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viktorrotkiv · 3 years

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Trust Me

This fic was written for the @snowbaz-sweethearts-exchange as a gift for @seducing-a-vampire , and beta-read by @stevenuniversestolemyheart (<3).

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Simon was being weird again. Avoiding him. Being evasive and distant.

Baz has been through this once before, and he really doesn’t want to do it again. This game of avoiding one another, almost-talking about feelings, trying to keep hold of a sinking ship. They survived the last time, but just barely. Baz thinks maybe he didn’t do enough then, because it feels like they survived on pure chance. Luck of the draw. Fate had tested their relationship, pushed it almost to the breaking point, then got bored and gave up, and they bounced back. Slightly broken, and a little less idealistic, but realer, and stronger. Different.

Baz couldn’t stand change. He had had enough ‘different’ for a lifetime. This time, the ship won’t even start to sink, because he’s going to stop it.

He’s going to prove to Simon Snow that he’s the best boyfriend around.

At first, Simon was worried about Baz’s birthday. He wanted to make sure it was perfect and special. After everything they’d been through, Baz deserved some happiness and peace. But the moment he thought of his brilliant idea, he relaxed completely. He sunk fully into planning and organizing, devoting hours and days to it, but he wasn’t worried anymore. He was confident.

The grand plan was this; on the morning of February 24th, Simon would show up at Baz’s parents’ house, where Baz was staying for a few weeks. They would have breakfast with Baz’s family, after which, everyone, including Simon, would give Baz his gifts. Simon’s gift will be a pair of jeans, reminiscent of Simon’s first visit to Baz’s house, and a hand-made gift card, entitling Baz to “give Simon Snow a makeover of your choice, including, but not limited to, hair, clothes, and manners.” Baz will laugh and immediately change into the jeans (this was, of course, a crucial part of the plan). They’ll spend the morning with Baz’s family (and maybe some of it in Baz’s room, decidedly away from his family), and then Simon will noncommittally suggest lunch with a few friends. Baz could either accept or decline; this was important in order to make it seem like the day wasn’t orchestrated. In the afternoon they had tickets to see an exhibition at a Normal museum that Baz was buzzed about; this part he was aware of. On the way back from the museum, Simon would suggest walking through a park, where, lo and behold, all of Baz’s friends and family would be waiting with balloons and home-cooked food and cake.

The only problem was that Simon was terrible at keeping secrets, and worse at lying. There was only one solution: he would have to try and avoid Baz for the next few weeks.

February 1st

Mordelia was going to be the death of him. Last night there had been one acceptable clean pair of trousers in his closet. He was sure of it, because he had checked specifically, because he knew that most of his clothes were in the laundry. And now, as he was getting dressed to meet Simon, it was gone. The only things he could find were old trousers that didn’t really fit anymore, and a few pairs of pyjamas.

“Mordelia!” Baz slammed the closet door shut and stormed out of his room. “What did you do with my clothes?! Good morning, Daphne. Mordelia, I’m going to hex you!”

“What?” His little sister peaked innocently out of her room, seemingly trying to shut the door on herself.

“You know what you did. Where are my trousers?”

“Oh, these?” Mordelia bent down and picked something up from the floor behind her.

“Yes, these!” Baz snatched them away angrily. “What on earth did you need them for?”

“Nothing.” She shied away from his inquisitive gaze. “I was, er – I was playing dress up.”

Baz huffed and sighed, but walked away. He didn’t have time for this. The ‘perfect boyfriend’ that he was trying to be was never late. But seriously, who on earth thought that moving back home while he looked for a flat near Simon and Penny was a good idea? Oh, right. All of his friends. His parents too. His siblings were happy to have him. And he wasn’t paying rent.

Simon’s secret phone beeped with a message. Yes, he had gotten burner phones for the Top Secret Baz’s Birthday Surprise operation. Growing up in a Normal orphanage had left its marks, and a love for trashy spy movies was one of them.

The message was from Mordelia, one of his many accomplices, and it contained Baz’s trouser size.

Also, he’s mad at me now. Can you tell him it wasn’t my fault that I had to take his trousers?

You’re brilliant, Simon wrote back. And no! You mustn't tell him either, remember?

Will you buy me sweets?

Only if it makes you shut up and promise not to tell Baz

Alright :)

Fine. Simon saw Baz through the window of the coffee shop and quickly put the phone away. As Baz entered the shop, holding a bouquet of flowers, Simon stood up to wave him over. When he reached the table, Baz gave Simon a quick kiss on the cheek, and held out the bouquet.

Simon accepted the flowers and brought them to his nose to cover his embarrassingly big grin. They didn’t usually kiss in public; Baz was as shy about kissing as he was about eating, and they never knew what seemingly-charming old lady would shoot them a disapproving glare. This was a nice change of pace.

The flowers smelled good, and like they had been kept fresh with magic. Simon wondered what they were called.

“They’re Gerbera daisies,” said Baz, seemingly reading his mind. “Now, what disgustingly sweet monstrosity do you want to drink today?”

Simon couldn’t help but grin again. Avoiding Baz was going to be very, very difficult.

February 5th

Simon picked up a pair of jeans, only to be horrified at the amount of tears and holes it had. There was virtually more empty space than cloth. He quickly put it back down, trying and failing to fold it into the right shape, and moved on to the next display. He was feeling kind of lost. Now that Mordelia had acquired Baz’s trouser size for him, he could actually buy Baz’s present, but this wasn’t his speed at all. Big shopping centres. The actual shopping. Lots of Normals around. Fashion. God, he felt completely lost.

“Need any help?”

Simon turned to find that a chipper employee had appeared behind him. They popped up like mushrooms after the rain. “No, thanks, I think I’ll be fine.” Simon did his best to smile as he spoke, but he guessed that the vibes he was giving off were actually ‘terrified’ and ‘lost’ and perhaps ‘sad puppy’.

The employee seemed doubtful but didn’t push it. She was short, with short hair, and her store-mandated vest was covered with optimistic pins. Her ears reminded him of a pixie.

She had started walking away when Simon changed his mind. “Actually! If you don’t mind, I think I do need help.” Her kind smile encouraged him to continue. “I’m looking for jeans for my… my, er, boyfriend. I’m looking for something without many tears, and not too tight.”

“Do you want me to bring you a few options?”

Simon sighed in relief. “That would be great, thanks.” He told her the size he needed, and she walked purposely towards a rack on the other side of the store. As he watched her pull out different pairs and pile them in her arms, fascinated by her decisiveness, Simon’s phone rang. The regular one, not the burner phone. The phone he had forced Baz to buy with him, so they could talk. Baz, who was the one calling him right now.

Shit, shit, shit. He took a deep breath, finger hesitating above the screen, and let the phone ring almost five full rings before picking up.

“Hey, babe.” Simon closed his eyes and mentally kicked himself. He had been going for ‘casual’, but there was nothing casual about pet names with them.

“Babe?” Baz’s incredulous tone was almost enough to make Simon hang up.

“Erm. Yeah. No. Ignore that. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Simon looked nervously around the store. The employee was halfway back to him, still stopping at displays and racks.

“Remember how I told you that Mordelia stole my clothes? Now she’s decided to teach the baby how to play the piano. The sound is deafening. I’ve started taking walks around the garden just to avoid her.”

“Oh, that sounds awful.”

“It is! It really is. Erm, so, I tried to find a reason to get out of the house, and I’m in the coffee shop we like, and they have a sale on chocolates, and I was just wondering if you like marzipan.”

“Erm, yeah, sure. It’s sweet, right? Then sure, I guess I like it.” The employee had almost completed a full round. He’d have to hang up soon.

“What about hazelnut? Or – or, get this, hazelnut coffee.”

“Er…” Simon smiled apologetically at the employee, who was back in front of him, carrying a pile of clothes almost as tall as her. “Yes to hazelnut chocolate, no to the coffee. I, er, I kind of have to go, can we talk later?”

“Sure, I – I guess.” Baz let Simon hang up.

Simon thanked the employee profusely and started going through the pile of jeans.

Baz pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the blank screen, disappointed. Mordelia really was trying to teach the baby to play the piano, that much was true, but it wasn’t the reason he was looking at chocolates. He was trying to do something nice for Simon, and his boyfriend was still acting weird and pulling away. That had to have been the shortest phone conversation they’d had since Simon had forced him to buy the damn thing. What could he have possibly done wrong?

Baz paid for the chocolate in a stupor and left the store deflated.

February 10th

Dearest Basilton,

No. Simon crossed out the words. Who was he, Baz’s grandmother? Wait. Did Baz have a grandmother? Obviously, genetically, he had to have grandmothers. But were they alive? How could Simon not know this? He’d have to ask him.

Simon shook his head and stared at the paper.

Baz, he started again. Simple and personal. You already know how much I love you.

Simon chewed on his pen. No: I hope you already know how much I love you.

But birthdays are a time to state the obvious again. So, I love you, I love you, I love you. You’re the best person I know. The bravest, the strongest, the most resolute person I know. The smartest. Wait, nevermind. Second smartest. Stop glaring at me and read the rest of the card.

I love how good you are with your siblings. How patient and gentle you are with me when I need it most. I love how dramatic you are, and how dramatic our story is. I love that you’re looking for a flat near me and Penny. Maybe eventually we’ll be looking for a flat near Penny. I hope so. I hope we get there.

I wish you the best birthday ever. The best fucking birthday anyone on this planet has ever had, Baz. And an incredible year. And an amazing life after that. You deserve it. I��ll be there to share that year and that life with you, for as long as I can.

Well. If all goes according to plan, you’ll be reading this in front of your family, and I don’t want you to sob like a baby in front of them, so I’ll stop now. But I just need you to know that you matter, so much.

Love,

Me.

There. Perfect. Simon started copying the words from the draft paper to the card.

Baz glanced at the recipe again to make sure. Three quarters cup of butter wasn’t going to be enough for his boyfriend. He turned back to the counter and filled the cup to the brim with melted butter.

As he poured the butter from the cup to the bowl, he heard Mordelia’s small, barefoot steps entering the kitchen, and then he was attacked from behind with a waist-height hug.

“Hey!” He turned around, pretending to be mad. “Never put your sticky little hands on my clothes again. As your punishment, you now have to help me bake.” He lifted her onto the counter and she giggled. “Here, take this and mix the batter.”

Mordelia turned to the bowl beside her and started mixing with great concentration as Baz added the rest of the ingredients. Mordelia helped him shape the batter into scones, and when they came out of the oven, round and fresh and smelling like the feeling of home and lazy mornings and butter, he let her have one.

The rest of the scones went with Baz to Simon and Penny’s flat. Baz hardly bothered to knock these days. He had a key to the flat, but since Simon was the world’s biggest airhead, the door was usually left unlocked. It was the first in a long list of things that both Baz and Penny chided him on.

He called out as he entered, but spotted Simon almost immediately, sitting at the kitchen table with a look of intense concentration. When he noticed his boyfriend, Simon quickly shoved the piece of paper he was working on under the napkin holder.

“What’s that?” Baz gestured to the table.

Simon waved his hand, trying to blow away the question, but he looked a bit worried. “It’s nothing.” He enveloped Baz in a hug and a kiss. “Are these scones for me?”

Baz nodded. “Home baked.”

Simon’s thrilled yell startled Penny out of her room. The three of them spent a cozy afternoon together, eating scones and watching movies, but Baz couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Simon was hiding something from him.

February 14th

Valentine’s day wasn’t nearly as big a deal for mages as it was for Normals, but Simon had told Baz all about what it was like for Normals a few months ago. Apparently, they went completely out of their way to show their partners that they loved them. To Baz, it seemed kind of obvious that people liked who they’re dating. But apparently Normals bought ridiculous gifts, like huge teddy bears that were completely impractical, or much too much chocolate for one person.

Actually, in Simon’s case, there was no such thing as too much chocolate. Baz supposed the whole ordeal was kind of sweet. At least, it was sweet how excited Simon got over the holiday. So he decided to surprise him with a date.

He was currently at a Normal shopping centre, making preparations. Baz looked at the bags he was holding, wondering if anything was missing. He had bought a teddy bear (medium sized, so it could fit on Simon’s bed); a box of chocolates (not heart shaped, God forbid); a bouquet of red and white roses (these, Baz could appreciate the value of); and a box of pastries (chock-full of butter, of course). It seemed like enough, until a colorful stall caught Baz’s eye. In a clear plastic case sat a pile of colorful heart shaped candies, engraved with cheesy-sweet sentiments. Kiss me. First love. Be mine. Baz thought that some grubby little child had probably put their dirty hands all over the candy. Simon, on the other hand, would love them. Baz added a bag of the candies to his shopping pile.

Next was picking up Simon’s favorite dishes at an Italian restaurant they liked, and finally, picking Simon up and taking him on a surprise picnic in the park.

Simon didn’t usually bake, but since he wanted everything to be special on his boyfriend’s perfect birthday, he had announced to Penny and Agatha that he was going to make the cake himself. They had promptly laughed in his face, and then offered to teach him how to bake.

At the time, Simon had protested that there was always a recipe, and you didn’t need to learn how to bake. Now he couldn’t be happier that the girls had convinced him to make a practice cake, especially after Baz’s scones had set the bar pretty high. Apparently, there was a certain cup size you had to use for measurements, and there were different types of flour for different types of doughs, and some people (Simon included) needed to break a few eggs wrong before they could break an egg right.

So the brisk knock at the door, followed by Baz’s voice floating in, couldn’t have come at a worse time. Simon was wearing Penny’s ridiculous apron, which had the names of classical composers printed haphazardly all over it in strange angles, and he was covered in flour and a milk stain.

“Shit. What do I do?”

Agatha pulled the apron off Simon’s neck and patted most of the flour off his shirt. “Make up some excuse, if you can.”

Simon walked around the corner to the front of the house tentatively. “Hey!”

Baz flourished yet another bouquet of flowers. What had gotten into him lately? “Hello. I’ve come to steal you for a few hours.”

“Oh, it’s… it’s not the best time. Er, Agatha is here, and, erm, she and Penny really want me to bake this cake with them…. Can we please reschedule for tomorrow?”

“Actually, we can’t. You can bake a cake any other time. Oh, it smells good…” Baz started to walk towards the kitchen, but Simon quickly got in his way. “Snow, what are you doing? I would like to say hello to Penny and Agatha.”

“Snow?” Simon seemed dumbfounded. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

Baz sighed. “I’m sorry. It just feels like you’ve been pulling away from me lately. Which makes me feel like we’re in school again. Which is one of the reasons you need to come with me right now, because I planned a lovely date for us, and the food is getting cold.”

Simon ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the curls. “Give me three minutes, and then we can leave, okay? This is really sweet. Thank you.”

“Alright. I’ll say hello to the girls and then wait in the car. I’m not sure that it isn’t going to get towed away.”

“Erm, no. I – I need three minutes first, and then you can say hello.” Simon hurried into the kitchen and shut the door firmly behind him, feeling very guilty. “Ladies. We need to wrap this up. I told him we were baking a cake, but he probably expects something much… smaller than this.”

Penny looked back and forth between the multi-layered cake and the door, behind which stood Baz. “We’re just about done. It needs to go into the refrigerator for a few hours.”

Agatha shook her head. “He might want to see it if it’s in the refrigerator.” She picked the cake up carefully and slid it gracefully into the oven.

Penny, ever the rule stickler, looked shocked. “You – you can’t. It’s a chilled cake.”

“Just trust me, okay?” She shut the oven door just as Baz opened the door.

“Simon, this is ridiculous. Hello, Wellbelove, Bunce. Please tell my idiot boyfriend that he can bake with you any other time, and that today is Valentine’s Day, which he was excited about, and he has to come with me before our food gets cold.”

“That sounds like kidnapping.”

Agatha, ever the peacemaker, shot Penny a glare. “I personally couldn’t agree more. We actually just put the cake in the oven, so it’s the perfect time for Simon to leave.”

“The oven… isn’t on.”

“We’re using magic. That’s why it doesn’t look turned on. Penelope wanted to practice her heating magic. Right, Penny?” Agatha sickly-sweet smile still held a remnant of the murderous glare.

“Erm… yes. Exactly. Simon, go and have fun. It is Valentine’s Day, after all. We’ve got this.”

February 24th

The last week and a half before Baz’s birthday passed uneventfully. He and Simon toured a few apartments and had some nights out, but neither one had any more steps to their plan. Simon was done with his. Baz was just exhausted and out of ideas.

In Simon’s opinion, Baz’s birthday passed without a hitch. He showed up at the Pitch manor at the appointed time. Breakfast, presents, and a lazy morning all went according to plan. Baz even teared up a little when reading his card.

“You’re such a sap, Sn– Simon. I– I love you too.” Baz embraced him, but Simon was practically buzzing with giddiness and pushed him off.

“Open the rest of it!”

