as quickly as he comes and you let out an audible growl.

           He’s across the room, sitting in a chair, fidgeting with his belt without taking his eyes off you. You can see how aroused he is and as his cock springs out of his boxers, he starts stroking himself.

           He’s been kind enough to leave you the vibrating ring and you’re thankful but slightly disappointed. There’s something about Hank’s fingers, the way he can reach that spot inside of you, no problem. Even your fingers don’t do it justice – they’re too tiny whereas Hank’s fingers applying just the right amount of pressure sends you over the edge.

           You’re disappointed too because you know how late it is and you know that after Hank comes all over his stomach or down his hand or – God-willing – on you, he’s going to want to go to sleep. It’s going to take a serious amount of begging to get him to fuck you, you’ve broken one of the few requests he has for you. You’d call it a rule, so would he, but you know he wouldn’t be bold enough to punish too harshly – it’s just not in him with you.

           “What were you thinking about?” the pace his fist is at remains slow, tantalizing for the both of you.

           “This. You, jerking it,” you bite your lip as you speak, aware of how stimulated these sexual, breathy conversations leave Hank. Maybe you’ll be able to get this to work out in your favor. “And…and you fucking me in the shower. And that position with my legs up, thighs against my chest, feet behind your head as you pound into me.”

           That does it, Hank’s fist quickens its pace around his cock and you can see the precum oozing.

           Fuck.

           “Mmm…good. Good, sweetheart…” he grunts. “Why so needy tonight?”

           You were close until he asks this question. “I’m ovulating, Hank.”

           His pace falters just a moment but then he’s quickening his fist around his cock.

           “Oh.”

           Hank loves when you’re ovulating, loves how wet you are, how easily aroused, how desperate you are for him to slip his cock inside of you. He also loves that sometimes you’re too damn wet which makes it hard for him to feel too stimulated and so your romps sometimes last longer than usual.

           And here you go, pleading with him to let you ride him.

           “M’close, I won’t take long, I promise. Hank, please…” the thought of getting to come on his cock turns you on even more, makes you desperate.

           You’re about to shift off the bed and make your way over to him, try to seduce him, but he’s onto your game faster than you expect.

           “Ah, stay there, duchess. No. You come. Now.”

           Nodding, you melt at the controlling tone. “Yes, sir.”

           Fuck, Hank’s faltering at this; at seeing how desperate and eager you are. He can’t keep this façade up much longer. He wants to be in you more than anything right now. But he wants you to think he’s this cruel, wants to play with that edge a little bit more.

           His cock twitches when he sees the normal tells that you’re close to an orgasm finally – he can imagine how frustrated you are. And, being the asshole he is, he wants to add to it.

           Your toes are curling and he’s so fucking aroused right now…but he manages to pull it together before you come undone and rises to his feet, takes two steps toward the bed, startling you.

           You look up at him with your big doe eyes and he almost comes right there on the bed.

           “Lay back,” he instructs softly. You visibly shiver, doing so without hesitation. “Fuck, what a good girl,” he coos as he slowly undresses.

           He doesn’t even mind that you’re still touching yourself as he does this. Awkwardly, he crawls onto the bed, insisting that you scoot over. You gaze at him, needy and desperate and begging for instructions.

           “Ride me.”

           You do as you’re told, easily straddling thick thighs to lower your dripping pussy down onto his hard shaft.

           You both moan together and the feel of him filling you is almost too much, you almost come.

           Shifting forward, you gaze up at him for permission, knowing that your clit just needs a little stimulation from his pubic bone as his cock penetrates you.

           Normally, he’d let you, but this time he’s irked that you played with yourself without even the slightest inkling that you were worked up. And so he chooses to press his hand forward, placing his thumb on your clit. You gasp, grasping his hair and rocking your body onto him. He knows what you want, but you’re not getting it. You’re lucky you’re getting this, he figures.

           Not to mention he needs you to come. Soon. Now.

           He’s close, too close considering you just got started. But the way you’re rocking yourself on him at the current moment, he gave himself a pass. That added with your wetness during ovulation just tips him over the edge.

           “M’close,” you say and it’s almost like a prayer, sounds a lot like ‘Hallelujah’ falling from your lips.

           Hank watches you, wants to see it, that moment where you completely lose yourself and the pleasure overtakes you. That’s why he loves watching you masturbate. He doesn’t want you hiding your face or covering your mouth to quiet the noises. He wants you – all of you – and sometimes he loses that edge when he’s buried inside you.

           “Come on, baby,” he eggs you on, knowing how much you enjoy that. And then, “Fuck, you’re milking my cock right now, honey…”

           At that, you completely lose it, feeling the delicious pulse deep in you. Hank’s thighs are wet, your thighs are wet…

           The feeling of your climax pushes Hank toward release too. He fucking loves the way you can’t seem to stay upright after an orgasm, loves how you snuggle against his chest and pepper kisses and bite and claw at him, loves the gasps and cries of his name…

           Seconds after you’re spent, he’s spilling inside of you, gripping at your hips and moaning softly, head thrown back against the pillow. You love to see the pleasure on his face, to feel his warm release inside of you.

           You’ll try not to get too excited about a baby in the next few weeks, just as you’ve done every month for the past six. Hank is convinced he’s ruined his sperm with his slip into alcoholism before you two started dating, but you assured him you weren’t worried.

           It isn’t a priority right now and clearly you aren’t taking precautions, but…hey, the thought is always exciting. You know he’ll have a drink or several in the next few days, thinking about Cole but you will pick him up as you’ve done every month for the past six.

           “Ah, God, fuck, I love you,” he mumbles as you collapsed next to him, still kissing at his neck and running a hand down his chest.

           “I love you.”

           “You know,” he sighs, watching as you drape your body over him, intertwining with him. He never gets used to the feel of you in bed with him. He’s still convinced it’s a dream. “I would’a stopped working the minute you said you were ovulating.”

           You laugh. “Noted. Next time.”

           “Next time,” he agrees.