“This gift card entitles you to–” Baz burst out laughing. “That’s incredible. I am definitely using it in the next week. And this is… jeans. These are jeans. You probably want me to change into them right now, don’t you?” Baz walked into the guest bathroom accompanied by excited cheers from both Simon and his siblings, and emerged wearing a snug pair of jeans to excited claps and whoops from his parents.

Later, in Baz’s room, Simon decided it was time for a little digging. “Do you… this is a bit random.” He picked at Baz’s duvet absentmindedly. “Do you still have grandmothers?”

“Daphne’s parents live an hour away. We see them once a month or so.”

“And your biological grandparents…?”

Baz shook his head minutely.

“Oh! It’s one already! I told Penny I would let her know– your dead relatives are fascinating and everything, but do you want to have lunch with the girls? Maybe Dev and Niall?”

“My dead relatives are fascinating, don’t disrespect them like that.” Baz broke out in a smile. Maybe Simon’s cold patch was over. “Sure. Let’s have lunch.”

Later, much later, they were walking on a lamp lit street, arms hooked together and frosty breaths mingling in the air, and Simon leaned his head on Baz’s shoulder. “I have to admit, that exhibition was actually interesting.”

“I know. Robert was a genius. But I’m still having a bit of a hard time believing that you enjoyed an art exhibition so much.” Baz could feel Simon shaking with laughter beside him, his warm body pressed to his shoulder to hip. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. He really didn’t. But… “Simon. We should talk.”

Simon picked his head up and Baz immediately missed the comforting weight on his shoulder. “Huh?”

“You’ve been distant lately. As if you don’t really want to spend time with me.”

“Don’t be silly. I love you. Here, let’s walk through this park.” Simon was barely listening, pulling on Baz’s sleeve to steer him towards a lit patch of grass.

Baz took a deep breath. “You’re avoiding my questions again. It feels… It feels like you’re hiding something from me.”

Simon stopped walking and looked back at him with sudden realization. “Something like… your birthday surprise?”

Baz squinted at the park ahead of them. Were those...?

“Don’t be silly. I would never hide anything from you. Not again.” Simon reached up and kissed Baz sweetly. “Now come on. Everybody is waiting for us. I’m in charge of bringing the birthday boy, and it’s too simple a job to mess up.”

Baz let Simon lead the way. He didn’t want him to see the ridiculous grin that he couldn’t seem to wipe off his face.

#snowbaz #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #penny bunce #agatha wellbelove #mordelia grimm #mineltg #my writing #carryonsource #rainbow rowell #snowbaz sweethearts exchange

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cheemerthelizard · 4 years

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reader x pb! dio where she’s the youngest working for the joestars and over time grew close to dio. they come from similar backgrounds (abuse and neglect) and one time when the 3 men are eating and she makes a little mistake (like dropping wine or whatever) and the head of the staff goes all out on reprimanding her (on the worst way) but dio JUMPS to defend her, im sorry i just LOVE ANGST!! thank uuuuu

Ahh sorry I kinda got carried away and tweaked it a bit by accident, I hope you still like it!

Life at the Joestar mansion was nice. Even if you were just a servant, you were treated with respect, and you even got her own room to live in. All of the other servants were cheery, and Master Joestar insisted that his boys be kind to you and everyone else. Life could not get better, and it didn’t look like it was changing anytime soon.

That is, until one of the new servants arrived.

Matilda was a bitter old woman who had no patience for those who were learning. Many of the newer servants, including you, were chewed out by her on the daily, but privately, so she wouldn’t lose her job. A lot of your best friends were quitting because of her, making the mansion lonely at times. You would quit, but you needed the money, and you didn’t know anyone else who was hiring.

It was a peaceful night, one you planned to go out and enjoy when you were done serving dinner. You were in charge of bringing the food to the table, and had been doing perfectly fine, to your relief.

Oh, but you had to jinx it. You just had to jinx it. When you were handing out the dessert, you thought to yourself, “I’m going to have a disaster-free dinner!” Of course, you’ve served food disaster-free before, but not when Matilda was there. She made your nerves go haywire. Tonight, however, there was only one dish left, and you were sure you wouldn’t spill anything.

“Your dessert, Master Joestar,” you said, handing the first cherry pie to him.

“Thank you, Ms. (L/N),” he bowed.

“Jonathan,” you said, giving him the second pie.

“Thank you very much,” Jonathan bowed.

“And, last but not least, Mr. Brand-oh!” As you were walking over to Dio’s seat, you tripped on the carpet, letting go of the plate and watching as the pie splattered all across his body and the plate shattered on the floor.

“I’m…” your lip quivered as you thought about the harsh lecture you were going to receive as soon as you left the dining hall. “Mr. Brando, I’m so, so sorry!” you quickly went to scoop up some of the pie that had landed on the floor with your bare hands. “I didn’t mean to, honest!”

“You’re forgiven, (Y/N),” Dio consoled you. “It was an accident. We all make mistakes.”

You rushed out of the dining hall to pick up the broom and sweep the glass up, but stopped when you heard Matilda’s voice.

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

A shiver went down your spine. You were really in for it now.

“Do you have ANY idea what you’re doing? How on earth did you trip and fall? There was nothing other than the carpet! And Mr. Brando’s clothes, those must have cost a fortune! But now they’re ruined. Completely ruined! You’re lucky Master Joestar didn’t fire you on the spot! If he won’t teach you a lesson, then I will!”

“No! Please! It won’t happen again!” You tried to get away, but Matilda had already grabbed your arm.

“This is what happens to little girls who can’t do what they’re told!”

“Stop right this instant!”

Everyone froze in place at the sound of Dio’s voice.

“Mrs. Matilda, just what do you think you’re doing to poor (Y/N)?”

“She ruined your nice, new clothes, Mr. Brando,” Matilda explained. “I think she needs a harsh beating for that.”

“There will be no need.” Dio yanked Matilda’s hand from your arm and held you close to him. “I had already said that she was forgiven, hadn’t I? She made a tiny mistake, and if you really want to give her what she deserves, then just make her clean up the mess and wash my clothes. From the way she acted when she dropped the pie on me, it almost seemed like I was going to beat her, making me believe this isn’t the first time (Y/N) has been hit by you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go have to talk with Father about what to do with you. Come along, (Y/N).”

Hesitantly, you followed right behind Dio, head down on the floor. “I… I want to thank you, Mr. Brando.”

“No need to address me so formally, (Y/N),” Dio turned his head to look at you. “And you’re very welcome.”

“Do you need me to wash your clothes, Mr. Bran- I mean, Dio?”

“Where did Matilda hit you?” Dio suddenly stopped in his tracks. “That is the only thing I require of you.”

“No, no, Mr., erm, Dio,” you laughed nervously. “I insist I clean up after myself.”

“And I insist you tell me where Matilda has hit you, past and present.”

“Well, for starters, she’s slapped me across the face too many times to count,” you shivered at the memories. But soon, those memories started to drift away as Dio kissed both of your cheeks.

“I-I think she’s hit me on the neck, too,” you continued. Just as you thought, Dio’s lips trailed down to your neck, not leaving marks, just a lovely sensation in your heart as he started each tender kiss.

“Oh, and one time she missed the nose, and accidentally hit me on the lips.” That last one was a lie. A lie that Dio saw straight through, but gladly pretended he didn’t, and passionately kissed your lips. His body moved closer to yours, getting cherry stains all over your outfit, but you didn’t care. You could easily get a new one.

“(Y/N), I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember,” Dio confessed. “Tonight has been a dream come true, but a dream we mustn’t tell anyone about. You understand, right?”

“Of course I do,” you whispered. “And our secret is safe with me.”

#phantom blood #jojo's bizarre adventure #dio #dio brando #dio x reader

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snowdice · 4 years

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Goblin Brain Study Session Fic 1 [Day 8]

Because I don’t want to just have walls of text for my Goblin Brain Study Session posts, I’m separating them by days. See chapter 1 here and chapter 2 here. What is done of chapter 3 is under the cut.

See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far!

Oof. Some things happened in my personal life and now I’m very behind on studying and my take-home final is due this Friday. Wish me luck. I’ll probably have a War and Peace length fic by the end of this. XD

The man Virgil had carjacked, Patton he had said, hummed a soft tune as he pulled back onto the interstate. Virgil glanced down at the ice cream in his hands and took a second bite. Was he…was he actually serious about all of this?

Virgil was suspicious, but the guy had been nothing but surprisingly nice for someone who’d been kidnapped. The nicer he was, the worse Virgil felt about the whole, breaking into his car and threatening him at knife point thing. Maybe that was the point? Maybe he was hoping Virgil would feel bad enough to eventually just tell him drive to the police station so he could turn himself in.

Not likely. It didn’t matter how nice the dude was to him, he was not going anywhere his mother might be able to find him. Nope. Not happening. Not after what happened earlier in the day. He’s just lucky he’d been snooping in his dad’s room trying to find where the man had hidden the Gameboy and found whatever radio thing dad had hidden under a floorboard under his bed. Well, lucky was perhaps not the right word, he thought as he stuffed an even larger spoonful of ice cream into his mouth while trying to force himself not to cry. Nothing was lucky about today.

He didn’t know why dad had the radio thing. (He was pretty sure at this point that he didn’t know a lot of things.) All he knew was that it was some type of communication device and his mother’s voice had been undeniably clear on it even if people hadn’t been calling her by name. He hadn’t known what on Earth was going on. All he knew was that he’d backed away from it in horror and confusion when the message that Remington Gates was dead came through. Mom had said “good.” He’d hoped it had been some kind of trick, but when some guy had broken into the house to take him to his mother not even 10 minutes later, he’d pieced together the truth.

His dad was dead. His mom had killed him. And whatever her plans were for Virgil, Virgil didn’t want any part of it. Luckily, when he was 12, he’d watched a horror movie and hadn’t slept for a week. His dad had solved the problem by showing him how to use pepper spray effectively and then letting him keep a can of it in his nightstand in case anyone ever broke in to try to kidnap him. Virgil was… pretty sure dad hadn’t ever thought someone would break in and try to kidnap him. He’d pepper sprayed the guy mom had sent and grabbed a knife from the kitchen before booking it out the back door.

The options had been the park, the grocery store, or try to make it to the nearest bus stop and hope a bus arrived soon. In a bid to be unpredictable, he’d gone to the grocery store. Of course, he’d needed to get out of the neighborhood and fast, but he knew a bus or any form of public transport would be easily trackable. The only solution was a car, but the problems were that Virgil didn’t have a car, he didn’t know how to hotwire a car, and his only experience driving had been when his older brother allowed him to drive a golf cart when he was 7 and he drove it into a pond.

Which had led him here, in a strangers car after waiting for him to come out of the store in the backseat and pressing a kitchen knife up against his neck. It had been… a day. He finished the entire giant “concrete” ice cream thing Patton had got him and stuck it in the bag with the rest of the trash.

“Want to listen to the radio?” Patton asked. “Passenger gets to chose the station!”

“Er… sure.” Virgil reached forward to flip it on. They were far enough out of range that whatever station Patton had last listened to in town was now just static so Virgil started to mess with the dials.

There didn’t seem to be any music channels that adhered to his tastes, so he just ended up on some pop station. He was just settling back into his seat when Patton’s phone started to ring from where he’d tossed it when he’d gotten into the car at the grocery store.

Virgil blinked at the phone. “Is that the Mission Impossible theme song?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Why does it sound like that?”

“It’s the kazoo version,” Patton explained.

“…Why?”

Patton just smiled. “I should probably answer it.”

“No!” Virgil said. “You’re not allowed to answer it.”

Patton shrugged. The music stopped after a few more seconds and then started up right after that.

“It’s my brother. He’s going to keep calling,” Patton informed him, “and if I don’t answer, he’s going to call the cops because he assumed I was kidnapped. Which… in this case.”

“Shit,” Virgil said as the ringing stopped again only to pick up once more a moment later. “Shit. Fine. You can answer it, but I’m putting it on speaker and don’t try to tell him anything.”

“Yeah, alright,” Patton agreed easily.

Oh god, this was a bad idea. Virgil grabbed the phone and accepted the call before putting it on speaker.

“Hi, Lo.”

“Why aren’t you answering your home phone?”

“I’m not at home,” Patton said.

“Where are you?”

Patton considered it for a moment. “I’m… on a road trip.”

“A road trip?” the man on the other end of asked blankly. “What do you… what do you mean?”

“I mean I got in my car and now I’m driving.”

“You were supposed to be home all week. Patton, I need you to be in the city right now. Where are you?”

Virgil shook his head wildly.

“I don’t know,” Patton said thoughtfully. “A road.”

“Patton,” the man groaned. “Why?”

“It’s just a thing that happened Lo, sorry if you needed me.”

“How is a road trip a ‘thing’ that just ‘happens,’ Patton?” he asked. Patton glanced at Virgil.

“Erm… it just did?” he said.

“Patton!”

“Anyway, I’m a little bit busy so talk to you later!”

“Patton do not hang up the phone!”

“Love you Logi!” He jerked his head at Virgil and Virgil hit the end call button.

The second the call ended Virgil groaned. “It would have been better if you just didn’t answer.”

The Mission Impossible Song: Kazoo Version started playing again.

“It’ll be best if you just turn that off,” Patton said.

“Won’t he just call the cops?”

Patton gave him a secret smile. “No, he’ll just think I’m being silly and ignoring him.”

“Do you do stuff like that often?” Virgil asked.

“Just enough so he doesn’t ask questions when I don’t want him to,” Patton divulged. “It’s a little brother thing, you know.”

Virgil flinched just a bit. A brother thing. He wondered where his brother was now. He’d always been nice to Virgil, but he’d also always been obedient to mom. He wondered if he knew about Virgil’s dad. The two had always gotten along even though he wasn’t Janus’ father, but mom was… mom. Virgil didn’t want to know whose side he’d take.

The ringtone ended and started back up once again. Virgil held down the power button until it turned off and decided to store it in the glove compartment so Patton couldn’t reach it as easily. (Though perhaps he should have thought of that earlier, but he was new to the whole kidnapping thing.)

He sat back against the seat and started rubbing at the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Everything okay over there?” Patton asked.

“I’m fine,” Virgil snapped and then bristled under the raised eyebrow he got in return. “This radio station is just stupid,” he grumbled.

“Well, you can change it,” Patton pointed out.

#study break stories #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #platonic moxiety #roman sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #knives #kidnapping #carjacking #murder mentioned #guns mentioned #pepper spray #eye wounds

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e-of-west-glendia · 4 years

Text

Happy birthday to the wonderful @sirrriusblack!! You’re one of the most amazing people I know and I’m so, so glad that I decided to message you wayyy back in December.

I love you to death and again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🎉

All I Want For Christmas Is You

(Yes I know it’s May. So shhhhhhhhh. Blame Mariah Carey and her song for shuffling on my playlist and putting me in a Christmas mood) (also tumblr is mean so I have to post this in three parts) Part 2 & Part 3

James (8:59 am): Are you here yet??

Sirius (9:05 am): Yep just landed

James (9:05 am): Cool cool

James (9:10 am): You outside yet?

Sirius (9:13 am): Jesus shit no. I literally said I landed like 5 minutes ago

James (9:14 am): 8 minutes* and so?

Sirius (9:16 am): Soooooo I have to get through security and shit. Do you know how airports work Prongs?

James (9:19 am): Of course I do. You just yell at terminal until you get to your destination quicker

Sirius (9:22 am): Lolll ok sure. I’ll try screaming at it

James (9:22 am) sounds like a plan padfoot

Sirius (9:30 am): Ok I’m out where are you?

Sirius (9:34 am): James?

Sirius (9:35 am): Jaaaammeeeessssss

Sirius (9:37 am): Prongssss where are youuu. It’s cooollldddd

James (9:38 am): sorry sorry I had to find the gate

Sirius (9:39 am): you mean to tell me you badgered me about getting off the plane and you didn’t even know where to pick me up???

James (9:39 am): ….maybe….

Sirius (9:40 am): dumbass

James (9:41 am): stfu and get in the car

Sirius (9:41 am): (:

~~~~~~~~~

Sirius looked up from his phone, grinning as a loud horn sounded from the curb. James was leaning out the window and sending him an equally large grin.

James pressed on the horn again, causing several people to look up in alarm and annoyance.

Sirius made his way to the back of the car, tapping on the back of it for James to pop the trunk. A moment later there was a faint click and the trunk had sprung open. Sirius quickly shoved his bags in and then closed the trunk probably a lot harder than he should’ve.

He winced at the sound it made as it came down.

“Trying to kill my car, are you?” James shouted from the front.

“Not on purpose,” Sirius called back, walking around to the passenger side.

James reached over and unlocked the door, throwing it open and waving his arm as if to say well what are you waiting for?

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping.”

Sirius laughed at the quote before clambering into the car.

“Good to see you, too, James. Where we headed.”

James clicked on the radio, Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now blaring to life on the audio.

James’ resulting grin would’ve been enough to make most people worried.

“Macy’s,” he said, and then he sped off towards the exit.

~~~~~~

Remus would’ve winced at Lily’s crushing hug if he hadn’t been hugging her with the same amount of force.

“You’re back!!” She shrieked.

“Yeah, yeah I am,” Remus said laughing.

It had been months since he’d been back in San Francisco and he was definitely glad to be home. He’d been away for nearly a year for a work trip — as great as it was, there was something really special about coming home, and seeing his friends again was making him almost giddy with excitement.

“When did you get in?” Lily asked, her words slurred a bit from excitement so it sounded more like one large word.

Remus shrugged,”A couple hours ago— hey! Jesus, what was that for?!”

Remus jerked away from redhead, glaring at the spot where she’d punched him in the arm.

“You should’ve told me when you landed! I could’ve come to pick you up!!”

Remus rubbed his shoulder. “I didn’t want to bother you with it, I can get back to my own house perfectly fine.”

“I know you can,” Lily said, rolling her eyes. “But James went to pick up Sirius hours ago and he could’ve got you too!”

“Oh,” Remus said. “Right.”

Lily frowned at his less than enthusiastic response. “All good there Remus?”

Remus blinked at her for a second, brain having trouble keeping up with what was going on.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Riiiight”

“I swear,” Remus said, raising his palms in the air. “I’m absolutely, one hundred percent, fine.”

Lily’s eyebrows looked like they were trying to leave her face but she nodded. “Yeah, yeah alright. Let’s go.”

“Go?” Remus asked. “Go where?”

Lily’s eyebrows dropped as she rolled her eyes. Sometimes she wondered how such smart people could be the biggest idiots.

“To the Potters. Christmas party, remember?”

“How could I forget.”

The Potter’s were absolutely legendary for their parties. Large events thrown in their Noe Valley house filled to the brim with friends, family, and other people who just happened to be invited. While it was true that Euphemia and Fleamont Potter we’re getting up there in age, they still knew how to throw a party. It also might’ve helped that their son and his friends were renowned for their own parties at boarding school and penchant for getting into trouble.

“Mm of course not,” Lily said. “But did you remember you were supposed to help me set up?”

“Err…” Remus trialed off. Well, no, he hadn’t remembered.

“Uh huh just what I thought. C’mon Remus, wouldn’t want to be responsible for a less than awesome Potter Christmas party, would we?”

~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t that Remus hadn’t known that James was picking up Sirius. No, he’d known all right— it was on the group chat after all. He’d known and he had deliberately planned his flight schedule around it.

Things hadn’t exactly been normal last time Remus had seen Sirius. And he’d decided that he’d much rather take an Uber home than hitch a ride with Padfoot and James. “I-Can-Sense-A-Conflict-Between-My-Friends-In-Under-A-Minute” Potter.

The thing with Sirius was that he’d gotten so good at covering up emotions it was hard to tell which ones were real. Such was the case last year.

Remus had been in love with his best friend for longer than he could remember. It had started small, noticing things, like his laugh. Then it slowly got worse and Remus started noticing finer details. Like the way his hair shimmered when it caught the light, or how the corners of his eyes would crease when he laughed. Or how—

“Remus. Earth to Remus Lupin, are you still with me?”

Remus looked up from the car window. He’d been doodling small stars on the parts that had turned foggy from the contrast of the warm car on the cold exterior.

“Yes?”

“We’re here.”

Remus started around their surroundings. “Oh”

“Mhm,” Lily said, pulling her key out of ignition. “What were you even doing?”

Remus looked back to the window, blushing slightly at the doodles. “Erm...stars?”

A grin split across Lily’s face. “Stars, huh?”

“What?” Remus complained, he absolutely did not need her to tease him about this. Or tell the other Marauders, it’s definitely be best if she didn’t tell the other’s.

Lily was practically glowing now. Brimming with some hidden information.

“Oh, nothing. C’mon let’s head in.” Without another word she pushed open the car door, sending a gust of cold air into the car and making Remus shiver.

Remus sat in his seat for an extra thirty seconds or so, trying to come up with what on earth Lily was talking about. Finally, muttering something about girls being confusing, Remus stepped out of the car and trudged towards the Potter house.

~~~~~~~~~

San Francisco was known for many things, but being warm was not one of them. Especially not during the month of December.

Sirius shivered slightly, cursing himself for not wearing a warmer coat. He knew how cold this god forsaken city got. So why on earth had he not packed for the weather. Oh, right, because he was in Australia where the seasons were flipped upside down. Well at least it was warm there.

It might’ve been better if it was the type of cold for snow, but alas it wasn’t. San Francisco was the type of cold with frigid winds that chilled you to the bone and a freezing atmosphere that made your teeth chatter.

Sirius wasn’t generally a warm person. In fact he’d once made Lily drop a cup of coffee when he’d startled her by touching her with a severely cold hand. So he’d made his peace with being a cold blooded lizard. But even he had his limits on cold.

Now James on the other hand looked ecstatic. Bouncing up Powell street towards Macy’s with poorly contained excitement.

“How the fuck are you so happy right now?” Sirius grumbled at his friend.

“Because it’s Christmas and you’re back.”

“I’m all for the Christmas spirit but it’s freezing outside.”

“Don’t you always say you’re cold-blooded?”

“Oh, ha ha. Cold-blooded creatures want to be warm you dumbass.”

James chuckled at his irritation. “We’ll be inside soon enough.”

Soon enough couldn’t have come faster. Sirius could’ve hugged whatever person was in charge of the heater in Macy’s. Stepping through the doors to the department store had felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

“Finally,” Sirius groaned when they’d gotten in. “A normal temperature.”

James had only laughed before tugging him further into the store in search of gifts.

~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, out with it Lupin. What’s going on between you and Black?”

Remus had almost taken Lily to her word. He’d been drinking tea when Lily asked her question, catching him off guard and causing him to choke.

“Pardon,” he spluttered.

Lily’s hands were on her hips, red hair falling around her face in waves. “Don’t you ‘Pardon’ me, Remus Lupin. I’m not an idiot. There’s been something off about you and Sirius since last fall.”

Remus had recovered slightly and took another swallow of his drink before saying: “Lily, I don’t know what you—“

“Oh my god,” Lily said suddenly, cutting him off. “You two finally worked it out!”

“Worked what out?”

Lily pushed herself up onto the counter, leaning in close to Remus.

“You two finally figured out that you’re head over heels for each other.”

Remus nearly fell off his seat in shock. Shit, he’d been discovered.

Lily snorted, not missing the flash of panic cross his face.

“Relax, I’ve known for a while. Hell, we all have.”

“You all know I like Sirius?” Remus asked, recovering his wits slightly.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yes, duh. You two weren’t exactly discreet about it.”

“Two?”

“Yes, Remus. You and Sirius? Y’know Sirius Black? Rich, playboy supreme who you’ve had a crush on since you were like 14?”

“I know who he is,” Remus snapped, and then winced at the cool it buddy look that Lily was giving him. “What I meant was, you think Sirius likes me of all people.”

“Mhm”

“How? Why? Where?”

Lily sighed. “God Remus, you are so blind.”

#wolfstar fanfic #HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUMAN #wolfstar fluff #san fransico #James Potter #Lily Evans #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #gay idiots #this is gonna be three parts #California #yo it is so cold in SF in the winter

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chaptersinprogress · 4 years

Text

it ain’t a lie if it’s now true

Tew's mouth fell open. Wad stared at Kongpob as if he'd grown another head. Oak promptly fell off his chair while Aim knocked his drink onto his lap.

"What the fucking fuck?" said Wad incredulously.

Rating: T

Warnings: swearing

Pairings: Arthit/Kongpob

Prompt: ‘my new romance-obsessed friend asked me who my last date was with and i was too embarrassed to say i’ve never been on a date so i blurted your name and it turns out they know you’ au - by @mraculous

"Kong, when was the last time you've gone on a date?" asked Oak, after downing a shot.

Aim perked up, head lifting from the glass of alcohol he'd been staring into. Now this was something he wanted to know too. For all the confessions he'd seen his best friend receive since high school, he'd never heard anything about him going out with one of them. Well… from the person himself that was. Plenty of rumors of all the fantastic dates he'd taken girls out on made their way around the campus. As expected from the Campus Moon.

Kongpob, however, didn't seem all too happy about the turn the conversation had taken. "Why, Oak? Are you interested?" he deflected with a teasing smirk. "We just met less than half an hour ago, and you're already making moves."

Oak flushed from a combination of both embarrassment and alcohol. "Hell no! You're good-looking, but I don't swing your way. Come on, you're the Campus Moon. People are falling over themselves to go out with you. Give us the deets. We wanna know which lovely Star has caught the eye of the Moon."

"We have heard a lot about it," said Tew apologetically. "We're all curious, and it's a harmless question."

Kongpob sighed and raised an eyebrow. "And if I happened to swing both ways?" he asked challengingly.

Wad snorted, "So what?"

All the others nodded their heads. Why should the gender of the person Kongpob loved matter? It was his business who he decided to take to bed. They were only interested in finding out so that they knew who to tease the lone economics student about. Or help set him up with.

From the unwavering stares of the engineering students around him, it was clear that Kongpob wasn't going to be able to wiggle out of answering the question. But there was just one problem - he'd never actually gone out on a date with anyone. Those rumors were exactly that: rumors.

Except, if he told them the truth, they'd most likely keep attempting to set him up with someone. And that was the last thing he needed. He received enough propositions on his own already; he didn't need his new friends adding onto that.

Aim prodded him out of his thoughts. "So, who did you last go on a date with?"

Kongpob blanked. "Uh… erm…" How on Earth was he going to get out of this?! His eyes fell on the stack of papers beside him, and he immediately recalled the helpful senior in a crimson workshop jacket.

"P'Arthit!" he almost shouted.

All his friends stiffened immediately, Oak and Aim almost jumping out of their seats, as they hastily searched for the person whose name had been called. When their frantic head-turning failed to reveal him anywhere near them, the freshies let out sighs of relief.

"What the hell, Kong?!" Aim shouted, whacking Kongpob solidly in the side. "Are you trying to give us all heart-attacks?"

Kongpob winced and rubbed his bruised ribs. "What was that for?" he complained. "I just answered your question."

Tew's mouth fell open. Wad stared at Kongpob as if he'd grown another head. Oak promptly fell off his chair while Aim knocked his drink onto his lap.

"What the fucking fuck?" said Wad incredulously.

Kongpob stared at them in confusion. "Why are you guys acting as if the world is ending?"

Oak pointed a trembling finger at him. "That's because you just said that you went on a date with P'Arthit!"

"So?" he asked, still not getting it.

"Kong… Kong, P'Arthit is the head hazer I've been telling you about all this time," said Aim, finally finding his voice.

Kongpob's eyes widened. Shit. 'Abort! Abort!' his mind screamed at him.

"Uh… Y'know what, I gotta go," he stammered. Scrambling to collect his stuff, he threw a couple of bills on the table to cover his share of the tab and raced out of the bar like a bat out of hell. Leaving a couple of shell-shocked engineering freshmen behind him.

And while Kongpob might have nursed the fragile hope that everyone would dismiss his statement as a collective fever dream, he soon found himself sorely disappointed. Because by the next afternoon, the news had spread around the campus like wildfire.

On the bright side, he was no longer being stalked or confessed to. Because no one, absolutely no one, wanted to bring the wrath of the fearsome engineering head hazer on top of them for daring to proposition his supposed boyfriend, ex or otherwise.

On the down-side, Kongpob was now constantly watching his back and sleeping with one eye open. Waiting for the inevitable confrontation. Because while Kongpob's friends might be pretty accepting; from what he'd heard about the engineering hazing so far, the hazers were very, very cishet. And they didn't seem to be the type to take the insinuation that one of them, especially the head hazer, might be "gay" lying down.

All too soon, Karma seemed to catch-up with him. Kongpob stared at the text which remained unchanging on his screen.

A: Kong, found ur bk whr u left it in the lib. It's in my locker, pwd 0097. Ps, mae wants u 2 come 4 dinner nxt wknd.

He bit his lip. After all he'd done to avoid the engineering campus like the plague, he'd still have to walk into the lion's den?

K: U sure u can't just pass it 2 me?

A: Got a grp proj til l8. Can't pass it 2 u anytime soon.

He groaned. No way around it. It was either he enter the gladiator's pit to retrieve his textbook, or fail the quiz tomorrow. There was really only one option. He just hoped that he wouldn't get beaten up. Steeling himself, he strode determinedly into the Engineering campus to get his book.

He let out a sigh of relief when he managed to make his way to Aim's locker unmolested. Step 1 completed. Retrieving his book from inside, he slammed the door shut and locked it. Step 2 completed. If he could make it back without running into any of the seniors, he'd be home free. But he had taken no more than 3 steps down the corridor when his luck finally ran out.

"Hey, isn't that your faen Ai'Arthit?" came a loud voice from behind him. "Oi, Moon, wait up!"

A familiar voice responded. "Ai'Bright, shut the hell up!"

Shit. Kongpob froze for a second before continuing forward as if he had not heard the seniors. Maybe he could get away if he -

"Nong, we know you heard us so turn around and greet your seniors properly!" called a different harsh voice.

'Uh oh… busted…' sang a cheerful little part of his brain. Kongpob squashed it mercilessly and slowly turned around to meet his doom. He fixed a pained smile on his face and gave the approaching seniors a polite wai.

"Oooh, the Campus Moon is as gorgeous in person as he is in pictures! Ai'Arthit, if you hadn't snatched him away, I would've loved to have him for myself!" cooed one of them. "I'm Toota by the way. That annoying loud one there is Bright-"

"Oi!"

"The scary one is Prem and the muscly one is Knot," Toota carried on. "And of course, you know Arthit," he added with a smirk.

"Sawadee khrap P's. I'm Kongpob, Faculty of Economics," he greeted the seniors warily.

They didn't seem inclined to beat him up, certainly not after taking the trouble to identify themselves, so maybe he'd manage to get out of this relatively unscathed. Recalling Aim's complaints about the various punishments the freshman had undergone, he swiftly revised that opinion - at the very least, with his bones still intact.

Knot cocked his head as he studied the junior. "Ai'Toota's right, Ai’Arthit. At least you have good taste in men."

Kongpob choked on his own saliva. Arthit, on the other hand, let out a scream of frustration and threw a punch at Knot, who side-stepped it with a laugh.

"I'm going to kill all you fuckers!" the head hazer snarled. "You have 5 seconds to start running before I come after your heads. 5! 4! 3-"

His friends seemed to get that he'd already been pushed to his breaking point and took the out they'd been given, promptly sprinting down the corridor to save their lives.

"And you!" Arthit snapped, spinning back around to face Kongpob.

Kongpob flinched before smiling awkwardly. "Yes?"

The head hazer seemed ready to tear his throat out with his teeth. Oh god, he didn't want to die young! Where was the nice, caring senior who'd helped him collect all the assignments when the wind decided to snatch them off the table a couple of days ago? The one who blushed oh so prettily when Kongpob moved just a little too close into his personal space. How could the angry dragon in front of him be the same guy?!

Arthit sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I apologise for all the trouble my friends have caused, Nong. They've been teasing me the last few days due to the rumors and you being here was too good of an opportunity for them to miss."

"Um… it's alright, P'Arthit. No harm done," Kongpob replied, shifting his weight. 'Well, for now,' he mentally added.

Arthit's face darkened. "If I catch whoever it was who started those rumors I'm going to-" He paused. "What's with that expression?"

Kongpob stared back guiltily at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Confess or deny? As Arthit's frown deepened, a realisation struck Kongpob: with a bit of digging, the engineering freshies would cave, and his role in the mess would come to light.

If he admitted it now, he could possibly plead for mercy instead of having P'Arthit find out later and then disembowel him for lying. Shit. It was either speak now or forever hold his peace (six feet underground, that was).

He fiddled with his textbook cover. "Um… P'Arthit?"

"Yes?"

Kongpob stared at some point over Arthit's shoulder, not daring to meet his eyes. "I might have a tiny part to play in that."

"What? Speak up."

Kongpob gulped before speaking louder. "I said I might be part of the reason why those rumors exist."

And if Kongpob had thought Arthit looked angry earlier, well, now he had to be downright furious.

"You’re the one behind this mess? Do you think this is funny?" Arthit hissed. "Are you mocking me?!"

"What? No!" the words spilled out. "No, of course not! I… ugh… this had nothing to do with you in the first place!"

"Then explain what it is about!"

"My friends were asking me about the last date I'd gone on, but I've never gone on a date before so I just randomly blurted out the first name that came to mind which was yours 'cause I remembered you helping me earlier that afternoon!"

Arthit stared at him incredulously. "You've never been on a date?"

"That was what you got out of everything I said?!"

Arthit's shoulders began to shake. Kongpob eyed him warily. A chuckle escaped the senior, and then it was as if a dam had broken. Kongpob stared at the head hazer who was almost bent over in half, struggling to stop laughing.

Kongpob’s cheeks burned. Now this was precisely why he had lied to his friends in the first place. At the very least, his complexion helped disguise his shame. He pulled together the last shreds of his dignity.

"If you're done, I'll take my leave first," he said frostily.

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry," gasped Arthit, straightening up. "It's just… I didn't expect that at all."

Kongpob remained silent.

"Oh come on, the most popular guy on campus who gets confessed to left and right has never been on a date? Surely you'd find that fact just a little bit funny."

Kongpob's lips thinned at the continued mockery. Arthit walked over to him, grinning, and slung an arm around his shoulder.

"Ok, ok. I'm sorry na… stop looking like that Nong."

He turned his head stubbornly to the side, refusing to even glance at the senior.

"Tell you what, I'll treat you to dinner as an apology."

Kongpob side-eyed the hazer.

"2 meals?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Fine! A whole day of whatever you want. Now will you stop sulking and forgive this senior?"

Taking the opportunity to turn the tables, Kongpob twisted in Arthit's hold and leaned in, their noses almost brushing. "Are you asking me out on a date, P'Arthit?" he murmured softly.

He bit down on the smirk that threatened to form as he watched the senior's eyes widen - at both the question and their proximity - as that lovely flush his thoughts always wandered away to appeared in reality. Arthit dropped his arm from Kongpob's shoulders as if he'd been burnt and took 2 giant steps away.

"Kongpob!" he shouted, almost shrilly.

"Don't worry P'Arthit, the whole campus already knows about us. There’s no need to be shy."

Arthit’s jaw dropped. Kongpob snickered and began to walk down the corridor back to his dorm. ‘Ah, revenge is certainly sweet,’ he thought. As the senior sputtered behind him, Kongpob threw a final parting shot.

"Pick me up on Saturday, 11am at the dorm entrance, don't be late!"

"KONGPOB!"

Laughing, Kongpob began running as Arthit spat curses after him. Looks like he’d get to go on that date after all.

#chaptersinprogress #sotus #sotus the series #kongpob x arthit #arthit x kongpob #kongarthit #kongpob #arthit #fanfic #fanfiction #fake exes au #it ain't a lie if it's now true #baby we're meant to be #slightly ooc but it's an au so fk it

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leggomylino · 5 years

Text

Emin | yandere!artist!chenle

Genre: yandere, a bit of fluff, angst, a bit of comedy (just to relieve some tension)

Pairing: yandere!artist!chenle x baroness!reader

Word count: ~10.3k

Warning(s): deep angst, dark thoughts, violence, possible character death

Song: Leia by Yuyoyuppe (feat. Megurine Luka; here’s a really pretty piano arrangement!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-Ooh0e-fvk c: )

A/N: Requests are open! | Masterlist in bio!! | thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it!!! <3 | P.s....I wanted to portray Chenle as more of a soft/confused yandere?? Still possessive but more...respectful? Innocent? I think that’s the word(s) I’m looking for? Like he’s really unsure how to handle it? Idk hopefully you’ll get what I was going for… ^^”

[2:42 pm]

You were his safety. His peace. And that’s why he refused to let you go.

You were a rainbow, and they were all colorblind. But not him. Never him; to him, you were all the colors of the spectrum and more, so much more, so much more that he simply couldn’t contain it all in his fragile, broken body.

So he painted. That’s how he’d gotten his start as an artist.

He painted religiously. Each day was something new, something vibrant, something alive, bursting with color and warmth and emotion; so many emotions. Some days were painful; others were like a breath of fresh air. But he didn’t care if it hurt. He didn’t mind that it was slowly consuming his sanity, filling up every square inch of canvas in his mind. Like a moth to a flame, he’d do it all over in a heartbeat. Like a sailor to a siren at sea, he’d keep coming back for more, over and over and over again.

And on days he’d lost sight of that focus, on nights he couldn’t sleep, his body wracked with pain from the debilitating illness that the clerics still had yet to find a cure for, he’d draw the person he wished he could be.

He was strong, and handsome, and focused. He wasn’t sick; he was healthy, and determined and dedicated and sophisticated. He was loyal and brave and loving and so charismatic, so charming, there was no way you couldn’t notice him. He was your world; just like you were his.

Even if it wasn’t real. Even if he had to paint it himself.

It was all he wanted. It was all he had.

And for now, it was enough.

“Chenle~ I’m heading out now!”

Chenle blinked to life, waking himself back into reality. Reluctantly.

He smiled to the woman walking into the room, her wine red dress skirts swaying with each step she took towards her precious baby boy. Her one and only son, now that his older brother had gone off to enlist in the war effort.

“Okay, Mom.”

She sighed, resting a hand on her wrinkled cheek as she examined his most recent masterpiece. He was painting that girl; again. “Are you sure you’re going to be alright by yourself? Don’t forget you have that meeting with the Duchess today at five p.m.”

He sighed back as she ran her free hand through his messy orange hair, stained that way from all the many late nights painting to his heart's content. The room was never clean when he was hit with inspiration, and nothing was spared; not even his hair. His fingers were often so blue, the rivets embedded in murky varnish, the other villagers thought they were broken.

...That wasn’t far from the truth, but it was still a misconception all the same.

“I know. I’ll be fine. Take care on your trip.”

His mother smiled once more, placing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. “I will, dear. You take care of yourself as well. Don’t stay up too late with...erm…”

“Emin.” He smiled much more brightly. “Her name is Emin.”

“...Yes...Emin.” She frowned, her shoulders sagging a bit. This wasn’t the first time he’d locked himself into his own false realities...he’d be gone for at least a few days.

But that was fine. He may not have much longer to live anyway; it was the least she could do but to play along with his delusional fantasies.

“Just remember to get yourself cleaned up before you present yourself at the palace. And don’t be late!”

“I won’t. Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

Cha-chunk.

“......”

The moment she’d left the small cottage, a sigh of relief escaped him, and he tilted his head back to face the sky...or rather, the low-hanging splintering wood ceilings.

All he wanted to do was paint and get lost in you. But he’d better start getting ready.

✦

He was scrubbing away the residue of last night’s oil pastels from beneath his fingernails when the image of you popped up in the window through the small broken looking glass of the washroom. He was sure he must be imagining things; after all, the visions of you had been quite strong lately.

Except this time he wasn’t hallucinating. It really was you.

“Chenle!”

“GAH!”

He flinched, dropping the small scrub brush in a state of panic, then whirled around to see you.

Your bright (e/c) eyes. Those rosy cheeks. That gorgeous hair.

He desperately wanted to melt into it, to mix his palette with yours. But he feared the result would be muddy...an unwanted color. He couldn’t risk tainting such beauty with his filth. “E-Emin...I mean, (y/n)...” Gosh, even just saying your name on his tongue was an indescribable joy. “(Y/n)...what are you doing here?”

You crinkled your nose the way you did when you knew something wasn’t right, and Chenle beamed, taking in your every small act of expression. “First tell me who on Earth this Emin fellow is. Do they bear such resemblance to me?”

“...” He nodded after a moment, sheepishly trying to hide the heat rising to his cheeks, but failed miserably. “It’s the name of my newest painting--”

“Oh my gosh!” You lit up brighter than the festival lights during the Fall Harvest, your head bobbing up and down giddily from the small space of a window. “You’re done already?! I wanna see I wanna see I wanna see! ...Please?”

You gave him your greatest puppy pout, the one he couldn’t resist. But you didn’t have to. Because eventually he would have caved anyway.

He picked up the brush off the ground, wishing he would have had more time to make himself presentable for you. Even if the two of you had been friends for a few years now, he still wanted to look his best for you...oh, but who was he kidding, really? It’s not like someone of your stature, the Baroness of Adderdale, would ever fall for a paint-stained dirt-scratcher like him...especially not one that probably only had a few months left to live. “Of course. I’ll open the door for you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay! I know you have a big meeting with Duchess Rowena soon, I’ll just--”

“Nonsense. You’re way more important.”

The words were out there before he could take them back. But he wouldn’t have wanted to anyway, because it was nothing short of the truth. “Uh…” You nodded back to him, your face half-swallowed by the high-standing square hole in the wall, your eyes peeking just over the edge now as you climbed down from the crates you’d been standing on. “Okay, then. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Chenle opened the door for you not but a minute later, right on schedule, and you smiled now that you were able to see him up close.

There was a smear of green paint on his cheek. You pulled out a handkerchief from your dress pocket, fanning it open in one quick flick of the wrist and tenderly reached up to wipe his face clean.

You almost suspected that you missed a few spots from how red his face turned, his whole body tensing, eyes barely peeking out shyly behind closed lids. He’d always been such a bashful, apprehensive young man. But that was one of the many things you loved about him.

If only he knew. Maybe things could have gone differently than how they eventually would come to play out.

You’d just starting to retract your gesture when he stopped you, taking your hand gently in his and holding it against his cheek. Nuzzling his face against the silk fabric of your glove.

You laughed. “What are you, a cat?”

He murmured back a soft reply. “I wish I were, sometimes...maybe then I could focus on the things I really care about.”

This made you frown. “Like what?”

“Like...painting, and watching the sea reach out to the sky, and taking naps all day, and...you.”

“Chenle…”

“Hm?”

“How would you paint? You wouldn’t have thumbs.”

He gave you a playful smirk. “No, but it’d have a tail. I’d never have use for another brush again.”

“How would you sign your work?”

He held up his hand. “Paw print.”

“How is that any different from any old stray cat off the street?”

“Hmm…” He gave it some serious thought, making you smile from ear to ear. “...Oh!” He released your hand, resting a fist in his open palm in an action stating he’d thought of something. “...Two paw prints?”

“Chenle!” You busted out laughing, and it’s got to be one of the most blessed sounds he’d ever had the pleasure, no, the honor of being alive to hear; he felt faint upon hearing it, yet stronger all the same. It’s the sound that gave him strength and security when he needed it most, on nights when he thought the sickness that plagued his brittle bones really would deliver his soul to Heaven. The moment he remembered your voice...even if it was all in his feeble mind...all was well again.

“Are you going to invite me inside? It’s mighty hot out here in the sun.”

“Oh!” He hurriedly stepped aside, taking your hand to help you up the small step into the tiny aged cottage that had to be at least sixty years old. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize. I’m used to you spacing out in the middle of a conversation by now.” You poked his nose, sending a charming smile his way that may as well have taken his heart had he not already given it to you. “I think it’s cute.”

The wink you sent him was the nail in the coffin.

“Ahh!” Your eyes caught sight of his studio set up in the far left corner of the room, and you lifted your skirts to dash your heel-clad feet across the splintering floorboards. The moment you got there your hands gripped the drape over the center canvas, but you remembered last minute it’s probably polite to ask first, even if it was a dear friend of yours.

Normally Chenle would have murdered anyone who dared to disturb his art without permission; but you were the lone exception. He could never bring himself to hurt you. “Go ahead.”

Excitedly you casted the veil away, and when your eyes met the girl in the painting you froze.

Because she was you. You were looking at a reflection of yourself.

Except you were way more beautiful than you ever imagined you could be. Why didn’t you look this good in real life?!

“Chenle...it’s…”

“Do you like it?” His eyes were full of excitement and adoration as he gazed upon the you in the painting. “Her name is Emin.”

“Emin…” You repeated the name like a foreign word. “...She…”

You paused for a considerable amount of time, just staring curiously at the work of art. Of course this wasn’t you; it was too beautiful to be. How could you be so vain as to think…?

You sighed, small and subtle beneath your breath. “...She’s beautiful.”

“Just like you.”

“Wh-What?”

When your eyes turned away from the fantasy version of you, they met the artist responsible, staring at you as if it was you who hung the moon in the sky each night. “She looks just like you. Beautiful.”

You couldn’t help the warm feeling spreading over your cheeks; you casted your gaze away before Chenle too could notice.

It was too late, of course, because he already had. It made him so happy to see you flustered and flattered so; he’d have to add it to his list of future Emin’s.

You were his after all.

✦

At precisely four o’clock you left Chenle to finish getting ready, though he was sad to see you go. It was a vision he never wished to see; you disappearing out of sight. What if he never saw you again…? You were always so busy with your responsibilities as Baroness of the state. And it was all his fault.

He shouldn’t have asked to paint your portrait out in the grassy fields beyond town square. Maybe then you wouldn’t have been discovered by those royal administrators, who were so captivated by your charming appearance (as they should have been) that they scooped you up and swept you off to the palace to be trained, paying off your family to buy you as their newest errand girl. Because that’s basically what you were in your role of Baroness; the only difference was that they actually fed and clothed and educated you properly in the art of sophistication and foreign affairs and how to be a proper lady.

It made him sick how they ran you ragged. Sicker than he already felt with this accursed illness he was born with.

Which is why he hadn’t hesitated to pay off a young chef-in-training to poison the roast duck going to the administrator’s office one evening whilst sneaking around the back gardens. Your life became a bit easier after that, and the two of you at least had more time to see each other...until they hired another administrator.

But it was alright. The young man was fresh off the boat from vocation school. He’d hired some local bandits to give the man a good scare, and ever since that day you’d had Tuesday afternoons and Saturday evenings free. Sundays after spiritual services were always a given, thank Heaven.

It was now four-thirty. He’d carefully gathered his materials and was on his way to the palace, bag in hand. He wore his best suit: a brown sewn vest over a cream-colored button-up shirt and long, plain-colored trousers. His orange hair was groomed to look as good as it would ever be.

He had to get this job. It was for himself, for his mother; with his brother out of the house, they had scarcely been able to pay the bills, and the new royal tax document was expected to be passed within the next coming weeks. He was the only one left to take care of her.

And then there was you. He would have done anything for you. If he did manage to land this position, he’d be able to see you more often; even if it was just a few fleeting glimpses from a studio window.

By the time he made it onto the palace grounds, chefs and gardeners scurried about in preparation for a celebratory occasion of some sort. He wondered what it could be…

Until a flyer smacked him right in the face, temporarily blinding him.

Startled, he took a few steps back, ripping the inked parchment away from his face. His eyes scanned the page curiously.

��𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒄𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑵𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒉, 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑵𝒊𝒏𝒂 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔

Chenle scoffed. Like he cared about the affairs of the royal elite or the country...

None of that mattered unless it involved you.

✦

“So,” Duchess Rowena Varner, next in line for the royal throne, declared. “You must be Chenle...Zhong, is it? Zhong Chenle?”

The said boy grinned politely from before her throne of sorts. A placeholder until she got her greedy hands on the real thing. “Yes, madam.”

“You shall address her as My Lady!” a royal guard barked.

The Duchess shook her head, chuckling a bit as she waved him off. “Now, now, it’s quite alright. Please, call me whatever you like. And might I say, what a handsome young boy you are!” She stood and paced over to the works of art displayed on silver easels. Real silver. Just an ounce of that would be enough to pay the house bills for an entire month, with a bit left to spare for a royal feast. “Quite talented as well. I reviewed your work the other day.” She smiled, stopping beside his most recent portrait of you: Emin No. 54. His most brilliant work of art to date. “This portrait titled “Emin” is especially beautiful.”

He remained smiling in return, pride swelling in his chest. “Yes, I think so as well.”

Her next question caught him off guard.

“Is she by chance, a lover of yours?”

He froze. His face grew hot; hotter than the sun, it had to be. The Duchess tittered, finding amusement at seeing a young boy turn so red.

“So she is, then? That’s quite sweet. I’m happy for you, I am.”

“...N-Not...Not exactly…”

“Oh, come now. It’s alright. But you know…” she pondered, reexamining the painting. “She looks rather familiar...like I’ve seen her somewhere before…”

“I think it’s ugly.”

Duchess Rowena gasped, and all eyes quickly turned to her daughter, the royal Viscountess.

“Nina!!” The Duchess scolded. “That’s very impolite! Apologize this instant. That’s not how a lady should speak.”

Nina huffed, tossing a long pigtail over her shoulder. “Well it’s true. Her nose is too big. And the eyes sort of creep me out. I’d be turning tail and running if I saw this girl in my dreams or out on the streets. More like my nightmares…”

The Duchess’ face was far worse than a frown, and she snapped her fan shut to emphasize her anger and disappointment, scowling down at her daughter’s abhorred behavior. “Oh, Nina…!” She turned her gaze down to the ridiculed artist with sorrow in her eyes. “I’m so sorry for my daughter. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s usually very sweet and polite, I assure you.”

“......” Chenle didn’t know what to say. All he knew in that moment was that he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, and it felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart-- no, that someone had stabbed Emin in the heart.

You. His Emin. The only thing he loved more than anything else in this world. More than his mother, or his brother, or his art supplies, or the beauty he found in every little thing this world has to offer…

The only reason he found such beauty was because of you. He saw you in everything. You were everywhere to him.

Something foreign and unabashed was painting a dark portrait on his insides…

And that portrait was titled The Death of Nina Varner.

✦

He waited just after dusk for the Viscountess to appear on her balcony for her ritual spoiled stargazing event. Each night she would wander out in a silk nightgown onto the balcony outside her room, tossing grapes and cheese and whatever late night snack she could get her snot-nosed hands on into that vexatious piehole of hers, all while shouting orders at the pitiful maids who were stuck with her that evening to braid her hair or rearrange the furniture or stop breathing so heavily and get her some more wine.

Chenle almost felt bad for them. Almost.

But he was much too busy kindling the fires of hatred he had for the witch who dared to insult his precious Emin.

He waited five swift breaths for the maids to take their temporary leave, then made his strike.

It was swift. Quick. A cursory stab to the heart. But it did the trick all the same; she hadn’t even much time to scream in terror as her body slumped to the marble stone floor, lifeless and in vain with a look of pure trepidation on her face.

It scared him how much joy and excitement it brought him to see her that way. But he didn't have time to admire his crafty work; in one rapid, fluent motion, he scampered off down the secret passage he’d bought the blueprints for at the Black Market in the shady part of town, a harsh coughing fit echoing down the narrow hall as he fled.

✦

The next day was meant to be spent orchestrating the Viscountess’s wedding as well as the arrival of Prince Jaemin. Which is why you were surprised to find that instead, that responsibility was no longer yours...and a new one was being passed down to you; or rather, promoted up to you.

“She what?!” you cried, horror-stricken in face. You could only imagine what the Duchess’s face must have looked like, to find her daughter’s dead body on the balcony floor. The maids almost had it worse, being the ones to discover the horrific display.

Even now you could hear Rowena’s cries and sobs as she mourned the murder of her only daughter. It broke your heart; the Duchess was such a sweet lady...a little greedy, yes, but still very kind. And sure, you never much cared for Nina. Everyone knew what an impish hellion she was, despite her mother insisting she was a good person...yet...you’d never once wished to see her drop dead.

...Okay, perhaps once, when she had shoved you into a closet and claimed that it was you who started a fire in the kitchen during a baking lesson, you did. But you hadn’t meant it literally…!

And now here you were, set to be crowned the new title of Viscountess. Set to be wed for the sake of the country to some prince whose name you scarcely remembered.

It was all too much. So sudden. So soon. You didn’t know if you could take it...you were barely managing to process it all after only half a cup of coffee; everything was passing you by the narrowest of margins.

You needed to talk to someone. Someone not on the inside. Someone you could trust. So the moment the royal guard who had delivered the news left your quarters, you ran off to find the one person you could think of, the first one to come to mind: Chenle.

He was waiting for you in the front garden, just as you’d ask a young pageboy to summon him there. His face was a desolate wasteland as it looked into yours. So he must have heard...news did travel fast.

“Chenle...I…” you sighed dejectedly. “I don’t know what to say. I never wanted this, I had no say, I promise I--”

“Don’t say anything.”

His eyes were a blazing fire when you gazed back up into them. It made you gulp nervously. “Wh-What do you mea--”

“Shhh...“

He was smiling then. Smiling...how could he smile at a time like this?

“I worked everything out. You don’t have to go to the funeral.”

“...What?”

“The funeral. For the late Viscountess. You don’t have to go, I thought of a way out of it...so we can spend time together instead.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. So he really didn’t know, then…? “I’m sorry? Chenle--”

“Hush now, it’s going to be alright. I doubt anyone’s going to show up anyway.”

You gasped at that harsh remark. “Chenle! That’s a horrible thing to say! Even if she was a brat, she wasn’t...she didn’t deserve to…”

“Yes she did.”

...Your eyes snapped back to meet his, again, and this time they were devoid of any life. Vacant of all color.

He was serious. He really meant it.

You took a step back, suddenly feeling ill at ease and uncomfortable with the heavy change in atmosphere. “...How...How can you say that? How…”

The boy you thought you once knew shrugged, gazing off to the side nonchalantly. “Because...she insulted something that belongs to me.”

“That’s no reason to--!”

“She insulted you.”

The air left your lungs for a second. The pressure around you was rising. Did...Did he just say…?

Scowling, you furrowed your brow, crossing your arms before you to boot. “I-I’m not yours, Chenle. I don’t belong to you, or to anyone but the State of Adderdale...and, pretty soon, the Kingdom of Norwich…”

You felt your anger fleeing from you as feelings of anguish and anxiety rushed to take its place, leaving a hollow sensation of misery in its wake.

And it wasn’t just you. Chenle was feeling it as well, his face drooping until it sagged in an expression of crestfallen disbelief.

“What...What do you mean?” he asked. His whole attitude had suddenly changed in no less than a millisecond.

You glared back at him in regret that you had to be the one to tell him; but it was best coming from you. “With Nina gone, I’ve been recently appointed as the new Viscountess. And, furthermore…” You swallowed again, wishing you could take the words down as well. “...I am to marry the Prince of Norwich, in her place. I’m sorry, Chenle…” You sighed for the millionth time. “There’s nothing I can do. I have no say in any of this.”

You didn’t want to look at him in that moment, to see the sadness written all over his face. But you did. Because you had to be strong; especially if you’re going to be taking over as head Viscountess (though not for long...).

Chenle appeared as if he wasn’t feeling anything. Or maybe it’s that he didn’t know what to feel. In reality, he was absolutely, undeniably, without a doubt...melancholy. Hopeless. Lost. Completely despondent.

The same pageboy poked his head around the corner just then, shyly calling your name. You were being summoned to speak with the Queen about wedding invitations, and what kind of wine you would like served with the celebratory dinner.

There were no words that could form what you wished to express to your only real friend in that moment. So instead you said what it is you’d normally say after parting ways, had it been a regular, everyday encounter; and not the last.

“Goodbye, Chenle…”

And then you were gone. His worst nightmares coming true, seeing you vanish from sight.

He looked to the paintbrush in his hand. Broken just like his body. Just like his heart. He squeezed it tightly, as tightly as his frail bones would let him. Tighter, tighter, as if he could squeeze the entire past three minutes out of existence. Erasing all the words that were said, and starting over on a clean, blank canvas. But it didn’t work out that way; that’s not how life worked.

So instead he shut his eyes tightly, envisioning his happy place. The world where the two of you were always smiling, always laughing, always together, always, always…

...It was all his fault. Again. He was to blame for all of it; he was the reason you were rapidly fading from his life. His insecure actions had led to his own downfall.

He sighed, the breath fleeting like a dream deferred.

It was no longer enough.

✦

Three whole days. Three whole days he laid there, his body writhing in pain and agony at the dull ache that seeped through his bones, violent coughs rattling his lungs and rib cage. His throat was sore, his eyes dehydrated from leaking out all the water left in his body. It was painful, certainly, but...it was nothing compared to the apparent horror blatantly staring him in the face that soon, very soon, you would be gone. For good. Forever. And he’d never see you again...only in his dreams, were he lucky enough to obtain them.

A flyer drifted in from the window, once again bringing itself to cover his tear-stained face.

𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 (𝒀/𝒏) 𝒐𝒇 𝑨𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑵𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 // 𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒔 (𝒀/𝒏) 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔-𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒕

A literal slap in the face. His hands shook violently as he tore the sheet into bite-sized pieces, seething with rage and despair that did nothing to help his coughing fit and overall health.

He turned his head to stare at his latest masterpiece, feeling color draining from the world around him, his walls crumbling and caving in.

You were no longer his Emin. You were no longer his.

He felt like he was losing his mind. “But...she’s mine,” he mumbled, reaching out a shaking hand to the you of his dreams. The one he stayed up for three days straight painting with all his heart and mind and soul, pouring out every last ounce of passion from his expiring fingertips stained forever blue, as was the life of an aspiring, tormented artist. “Emin is mine...she’s mine, she’s mine, she’s MINE!!”

In a flash of anger he knocked over a case of brush pens, then a few books, then his entire work desk. He began throwing canvases out the window, their blank slates an abhorred reminder mocking the bleak future he had to look forward to: a future without you.

“Emin...she’s...she...” Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, where he thought he had none left. “She’s mine...E...min...she’s...”

Gone. You were gone, lost to him now, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

...Or was there?

Hastily he reached to grab the flyer from before, then remembered it was in pieces all over the floor. He struggled for an hour putting it all back together, but once he had a mischievous grin found its way where originally no amusement could be found. A tiny, faint ray of hope amongst the coming darkness.

𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒂𝒍 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 // 𝑨𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒉 𝟑𝒓𝒅

That was tomorrow. The Duchess must have convinced them to postpone the wedding for her daughter’s funeral. Which meant...

There was still time.

✦

With not a moment to lose Chenle rushed through the bustling palace walls, each hall as lively as the next as staff from every category of service hustled and hurried and scampered about, preparing for the wedding of the century.

Prince Jaemin had just arrived not but a few hours prior, and with his disguise as an errand boy Chenle had gotten all the right information and knew exactly where to find him.

Now he was just hoping he could get there fast enough, before someone knocked into him and revealed his dire plan.

Looking left, then right, he continued to weave in and out of the crowded hallway until he made it to the far end of the hall, making a stealthy left turn. He made his way down the steps to the kitchens, climbing into a dumbwaiter when no one was looking and working his way up the rope, grunting profusely with each feeble tug and the occasional cough. The moment he made it to the fifth floor he released a tired breath all at once, making sure the coast was clear before exiting the small chamber and trotting on lightfoot down the surprisingly quiet hallway given all the commotion downstairs.

His next task was to locate which one of these blasted guest rooms belonged to the Norwich prince. He had yet to get that far…

Knock knock knock.

“Your Highness?”

He whirled around and tripped his way behind a potted plant, almost spilling the chloroform in his pocket. A door he’d passed some twenty-odd steps ago was opened from the inside by a butler with a peculiarly sour look on his face.

The maid outside smiled kindly. “Pardon me, but all our errand boys are busy at this time. Her Majesty the Queen would like to have a word with His Highness, if that’s alright.”

“...” The young butler turned back into the room. “Yo, Jaemin. The old lady wants to talk to you.”

There was a hissing sound, followed by heavy footsteps before the boy was suddenly yanked back by his collar, a tall, handsomely dressed one taking his place instead. “Please forgive my idiot brother. He’s...a rare case.”

Mumbling could be heard in the background as the maid turned the whitest shade of pale Chenle had ever seen, bowing and apologizing profusely for not recognizing the youngest prince. In her defense, Chenle hadn’t of known either.

But that was besides the fact. His real target was now standing just a few feet away.

He hated how attractive he was. How he radiated an aura of regal perfection. It turned his insides into a dark, muddy green…

Somehow Jaemin had convinced the idiot brother with a smart mouth to take his place in seeing the Queen as a form of punishment (and to apologize for referring to her as an “old lady,” even if the hag was ancient beyond her years) and just before the door closed and the two witnesses had vanished around the corner, he made his move, dashing quickly and shoving his way--

...Right into the door. Thud.

He winced, praying to God his nose wasn’t broken just now. He should have known this guy probably lifted weights on a daily basis, where the only thing he ever lifted was a paintbrush.

He knocked, a hand still over his aching nose.

The moment the door opened he braced himself, whipping out the chloroform that...leaked in his pocket…

The last thing he remembered was the repeating curse he irately flung at himself: Drat, drat, drat…

✦

When he awoke some twenty minutes later, the first thing Chenle noticed was a handsome young man sitting at his bedside.

Great. He was having another nightmare.

But the young man’s nervous laughter proved that he was, in fact, awake, not dreaming.

“There have been far better applicated attempts on my life than the one you just tried to pull.”

The pauper took a deep breath, coughing on the exhale as he threw himself up into a sitting position, then on his knees, knife in hand.

He furrowed his brow a second later; why had the prince not disarmed him…?

Prince Jaemin merely smiled as bright and cleanly as sunshine on a crisp, cool day with the knife hanging inches away from his throat. He didn’t even budge.

Chenle scowled. “Why aren’t you frightened of me? Why didn’t you disarm me while I was unconscious? ...Why did you help me at all? Why not report me to the guard, or the executioner, or--”

“Executioner? My, what troublesome times these must be if you’re sentenced to execution for a simple act of violence.”

A simple act of…?

Chenle didn’t know whether to be confused or appalled. So he was both.

The look on his face must have been quite the spectacle, because the next moment Jaemin was chuckling kindly, as if they’d been having a basic conversation about the weather. “You sure do ask a lot of questions, I’ll give you that. As I mentioned before, you’re not the first poor sap who’s wanted me dead.” His eyes gleamed curiously then, almost taking on a new persona entirely. “Now let me ask you something. Why on Earth would you mention being hauled off to be...executed, of all things?”

Chenle’s whole posture drooped. His shoulders sagged. His breath hitched ever slightly, before being onset by a minor coughing fit.

Jaemin swiftly helped to ease him back onto the bed, but the ill boy fought back, thrusting the knife above his neck once more.

“D-Don’t…” He coughed again. “Don’t help me. I don’t need or want your help. I only want my Emin back. I’m not going to let you take her away from me…!”

“Emin?” The Prince frowned. “I don’t have anything like that...I’m afraid I don’t quite follow what you…!” Then his face lit up with realization. “Ah, wait, you mean that painting in the Duchess’ quarters?” His face began glowing with soft sort of realism. “It’s lovely. Did you paint that?”

“It’s a girl,” Chenle coughed, slowly coming out of his minor attack. “...and she has a name...her name is--”

“Emin,” Jaemin cooed, purred, slandered. As if he enjoyed the way it melted on his tongue the same way it brought the artist pleasure.

He glared, eyes growing dark. “Don’t say her name. You don’t get to say it! She’s mine, my Emin, and I won’t let you take her away from me. Even if I have to...even if I have to…”

“Kill me?”

He flinched, muscles tensing sharply beneath his borrowed clothes. “...Yes. Even if I have to kill you.”

Jaemin was all smiles again-- actually smiling. Did this guy have some sort of death wish? Was he mocking him right now? Challenging him, daring him to try?

Chenle had no idea. It was either that, or he was into some really weird stuff. “Why are you smiling like that? Tell me right now!”

“...You’re a demanding little thing.”

“Tell me, I said!”

“Hmm…” He breathed out through his nostrils, leaning back in the chair he’d pulled up beside the bed. “If you’d really wanted to kill me...you would have done so already. But you haven’t. We’re still talking, aren’t we?”

This hit Chenle harder than he was expecting it to; he practically felt the air deflate from his lungs, and he’d just managed to suppress his haggering coughing fit.

“And I daresay I’ve counted at least three prime opportunities you could have striked.”

“...I…”

The prince simpered, crossing one richly-clad foot over the opposite knee. “So why don’t you tell me about this...Emin of yours.”

Chenle was back to being angry and frustrated all over again. “Why should I? After this, I’ll never see her again…she’s going to be yours anyway...”

He clenched the knife in his hand. Jaemin pursed his lips into a curious pout.

“And why’s that? What do you mean, she’s going to be mine? I’m not interested in buying the painting if that’s what you--”

“Of course that’s not it! You’re going to be marrying her soon enough! You’re right, what you said before...there’s nothing I can do to save her from you…”

Jaemin’s face may as well have been pandora’s box. “What? What in the name of Sam Hill are you talking about? Why would I want to marry a painting…?”

Chenle deadpanned. At least the prince had looks going for him. “I’m not talking about the Emin of my dreams! I’m talking about the real one!”

“The...The real one…?”

“Yes!!”

“...Oh.”

He still didn’t get it. The artist facepalmed. “My Emin. She goes by…” He swallowed harshly, afraid to even speak your name aloud before the prince who’d be stealing you away. “...(y/n)...”

Jaemin seemed to be getting an awful lot of amusement out of the visual display of embarrassment the painter showed. “(Y/n)? As in, Viscountess (y/n)?”

“Don’t speak her name!! At least have the decency to wait until I’m dead before you do…”

“Why on Earth would I want to do a thing like that?” He rolled his eyes. “You sure do talk a lot about execution and death. Do you want to die?”

Chenle had to think about this for a moment. Did he want to die? Technically, without you, he was nothing. Empty. A blank canvas with nothing to show.

Then, there was his mother...with his brother overseas, he was the only one working to support the two of them other than herself. As much as he loved you, he didn’t want to leave her all alone…

...Then again, it wouldn’t matter anyway. His life was on a clock right now, ticking much faster than the average, everyday man’s. He was going to die soon regardless.

“...it doesn’t matter. I’m going to die anyway.”

The princely man blinked. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, placing a blistered hand over his faintly beating heart. “I’m...sick. I was born weak, with a strange illness no cleric has ever seen before. There’s no cure for it either, I...I honestly wasn’t expected to live this long. It’s a miracle I’m even still alive right now…”

“That doesn’t answer my original query.”

“What? Yes it does—“

“No, it doesn’t.” Jaemin tsked, shaking his head. “I asked you, do you want to die. Not if you’re going to or not.”

“...” Violently, Chenle shook his head no. The elder of the two grinned.

“Good! Then we can start preparing you for the wedding right away. Oh, and I’ll get you some medicine as well. Judging by your symptoms you have a condition that’s rare but not unheard of in Norwich. So long as you don’t over exert yourself, I can have a brew cooked up and in your hands in about a week, maybe two...give or take.”

He nearly choked. This was a lot of information, but the one thing that really caught his attention was... “W...Wedding?”

So now he expected him to go? To watch (y/n) be married off? To officially strip the last few remaining pigments of color out of his life?!

Oh, he’d be there alright. But not—

“Yeah. You have to be present for your own wedding. It’s sort of a requirement, actually.”

...A re...A require…

His own wedding?!

Just then the youngest Prince of Norwich returned, popping a bubble of some sticky-sweet substance between his lips on his way in. Jaemin beamed in delight.

“Oh, Jisung, perfect timing. I need you to go back down and bring me a tailor. Anyone will do, so long as he’s qualified.”

“Tailor?” Jisung’s face was scrunched up in obvious puzzlement. “But I just got back up here! What the heck do you need a tailor for? And who the heck is he?” He pointed to Chenle, blowing another pink bubble and popping it with his teeth. “Y’know, Dad told you to--”

“Again, Jisung, Mark is not our father.” He chastised. “...But yes, I know what he said. That’s not it, though.” He gestured to Chenle as if to present a showcase prize. “This colorful young fellow is...he’s uh...er…” He scratched his ear. “What did you say your name was again?”

Chenle almost didn’t want to tell him. But then he really, really did. Because he thought he knew where this was going, and if he was right; which he was; he didn’t want to miss out on this one and only golden opportunity to save you, to save his entire world, and to finally, surely, be able to leave this world in peace once his time was soon to come...in case he didn’t happen to get that medicine in time. “Chenle.”

“Chenle...~” Jaemin nodded. “That’s a wonderful name. I like it, really. It suits the future Viscount of Adderdale rather nicely. Let’s see...Chenle. Sir Chenle! Siiir Chenle...yes, yes, I like it.” He rubbed his chin in thought with a few more nods.

Jisung stared at him like he was dumb as rocks. “Uh, hello? I don’t get it. You’re telling me that this--” he pointed to Chenle-- “--poor kid off the street is going to marry Viscountess what’s-her-name? And not you? Don’t you think Dad-- I mean, Mark, is gonna be...kinda sus? And pissed? Not to mention Renjun and Jeno…”

Jaemin shrugged. “Hey, what can I say? I’d hate to stand in the way of true love...it would be wrong to steal away this young man’s girl when he obviously adores her more than I ever could.”

He winked. Jisung groaned. “You can’t just slack off your duties for some angsty teen romance novel fling! You’re gonna get us both in trouble!”

“......” The elder shook his head, running a hand through his wavy blonde hair. “I knew I should have brought Hyuck, and not you. It’ll be good for him, they said. You’ll be doing us a favor, they said. Aiyaiyai…”

“Hey! Rude!”

“Just go bring me a tailor already! I’ll deal with our brothers when we get home, but I’m this sure at the very least, Jeno would agree with me.”

He held his fingers inches apart, and Jisung deflated a little, beginning to cave. His brother just kept on rambling.

“...We’ll have to get him cleaned up...and do something about that hair...I doubt any of my clothes will fit him, much less my wedding attire…”

Finally the youngest rolled his eyes, and as he shut the door behind him Chenle could hardly breathe. He just couldn’t believe it.

He was getting a second chance. He was going to marry his Emin.

✦

“Are you sure you understand the plan?”

“Yes.”

“And you know where to go when I give the signal?”

“Yes…”

“And you’re absolutely sure you--”

“Oh my gosh, Jaemin, he gets it already!” Jisung snapped. “Just hurry up and get out there before they start suspecting anything! I can’t believe I’m playing along with this…”

With a determined nod Jaemin took off out into the bustling chapel, everyone getting ready to take their places for the celebratory event. Because everything had to be just perfect, the Norwich Prince was directed to take his place in a back hallway, where he’d be escorted out onto the platform by high-ranking officials.

Chenle watched with nervous breadth. What if something went wrong? What if Jaemin changed his mind the moment he saw you walking out, looking like a waking dream? The personification of sheer beauty and ethereal godliness? A goddess among goddesses, Aphrodite herself?

He wouldn’t be able to take it. He’d have to stab himself in the heart and end it all right then and there--

“Hey.”

He looked over to Jisung, who was eyeing him suspiciously.

“Stop being so overdramatic. You’re worse than Haechan when he’s drunk off his ass.”

“Who?”

He blew another bubble, allowing it to pop at the peak of his eye roll. “Never mind. Listen...you don’t have anything to worry about. Jaemin’s not like that. Whatever you were thinking. He’s a good guy, really...also...I uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, turning his eyes away. “I think you guys look good together. You and um…(y/n)?”

He casted him a sideways glance for confirmation, and when Chenle nodded, he returned the gesture. “Yeah, (y/n)...I saw you guys together, out in the front garden a few days ago...my ship arrived here before my brother’s. He took too long getting ready, so I set off without him.” He shrugged. “Anyway...the two of you seemed to be having a disagreement of sorts, but...I don’t know, the way you were staring at each other, deep into the other’s eyes, I could tell you were really close. Like an old flame or something.”

...An old flame...Chenle didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but— he was at a loss for words.

Then the youngest prince said something that really took his breath away. “Y’know...I think that, maybe, you and me could have been great friends if we’d grown up together.” He smiled, a small one, but one nonetheless. “I know this is kind of sudden, since we barely know each other, but...I think I would have liked that. You should come visit us in Norwich sometime. You’d love it there, honestly— the Winters are beautiful.”

It was out there so suddenly, so kindly worded, Chenle didn’t know how to process it all. Him? Having friends? He’d been sick his whole life, the only people ever paying him any kind of attention being his mother and his brother when he’d been around and...of course, you...the day you found him laying out on the street within an inch of his life, and you rescued him from certain death, he immediately knew you were the one. He’d instantly fallen in love with you. Those feelings only grew and grew over time…

However...the thought of having a friend…

He didn’t think he knew the answer. But the palette in his mind was equipped with a bright, yellow color, and he found himself nodding meekly before he knew what he was doing.

Jisung tilted his head back in a pleased indication that he’d gotten the message of what Chenle had meant to say, even though no words would come to him; after all, the boy was an artist, not a poet. “I should probably take my seat. Good luck out there.”

With a pat on the back, he crossed the threshold.

Now all that was left was for him to wait.

✦

It’d be an understatement to say that you were nervous. Because you weren’t; you were more than nervous, you were practically horrified.

You’d thought you could handle it. Really, you did. But the moment it actually started happening, it was instantly all too much; only now it was ten times worse, because it was actually happening in real time.

First the music started to play, a gorgeous symphony of organs and strings. The Queen had even hired a quartet of flautists to play in harmony to the familiar chorus of Canon in D Major. The flower girl made her entrance first, tossing flower petals down the aisle and into the waiting audience. They gushed and cooed over how cute she was, muttering comments of how handsome of a boy the ring bearer behind her would grow up to be, though he was practically more of a man than a boy...that ring bearer being…

...Zhong Chenle? What?!

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at the sight of him, striding into the room with such perfect posture and well-to-do attire. He looked like a prince out of a fairytale novel.

But what on Earth was he doing here…?

“My Lady, it’s time,” called a maid. You had a hard time peeling your eyes away, but you were able to nonetheless with a bit of effort on both yours and the maids parts as they pulled you away to your proper waiting station outside.

It broke your heart that he’d gotten himself roped into this, and you had no idea how he’d done it, but maybe after this, at least, you could send him off with a proper goodbye…

✦

He’d been too nervous. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to do something.

So the second the melody of Beetovhen’s chorus flitted about the room, he snatched the rings from a boy waiting nearby, stumbling his way in right behind a small flower girl and immediately righting the way he carried himself.

He could feel Jaemin’s eyes on him from the far off hall where he peeked behind a curtain, pleading for him to turn back. He could hear Jisung’s ragged breathy sigh, calling him an idiot.

But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t. This was all for you...and anyway, it was too late to change anything about the choice he’d made now.

He paused at the foot of the altar, going to the opposite side where the men waited as traditional Adderdale weddings he’d witnessed in his lifetime. Then he took a deep, shaky breath, fighting back the urge to cough as a tickle made its way to the back of his throat.

Not now. Not now. Please, not now.

The small orchestra suddenly broke out into the Norwich national anthem, and Jaemin made his appearance, walking tall and proud and princely to stand at his place atop the altar; temporarily, that is.

He sent Chenle a sly wink from where the boy stood just two feet behind him.

“It’s alright. We can still make this work out. I know you must be incredibly nervous right now; I would be, too, were I the one getting married today.”

Curse the man. Chenle couldn’t help but smile.

Then it was the moment everyone had been anticipating: as the Norwichian anthem came to a whole-noted close, a circle of guards surrounding the chapel stepped forward from their placement along the surrounding walls in unison, saluting as the King and Queen entered, followed by the Duchess and a few other nobles Chenle never paid enough attention to remember the names of. They each took their seats, and then...then…

The most beautiful harmonic arrangement began to play, and everyone quieted straightaway, the room falling instantly silent as a gentle hush fell over the crowd. The familiar melodic tune of Here Comes The Bride circled round and round the room, and within seconds all eyes were on what had to be...what surely was...he just…

He wasn’t a poet, as was mentioned before. There were simply no words yet in existence to describe how...how…

You were perfect. That’s the best way he could think to paint it; and speaking of paint, he wanted to capture this moment so badly on canvas and…

No. In reality, he wanted you all to himself. He didn’t want anyone to see you looking so beautiful, for fear that they may steal you away from him as the palace did years ago, and as Jaemin almost had (or would have) that very day.

You approached the aisle at a slow, leisurely pace, crisp and clean and glowing with pristine perfection as two more flower girls hurried before you, and an ensemble of maids held up the trail of your dress and veil whilst shadowing at your heels.

Chenle desperately wanted to knock them all over and scurry out of there with you in his arms. If only he were strong and brave enough to do a thing like that…

The urge to cough was getting worse. He tried clearing his throat beneath the guise of the fluttering chorus, but that only seemed to make the need more prominent.

As you finally made your way up the altar steps, it was then that he simply couldn’t take it anymore. Something in him went black, shutting down, and he…

He collapsed.

✦

A series of gasps and astonished cries reverberated off the chapel walls and stained glass windows as the boy you hardly recognized hit the ground with a pain-filled grunt.

Acting quickly Prince Jaemin nearly threw himself down to help your dearest friend, pushing guards and other palace help out of the way when they tried to draw near. You yourself tossed the bouquet of wildflowers the Queen had insisted you carry (the national flower of Norwich) over your shoulder, a few stuck-up and self-centered bridesmaids scrambling to catch it and squealing excitedly about which of the other princes were available to marry.

Jisung had shut them up pretty fast with a rude remark, but you were too focused on the topic at hand to hear exactly what it was.

“Chenle!” you cried, lifting the limp boy in your arms. “Oh, Chenle...please say something…!”

This was it. You were afraid something like this might happen one day. But you’d never thought it would be so soon...Chenle’s illness was no surprise to you; you’d known about it for quite some time. In fact, it was you that had secretly been funding a portion of his monthly checkups with a palace cleric, a silent agreement you’d made with his grateful mother.

And now it was really happening. He was dying right here in your arms. You hated that your brain immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion, but...what else could it be? He’d never had a fit this bad before...not that you knew of, at least.

Chenle simpered up at you weakly as a tear crossed the distance from your cheek to his, reaching up an unsteady hand to caress away the tears. Your face shouldn’t be sullied with worry over his sake. “D...Don’t cry…” His chest heaved violently, feeble frame shivering between each ragged cough. “...I’ll be...okay...I…” He took a deep, deep breath. You held onto yours.

And then it was said. The words you never thought you would ever hear, never thought you wanted to hear, never thought you would be the one to say:

“I love you, Chenle. I love you so much...”

Tears were pouring down your face now, his shivers contaminating your body as you shook along with him, exposing your heart and soul over the dying young artist.

“Please don’t leave. Stay with me...wherever you go, I’ll go, and wherever you stay, I too will stay...I don’t care if you’re sick, or that you come from a broken family, or that you’re poor, or dirty, or weak. You’ve always hated that about yourself, but none of that matters to me...you’re just Chenle to me. Just Chenle...I’ll...I’ll be your sword and shield, your strength and shelter. I’ll follow you to the ends of this very Earth, and I...I love you, Chenle...it would be my honor to take care of you, for the rest of our days. Just don’t leave me…!”

Your eyes were squeezed shut at this point, trying to stop the flood of facepaint from raining off the thundercloud of emotion that was currently your face, and when Chenle’s hand fell limp in yours you gasped, throwing your eyes open…

And seeing that he was sitting up. Calming down. Gathering himself.

He...wasn’t dying…?

Jaemin heaved a heavy-laden sigh relief as he pulled out a needle from the boy’s opposite arm. “Thank the good Lord you brought an emergency antidote with you...nice one, Jisung.”

Another blonde-haired boy sighed. “Well, you know, really Renjun forced it on me, but...y’know.” He shrugged.

Profoundly, you turned your attention back to Chenle. He was looking at you with stars in his eyes.

Suddenly everything you had just revealed deep down in the recesses of your heart came swinging back to whop you in the face, and you just knew you must have resembled the reddest tomato out back in the royal vegetable garden. You attempted to once more hide your blushing face--

Of course, Chenle had other ideas in mind. Of course, he had cupped your messy tear-stained face, placing a...kiss…?!

You melted into it, and so did he, the colors and clarity and butterflies all swirling together. For now you were receiving a reality neither of you had ever thought to be possible, and now, finally, he was able to mix his palette with yours. And it wasn’t a mess as he feared; it was a beautiful masterpiece.

Jaemin was the first one to applaud, and soon, hesitantly at first, the rest of the chapel began to follow.

“I’d say you may now kiss the bride, but uh...it appears to be a little too late for that,” he jested. His brother frowned, rolling his eyes with another blow of gum.

“Ya think?”

“...”

He smirked, popping the bubble in his face and everyone gasping with laughter as it exploded there.

“Shut up.”

✦

“Hey, wife?”

“Yes, Chenle?”

He frowned, his face sagging at the ends. “You’re supposed to say, husband.”

“Oh,” you laughed, moving on to the next exhibit as the two of you walked around the new art studio, hand in hand, taking in each and every piece of the artist’s work on display. “Sorry, sorry. Ahem…” You started again. “Yes, husband?”

Chenle hummed happily, his whole face beaming with pure joy and delight. He seemed to be spacing out, tossing his head from side to side as if doing a little jig in his mind.

“...Chenle. Chenle? Helloooo…?” You waved your hand in front of his face, and he winced, snapping back to you quickly with the goofiest grin you’d ever seen.

He really was so cute. “Yes, (Y/n)? I mean, wife?”

You shook your head. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Tell you…? Oh, yeah!” He continued to stare at you a bit too intently. “Have I told you I love you today? Because I do. And I just want to make sure that you know how much I--”

You let out a sound that was a cross between a groan and more laughter, wrapping an arm around his as the two of you continued to stroll around the winding halls. “Yes, Chen--”

He gave you a deadpan.

“...I mean, husband. Husband.” you assured him. “Yes, you have. This would be the twenty-eighth time now.”

He gave a smug and satisfied smirk that was all too cute on his yet again paint-stained face. The moment the medicine from Norwich had come in, Chenle’s health had rapidly improved, and he was able to paint in a way you’d never witnessed him do before: peacefully. Happily. Content. It was a marvelous sight to behold.

Despite the lack of another knot tied uniting the lands of Norwich and Adderdale, negotiations and trade among the two lands had been carrying on better than ever; swimmingly, in fact. You and Chenle were set to visit Norwich Palace for a business meeting and tea within the coming weeks. They all couldn’t have been more pleased with the outcome of things; according to a recent letter from Jaemin, who was now a good friend of yours, their brother’s had wished you and Chenle the best of luck and sent you their love and blessings in the new relationship. Apparently their brother Hyuck had even cried a little...but in his defense, the prince wrote, the boy was rather drunk.

The two of you came to stop before Chenle’s latest masterpiece: Emin No. 59. A portrait of the girl who looked like you in a wedding gown suspiciously similar to yours, standing with dignity and grace atop the chapel altar, surrounded by birds and squirrels and other wildlife, the sun shading colors of the rainbow upon her skin...he may as well have titled the piece Snow White.

“Say, Chenle...ah, husband...” You pursed your lips profusely in an overzealous pout. “You never told me: why do you call her that? Why Emin?”

“......” Chenle was quiet all of ten seconds as he formed his response. He smiled tenfold, putting all previous glee to shame, the light from the coming sunset casting small spotlights through cracks in the palace curtains that highlighted all your best features; which would have been all of you, to him at least. “Because…” he replied, taking your hands into his and kissing your knuckles softly. Something he’d be doing everyday, every waking moment he saw you, for the rest of his life. “You’re Emin. My Emin...and you’re all mine.” ღ

#thekpopnetwork #nctwriters #nct dream #nct dream imagines #chenle #zhong chenle #zhong chenle imagines #chenle yandere #nct dream yandere #nct dream reactions #nct dream scenarios #nct dream smut #jaemin #na jaemin #jisung #park jisung #yandere nct dream #nct dream fantasy au #requested

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guard-dogbiscuits · 4 years

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CHARACTER IN FIVE QUOTES

Tell us your favourite quotes from your character. Give us an idea of who they are five things they’ve said. Then tag your friends:

Canon Quotes

1) Jake (to Roland, as he falls into the Abyss): "Go! There are other worlds than these!"

2) Roland: “Time flies, knells call, life passes, so hear my prayer. Birth is nothing but death begun, so hear my prayer. Death is speechless, so hear my speech. This is Jake, who served his ka and his tet. Say true. May the forgiving glance of S’mana heal his heart. Say please. May the arms of Gan raise him from the darkness of this earth. Say please. Surround him, Gan, with light. Fill him, Chloe, with strength. If he is thirsty, give him water in the clearing. If he is hungry, give him food in the clearing. May his life on this earth and the pain of his passing become as a dream to his waking soul, and let his eyes fall upon every lovely sight; let him find the friends that were lost to him, and let every one whose name he calls call his in return. This is Jake, who lived well, loved his own, and died as ka would have it. Each man owes a death. This is Jake. Give him peace.”

3) Roland: "I'm afraid to go to sleep. I'm afraid my dead friends will come to me, and seeing them will kill me.”

4) Susannah (Detta): “She felt as if all but the last two ounces of fuck-you had been squeezed out of her.” “I kill with my heart, motherfucker!”

5) Samson (when confronted about what he did to his fellow Templars): "Not your business, Inquisitor."

RP Quotes

1) Fana/Ivy : "...the Archive was not a single person in a single world. She was many people, of many colors, races, and even species, in many worlds, all in one. The only thing they had in common…besides the knowledge they shared…was that they were all female, or female-presenting. Unless of course it was a world where males could lay eggs or give birth…”

2) Samson: (an incident, the first time he’s allowed out of his cell)

"Th' brat's mum was distracted. By th' two older brats, havin' it out over a game o' Mumblety-Peg. They was arguin' over whose throw got closer t' whose, erm...bits. An' they was gettin' ready t’ escalate matters. By throwin' the knives at each other direct, 'stead of at th' ground 'twixt each other's legs."

"So whilst Mum's yellin' at th' wee hooligans t' pipe down er she'll confiscate th' shivs, sweet li'l baby sis crawls over t' th' mason's scaffold. Right under th' ladder." He sighs. "Where there's a bucket o' mortar balanced, on th' plank up top."

3) Samson, continued: "An' I'm standin' there thinkin', No. She can't. She won't. Because I'm a bachelor. Wiv no kids o' me own, Maker be praised. Because of course. She's a woman, ain't she? Age got nothin' t' do with it. She can. She will. An' damme if she don't, and she's halfway up th' fuckin' ladder before I can believe me own eyes."

"Of course I know what's comin' next. So I run, an' sure enough she gets t' that bucket right as I'm there under th' ladder. An' of course she crawls out there, an' the ladder tilts. I manage to catch li'l Angel-Puss when it tips over; along wiv a whole bucketful of mortar up-ended on me head."

4) Samson, continued: "And that's when Mum finally sees what's goin' on. And somehow she recognizes me even with me face covered in plaster, an' she starts screechin' about th’ Butcher of Haven, and how I personally burnt down th' place. Ya know...like I brought in th' fuckin' dragon on a leash. 'Twere as much a surprise t' me as 'twas t'everyone else. Got th' burn marks t' prove it. A reminder, so t' speak."

He sighed again. He was still covered in mortar, his hair was standing up in stiff spikes, he had a black eye and a goose egg on his forehead.

"Never knew there was so many shovels and pitchforks around this place. Good times, good times..."

5) Sally: (when the Man in Black shows up, at the Flyin' Pig Saloon)

"...Sally O’ Malley, as I live and breathe.”

“Yes to the first part,” she said coolly. “And unfortunately, to the second.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why, Miss Sally! Those are…unfriendly words.”

“They surely are,” she agreed. “The sort you should expect, from anyone who came out of Gilead.”

He shrugged. “Hardly my fault, that the Barony clung to outmoded ideas.”

“Right. Such as honor and loyalty.”

“Both of which,” he answered smoothly, “ depend greatly on the eye of the beholder. Or…his ka.”

“If you say so,” she retorted. “So, what brings you to the Borderlands?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Just passing through.”

“Of course you are. And you just happened to see this place, and decided to stop by for a drink.”

“I’ll admit to a thirst. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let bygones be bygones long enough for a glass of your best.”

“A glass of fair to middling,” she replied.

“The best is reserved for my friends.”

#tagged by @orsino-the-enchanter #tagging: y'all

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tarithenurse · 5 years

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Agent of Hope - 19

Your world falls into ruin together with the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcements Logistics Division when you find out that your boyfriend isn’t one of the good guys. Pairing: Brock Rumlow x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader Contents: Hmmm...weapons, fluff, dealing with trauma, mention of rape, masturbation, violent reaction, difficult choices, more fluff, and kissing. A/N: Thanks to all of you who like and especially reblog <3 On a second note: been looking for houses (need to move out of my parents’ place with my husband bc omfc). Also that GIF just is epic.

19 - An offer you can’t refuse

… Romanoff …

The tinny jingle from the Goldfish commercials doesn’t cause hesitation to the hands moving rapidly to find and connect the right parts needed in the task of assembling three different guns. Only when the last weapon is locked (and loaded) does Natasha spin the cell phone on the table with a frown. Unknown caller, but the small dots in the corner indicate that Jarvis is tracking down the number already and will have an answer in three…two…one…ugh! Langley.

“Afternoon.” The tone is flat enough to show the lack of enthusiasm without being downright rude. “What more does Langley want post-hearings?”

She can almost hear the crooked smile. “Hrph…I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, miss Romanova.” The twist to the last name sends shivers down the former Russian’s spine but the familiar voice continues. “I’m agent Ross…we met during the hearings…?”

The silence is allowed to reign in an attempt to get the man to talk, maybe say too much. Meanwhile, Natasha brings the Glock 26 behind the back and starts to dismantle it, counting the seconds it takes before every piece of metal is spread out on the couch cushion behind her, careful not to lose the pins or the little spring for the trigger.

“Miss uhm…miss Romanova? You there?”

Nervous. Not enough. “…yeah.”

“Good! Good. Yes…” Some paper rustles through the line. “Right…I know the hearings’ve been long and prob’ly bothersome,” agent Ross hesitates to allow for some comment but gets none, “s’I can completely understand and respect if y’aren’t interested, however…I believe that you may ‘ave information that could be of benefit to u- to the Agency, I mean, in terms of filling some gaps. Erm I think…what I’m trying to say’s would it be possible for you to – off record – have a look at our older intel?”

Wait…waaiit…one more second. An intake of breath is Natasha’s cue. “You want me to shed light on old cases that’ve gone sideways?”

“Well –“

“You think either SHIELD, Hydra, or maybe my former handlers could’ve botched it for you guys?” By now the short agent’s sputtering in embarrassment, maybe hoping for the weak protests to soothe any slights the insinuation could have caused. “Send me a top ten and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really?!”

Yeah, why would I? Simply put, Natasha hates being out of the loop, and the spy in her is aching for the chance of (legally) getting hold of CIA intel. More than that, though, she’s learned the hard way how precious the currency known as “favours” are. Owe someone something? They’ll have a hook in you forever. Someone owes you? It can be the difference between life and death. An IOU from a CIA agent…that could be handy.

“No promises I can actually tell you more than y’know already.”

Movement behind her makes the Avenger turn her head, a smile already curving her lips at the presence of [Y/N] who eyes the weapons (and parts) cautiously.

“Oh, no! That’s okay, no worries!” An idiot might refuse the tentative offer and Ross is far from that. “I’ll compile the files and get them to…you…uhm…”

“I’ll text you an address.” A slightly oil-greased finger hovers over the phone already. “Bye, agent Everett Ross.”

… Rumlow …

The fly circles the room a few times before finally settling on the person in the corner, climbing across brown-stained jeans in short sprints before reaching the lax hand and taking off again. Next time the insect lands it’s by the dried spatter on the wall where the bullet had made a small crater when it exited the skull of…who was that? A glance at the pens and the old-fashioned glasses makes Brock guess at some dusty field of expertise like history or literature. Whatever it had been, the man had decided it was better to risk it all and go looking for Hydra on nothing but a rumour.

“Don’t mind zat,” Strucker dismisses the sight easily, “ze interesting zing is zis.” Careful not to touch, he points at the darkened veins and (with the help of a metal rod) the unnaturally blue eyes. “Ze experiment was quite a success, my friend. We are able to channel ze power of ze weapon into humans.”

“They all end up like this so far?” The eyelid hasn’t lowered again, so the endless glow of space is staring blindly at Brock no matter where he moves. “A bullet in the brain? Why did he get that?”

Chuckling softly, Strucker wipes the little stick in a handkerchief which he folds before depositing both in a pocket. “Zis man gained immense strengz but lacked control.” Oh. “Perhaps zere is a stronger connection between the state of mind and ze results zan we anticipated. We are now looking for actual volunteers.”

…

Fuck. However Loki did it remains a mystery still, but Brock won’t give up the hope that it will be possible to figure out how to control another person with the staff. Damnit, he’d seen the bit of salvaged footage and read the debriefs portraying the events when the Asgardian came to Earth and brainwashed top agents in no time.

The results of Strucker’s and his team’s work is vital both for the promotion of Hydra’s scheme…and to get anything useful from [Y/N] when she will get back again. I’ll be damned if it kills her. Brock’s all too aware that his craving for the ex-girlfriend wouldn’t be condoned if anyone knew – to be fair, he doesn’t quite like it himself because it makes him feel like he isn’t in control of his own damn mind. Every dream is either about missions and kills, sending adrenalin pumping through his veins, or they feature every detail of [Y/N].

The little smile when she was lost in thought. Her spine curving to jut the breasts upwards, skin subtle under Brock’s hands. Remembering the teasing hitches in her breath on a sunny morning, light filtering through the windows to catch in her hair as they made their bed creak together a lifetime ago.

“Godfuckingdamnit!”

Already, an erection is pressing painfully hard against tac-pants and Brock shoves a fist down to reposition the stubborn cock only for a new memory to appear the moment his fingers close around the shaft. Shea-butter mixed with sweat on pebbled nipples…perfect taste. There’s not much room to move the hand, but at least the pants are easily opened allowing for longer strokes.

The speed accelerates with each recollection, fist tightening and twisting while the echoes of [Y/N]’s moans are replaced by cries tearing from her throat when he took her with force. Fuck, it was so good, the man admits to himself, the struggle…oh yeah…the…the control. Breathing laboured, Brock has to lean against the wall, unable to stagger the last few steps over to his cot. She’d begged and pleaded, and he had been the one to grant her peace…or not.

He grunts as he comes. White stickiness spurting between his fingers, adding to the blurry haze from the inability to focus on anything else than the rush thrumming through the veins. It’ll be a short reprieve before the need returns like an endless hunger that nothing can sate. One thing can. But [Y/N] isn’t here, she’s tugged away somewhere with the fucking Avengers and that makes it all a million times worse because to think that Romanoff or maybe even Steve get to be close to her. Get to touch her, smell her.

It stings pleasantly when the hand connects with the drywalling and the structure behind it, thin strings of cum hanging from the torn plaster. At least that clears Brock’s mind a bit.

… Reader …

Lying awake all night, it’s almost a relief to sense the grey dimness take over the room and allow the outlines of furniture to stand out – not even Natasha’s steady breathing has been able to calm your mind after the hours of training spent to tire out your body at least. Why this time?! You’ve spent more than enough nights trying to escape nightmarish memories and negative thoughts but this…this issue is different and you’re happy with the decision you’ve made. I should just tell her.

It’s almost possible to make out the contours of Tasha against the white pillow, darker hair spreading like a halo of smoke. You know she sleeps lightly. Brushing your lips featherlight across her cheek, and she already turns to find your mouth with her own. Sweet and lazy kisses, a single tug to your bottom lip. Morning breath is a non-issue when she invites you into a bubble of gentle safety. Home.

“Morning, babe.” Her fingers tease the shortest hairs in your neck. “You’ve managed to sleep at all?”

There’s no reason to answer, just plant a peck on her nose. “I’ve made up my mind,” you offer as consolation, “and I hope you’ll understand why it’s important to me.”

The love never disappears from the touch while she sits up against the headboard. If it was light enough, you think you might see cautious interest mingled with concern in her eyes because Tasha isn’t as good as hiding it as she thinks she is. That’s a secret though.

“Okay…” She drags you onto her lap, straddling her so the strong arms can wrap around your waist. “Is it about the call from Ross?”

The scent of shampoo still clings to her hair as you bury your face in it, happy to talk into the red mess. “Yes, but mainly it’s about wanting to do what I can.”

Of course your reasoning isn’t perfect, but Natasha doesn’t interrupt even once as you explain how you want to do your part to support the hearings and the new request from the CIA by giving a testimony. Gifted or not, at least there’s information about Brock that can be of use and it seems someone else than just the Avengers are trying to clean things up…hopefully that includes tracking down the people that can be identified to Hydra through the data dumped on the net the day SHIELD fell. You promise to keep the ability secret to anyone outside of Natasha and her friends...admitting that you’ll have to be careful although you’ve got the most convincing cover to any strange phrasing “thanks” to what Brock and his people have put you through while in their hands.

The colours have returned to the world by the time you finish explaining. Dusty lavender heightens the rosy cheeks of the woman looking at you with a serious expression that makes your stomach knot. I have to do this. It’ll be hard as fuck, but it feels right. Feels important.

“I’ll let him know,” Tasha whispers, pulling you in for a tight embrace, “and I’ll be with you all the time.”

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shipaholic · 4 years

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Good Omens/SU crossover - The Prologue!

Day 19, 2020: already behind on my writing schedule, lol.

It’s angels and demons with gem powers y’all! I’ve decided to post scenes from the fic on tumblr as I go, and then do a big edit at the end before putting it on AO3.

Prologue: three days after Adam and Eve leave the garden, Crowley reforms for the first time.

Link to next part at the end.

---

Prologue

4004 BC

There was an angel in the garden of Eden.

The others had left already after the business with the apple, muttering about cock-ups (but more politely, being angels). Strictly speaking, there was no reason for any angel to still be skulking around the garden. A cloud of embarrassment hung over the place. In a few hours management was due to turn up and sweep it, before returning to head office and drafting an official statement. The garden couldn’t remain on Earth, obviously. There had been talk of archiving it.

A twisted black sigil, the size of a rook’s feather, lay on a flat rock. It looked as though it should have only had two dimensions, but had been press-ganged by physics into manifesting an extra one. It was wrapped in a little nest of white cloth and placed in a sunbeam. The angel hovered nearby, trying not to break into out-and-out looming.

The black object on the rock finally did something. It glowed pure white and rose out of its nest to float in the air two feet above eye level. It made a noise that would be identifiable, many, many years from now, as a laser beam charging up [1].

The light became blinding, and a shape grew out of it - more shapeless than shape, its borders wobbling like a giant soap bubble. Then it compressed and became human-shaped. Limbs sprouted in every direction. The blob at the top decided to be a head. It was like watching dough being rolled out and reformed into an unsettlingly realistic gingerbread man.

Long curls unspooled from the head. Swathes of cloth burst into existence and draped around the figure, similar to that worn by the angel. It then changed its mind, and the loose toga pinned over one shoulder morphed into a cowl and hood, wrapping around the head and leaving only a few loose strands of hair.

Features popped out of the smooth face. Colour suffused it down to the fingertips. There was a final burst of wind and light, like a celestial flourish, and a pair of gleaming white wings unfolded from its back. Immediately, they turned black, like a forest scorched to ash. They fluttered once, and the figure gently touched down on the grass of Eden.

It opened its eyes. They were still golden.

Then it squawked and fell over.

“Ack,” it said.

It kicked a few times at its robe, which was not especially tangled around its feet, but that seemed less embarrassing than acting as though it had fallen over because it still hadn’t got the hang of having legs.

Then it caught sight of the angel hiding behind a rock.

“Gnn!” it said, and grabbed for something to throw at him. [2]

“Um!” The angel held up his hands. He tried to stand up without looking intimidating, and ended up in a kind of hunch. “I come in peace. Erm.”

The figure pulled a face, as if remembering the distant present. “Peace? You killed me!”

The angel grimaced. “Well. I suppose I did, technically. Sorry about that.”

“You whacked me over the head!”

“I know how that must look -”

“I thought we were having a nice moment up there, with the sheltering from the rain and so on, and two seconds later you karate-chop me with your blessed wing!”

The angel’s face was two notches guiltier than his gave-away-my-flaming-sword face. “It really was an ac -” He paused. “Well. Not quite an accident, to be quite honest. Not in the sense of not meaning to do it. But I really didn’t mean to k- discorporate you. I feel terrible about the whole thing.”

“Oh, you feel terrible! I’ve got a ding in my skull. Brand new skull and everything.” The demon tapped its own head, but found it undamaged. It frowned. “Huh. That’s useful.”

“You seem fine now,” said the angel. He already sounded far less sympathetic.

“Yeah, ssssuperb.”

“You’ve even redecorated yourself a bit. I like the, erm.” The angel gestured vaguely. “Belt.”

“Yeah. Well. Why not.” The demon preened a little. It was quite a nifty trick. The angel was a fan of his new, cinched-in waist look, but thought it a bit of a shame the demon had covered his long red hair. His gem - the winding black sigil just under his ear - was also half-hidden under his hood. The angel had a few further thoughts, but it seemed impolite to comment.

“What are you hanging around for, anyway?” said the demon. He was still sprawled on the ground with a clump of grass in his hand. “Planning to stand over me and just… finish me off whenever I reform?” He blanched. He’d just said it off the top of his head, but it was actually a disturbing thought. “Because that sounds, uh. Boring.”

“Of course not!” said the angel. It did sound boring. Also, horrible. He’d got through the entire War in Heaven without engaging in what might technically be called combat. Given the option, he’d prefer to keep his kill-count at zero. Who knew their human forms would… explode into smoke clouds from one tiddly knock on the head? Someone upstairs might have told him. “I wanted to see you were all right, that was all. You gave me quite a shock, you know.” He gave an embarrassed cough. “Look, I really wasn’t trying to trick you - back on the wall.”

“Oh, ‘course not. You were just doing me a favour, keeping me dry, nice and neighbourly, only by sheer misfortune an overwhelming blood-lust came over you, and there was nothing for it but to smite me off a sixty-foot wall. That’s a comfort. I feel much safer now.”

The angel, unlike most of the others, understood sarcasm. [3] He kept what had really happened up on the wall to himself. It had been a loud clap of thunder - the first ever produced on Earth - and it had been startling and unpleasant. Usually a sound like that heralded the appearance of Upper Management, who would have had Questions about him chatting to a demon, of the kind that ended in Meetings with Clipboards. Getting the demon out of sight chop-chop had been the word of the day, and - well. Turned out these new, corporeal bodies were less resilient than one might hope. Bit of a rush-job, the angel regrettably suspected.

“How long was I out, anyway?” The demon peered around the sun-drenched garden. “I see this place has had time to dry out.”

“It’s been three days. I’m not really supposed to be here anymore. I’m going to be terribly late to the staff meeting.” The angel looked at him sidelong. Politeness lost a skirmish with curiosity. “What… exactly was it like?”

“What, getting my head stoved in? Or just the general feeling of betrayal?”

The angel was a being of heavenly love and he did not roll his eyes. “What were you doing in there? While you were, er, recharging?”

The demon’s yellow eyes went blank. “Hnn.” He scratched his cheek. “Just. Hanging about, you know. Think I was in contact with one of my people. Sort of felt like someone was talking to me. And like I was filling in forms. And having a nap.”

The angel frowned. “A nap? Never heard of it.”

“Oh, it’s going to be big.” The demon smiled. He had high hopes for sloth. At the very least, he suspected he was going to like it.

The angel gave a tentative smile. “So it wasn’t too unpleasant?”

The demon huffed. “Fine, no, it wasn’t torture. It was just weird. No harm done, and I got a new look out of it, so don’t be too hard on yourself. Not that you were being all that hard on yourself. Scratch that, be harder on yourself, softer on me.” He clambered to his feet. He definitely hadn’t got the legs down yet. Rebooting his body had set him back, he was sure of it. “I’ve got turned around. Where’s the exit?”

The angel pointed. There hadn’t used to be an exit [4], but now that Adam and Eve had departed, there was. “I’d move quickly if I were you. Head office is sending some of my lot down to check the place over. Could be any minute now.”

“Thanks for the warning,” the demon said gloomily. He spread his wings for balance and started to wobble away on newborn legs.

“Sorry again!” the angel called out.

“Not like anyone died. See you, angel.”

The angel waved, then felt foolish since the demon was facing away. “Aziraphale. Don’t think I said.”

“Goodbye, Aziraphale.”

“Goodbye, Crawly.”

The angel watched him stumble towards the exit of the garden, until he started to feel peculiar and unsafe and guilty about something he couldn’t put his finger on. Time to leave and avoid running into management.

Aziraphale the angel turned and strode eastwards, and Crawly the demon continued west, and they wouldn’t meet again for six hundred years.

---

[1] But only in certain B-movies.

[2] There were no deadly weapons in Eden, even if you improvise. The figure grabbed a handful of grass. He inconvenienced himself more pulling it out of the ground than he would have done to the angel by throwing it.

[3] After a fashion. At least, when it came draped in a neon flag with ‘I am being facetious and mean to you’ scrawled across it.

[4] An exit for humans, that was. The four Gates at the North, South, East and West were guarded by angels and they led to less Earthly destinations.

---

(Chapter 1, Part 1)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens #steven universe #good omens fic #I sniggered for a long time when I decided how Crowley got poofed #pouring cold water over that fan-favourite moment for the lols

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dyaz-stories · 5 years

Text

No Happy Ending (Part 3)

The end of this little story! I do plan to write more for this couple in the future if I can (it’s been mostly a way to relax this week because I have a ton of things to do). Hope you’ll enjoy/have enjoyed!

Available on ff.net and Ao3

Part one — Part two — Part three.

As heroes, they were taught that violence was only acceptable in desperate situations, and it was something that most people in Sky High firmly believed, including Magenta. However, at this point, she was very seriously starting to consider murder as the only way to end this stupid situation. She didn’t know who she would go for first, but she had some people to choose from. First on her list, Will, for kissing Layla the day of the ball. Okay, he’d gotten bad informations, but still. She was literally there on a date with someone else — who even does that?

Second would probably be Layla. She loved the girl, she was her best friend, but still. If she’d been clearer on her feelings from the beginning, they wouldn’t be in that stupid, stupid, stupid situation right now.

Third was Warren. Guy hadn’t done much, but that was exactly the problem. He’d done nothing, despite being very obviously into Layla, possibly even more obviously than Layla was into him, and that was saying something, and now everyone was unhappy. In fact, by sheer friendship fidelity, she’d probably go for Warren first. Well, second. After all, he was the one who was dating someone else right now.

The question was, though: did he know it?

And that was the thing. She wasn’t sure.

This was Will and Layla’s fault, again, though. The two idiots had gone back to being best friends, but they were the closest best friends she knew. She was pretty sure that half of the school, if not more, thought they were dating.

They could have fooled her, if she wasn’t Layla’s confidante on top of being her best friend.

Not that Layla had said a word about Warren Peace, but she hadn’t had to.

“Warren” she giggles lightly, “Not here!”

“Practice,” he replies, practically with a growl, his hands circling around her waist as he kisses her in a way that could almost seem forceful if Layla didn’t immediately wrap her arms around him.

Magenta backtracks as quickly as she can.

The memory still brought shivers down her spine. Honestly, ew. She didn’t need to walk in on two friends of hers making out, and honestly, she couldn’t believe those morons. She was so done with them.

When Layla sat down at their table, she was alone, for once. Because she didn’t go anywhere without Will now. Which didn’t help a certain someone figuring stuff out.

At least, Warren didn’t bring Rebecca Frost to their table, though she knew for a fact that the two were… Well, she didn’t know if they were, like, officially together, but they certainly made out a lot. And yes, those were far more horrible memories.

God, not again — that’s the first thought that runs through her mind. The second is “how have they not been caught yet?”

But yes, it’s definitely Warren and Layla. His forehead is pressed against hers, and they’re both silent. His hands are cupping her face like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever held, and she softly caressing his cheek with the tip of her fingers. They’re not kissing, but there’s such an intimacy to the moment that she doesn’t even think about calling them out, instead feeling a spike of guilt in her stomach.

She steps back. It’s not her moment, it’s theirs.

“Your boyfriend isn’t there?” Magenta practically jumped at the question from her own boyfriend. Oh, God, even Zach was wrong about that? She knew he could be a little slow, but he knew Will and Layla since forever, and she just couldn’t believe he’d…

Huh. Unless he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have seen and he wanted to get things moving.

Again, how on Earth had these two kept their actual relationship a secret.

“Who?” Layla asked innocently.

She couldn’t believe that girl.

But her answer did get Warren to look up, even just barely, from his food.

“Stronghold,” he replied, his voice deep as always, but a surprisingly aggressive edge to it that made Layla jump.

Well— surprising if you didn’t know the situation, which at this point Magenta was convinced everyone did.

Zach really hasn’t planned to be there. It’s not his fault if he was pushed inside in the locker, yet again. When someone is pressed against it, he thinks for a second about calling out for help.

Then, he recognizes Warren Peace’s voice when the teenager growls “Fuck,” and since he can tell that those hair are definitely a lady’s hair, he decides not to interrupt them.

He cares for his life, thank you very much.

And then the girl sighs “Warren”, and holy fuck, it’s Layla. Shitshitshitshit shit.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with this information, but apparently, he will have the night to think about it, because he’s not going to ask them for help now.

(Thankfully, he doesn’t have to. Ethan miraculously shows up to help him.)

Layla blinked another couple of times, then tilted her head to the side, staring at Warren, who was focusing on his food again.

“Will?” she asked carefully, apparently to make sure yet again of the information.

Warren rolled his eyes before entering. “You know another one?”

Okay, Warren, you may be right, but tone it down, will you? Magenta was not going to let him talk to her best friend like that.

“But Will and I aren’t dating?” Layla said, making it sound almost like a question.

Then, Warren started coughing, and honestly, it was the greatest sight Magenta had ever laid her eyes on.

The greatest moment she had ever lived followed right after, when she started hitting him on the back, between his shoulder blades —to help him and make sure he could breathe, of course. She kept her face perfectly straight, and when he glared at her in disbelief, the skin of his hands already fuming, she simply dead-panned at him.

“You good?”

Warren closed his eyes briefly, choosing to ignore her to focus on Layla again.

“The fuck do you mean, you and Stronghold aren’t dating?”

There was only incomprehension in Layla’s eyes.

“What are you talking about? Will and I never dated. We talked at the ball and decided against it and that’s it! What’s it to you?”

Ah. The hundred-dollars question. At this point, the entire table was hanging on their every words, including Ethan, which, honestly— did Ethan know as well?

Every once in a while, Ethan turns into his, erm, other form unexpectedly. When he’s startled, for example. And he was startled when he heard Layla burst out laughing in the middle of the school, after hours. It’s a nice sound though, and it’s been a while since he last heard her laugh so honestly.

He’s trying to, ahem, compose himself when he hears a deeper laugh accompanying her own, and freezes.

Well, not literally. He can’t do that. But anyway.

It doesn’t take long to realize that she’s walking by with— Holy— Is that— That’s definitely— No way— Warren Peace?

He doesn’t register much of their conversation — probably just sweet nothings as lovers do — but he definitely notices the arm around his waist, and the one he has over her shoulders, and he sees him pressing a brief kiss to her lips.

Wow. He was convinced this was all to make Will jealous, everyone but Will was, but this… This doesn’t look like faking it. Like, not at all.

Like, those two are totally into each other.

Well, shit.

“Isn’t that what we were doing?” Warren practically spat at her, ignoring the attention they were receiving. “Couldn’t you even do that?”

Layla paled and Magenta resisted the sudden and violent urge to punch him.

“I’ll get going,” she mumbled, standing up and grabbing her lunch.

Warren sighed, leaning back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair as she practically ran away.

He wasn’t going to go after her? Oh, no. Oh, hell no.

“Listen to me, fire-boy,” she hissed, “if you don’t go get her right this second, I swear I will kick your ass off of Sky High.”

Warren glared at her. He kinda liked the girl, but she looked absolutely mad right now, and he was well aware that superpowers didn’t define people. For all he knew, she was a box champion and she could absolutely carry out her threat.

“Why?” he asked.

Magenta seemed to consider it for a few seconds. “Because it’s less disgusting to watch you kissing her than Rebecca Frost.”

For the first time, though it wouldn’t be the last, she saw a blush tainting the cheeks of the great Warren Peace, a blush that deepened when the guys behind her nodded fervently.

“And Layla’s a great girl,” Ethan said. “Not that Rebecca isn’t, it’s just—”

“It’s just really, dude, you’re so stupid. She’s so into you.” Somehow, that was even more insulting coming from Zach.

“And you’re so into her,” Magenta completed. “Do something about it. You guys are so annoying.”

He glared at them, and for a second every single one of them considered the fact that they had just pissed off one of the most powerful heroes-slash-villains of their generation.

Then, while they were all thinking about what terrible life choices they had made, Warren stood up without a word, and walked out the door through which Layla had just disappeared.

Magenta glanced at Ethan.

“You too?”

Ethan simply sighed, looking away, while Zach bounced excitedly.

“Should we go after them?”

His girlfriend rolled her eyes.

“No. Let’s let them have that.”

“Layla!”

Guinea-pig-girl was right. He hadn’t thought for one second that he had a chance with Layla, and certainly hadn’t thought that she’d ever pick him over Will Stronghold, ladies’ heroes and heir to one of the most prestigious superhero family out there, but if it was true, well, he was going to take his chance. He was done dreaming about the taste of her lips and the feeling of her body against his, he was done living on memories.

He wanted her to be his not only in his mind, not only when there was no one around.

She whipped around in the hallway, facing him. She was on the verge of tears, which was deeply unsettling for him, but at least she wasn’t crying. He would never forgive himself for making her cry.

“Really, Warren?” she asked, her voice cracking. “You think I don’t already feel stupid enough?”

His blood ran cold. So she regretted not having taken her opportunity with Stronghold.

He knew he shouldn’t have believed the glowing guy.

“If it’s just that,” he said, though the words were slow and painful as they came out of his mouth, “we can do that thing again. To make him jealous, I mean.”

Everything to hold her again.

“Oh my— I don’t want to be with Will!”

Okay, now nothing made sense yet again. Layla threw her hands in the air when his only reaction was to frown, still staring at her without a word.

“You’re so— I thought I’d seen everything with Will, but I think if I’d kissed him he at least would have gotten my point!”

She was saying what he thought she was saying, right?

He took a step towards her, feeling his mouth run dry. “Layla…”

He watched her close her eyes when he said her name, and he wondered if she liked hearing it as much as he liked saying it. It just rolled on his tongue just right, to the point where it almost scared him — enough not to want to use it too much.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I know this is on me. You have Rebecca and I—I never meant to put you on the spot like that. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

That adorable, adorable dummy.

In two steps, he was on her. She stepped back, taken by surprise — though there was no fear whatsoever in her eyes — but then straightened. She was not going to be pushed around.

Which was good, because he had no intentions of pushing her around.

He was done playing.

His mouth was on hers before she could say anything, his hands moving up to her face as he so often did when he kissed her.

The world stopped spinning.

When he pulled away, Layla kept his hands in place, holding them softly in her long fingers, that seemed almost fragile around his large, rough palms.

“It’s not like that between Rebecca and me,” he breathed out. And then, even lower: “I would never have gone to her if I’d thought I had you.”

Rebecca was fun, and it definitely was nice being with her.

But he loved Layla.

Shit.

He did, didn’t he?

“You did kiss Stronghold, though,” he said, frowning, though honestly, at this point, he couldn’t have cared less — but he wasn’t going to let her know that.

Layla chuckled lightly. She guessed it didn’t matter all that much, but then, she didn’t want him to let go of her. Not now, and not ever. “What was I supposed to do? Throat-punch him?”

He grinned. Like she even could be that violent. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Well forget it. He’s still my best friend, and I think we had more important stuff to take care of then.”

This was nice. Talking, that was. With her. He liked it. He liked the things he couldn’t do with anyone else, and, well, his relation with Rebecca, though it wasn’t like there was anything official between them, was (had been) mostly physical.

He didn’t want to move, and neither did she, but that was the good thing. They didn’t have to. Either of them. They could just be together now.

Because in the end, it didn’t have anything to do with villains and heroes, nor with good girls and bad boys.

It was about them, and they had chosen each other.

It was all that mattered.

#sky high #layla williams #warren peace #warren x layla #my writing

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ren-c-leyn · 5 years

Text

15 for 15

Rules: pick a character from your WIP, and have them answer these 15 questions - then tag 15 people!

~ ~ ~

1) What is your full name?

Sparrow Dreamcaller, it’s nice to meet you.

2. What does your full name mean?

“It’s a type of songbird, one that the elves call ‘the caller of inner peace.’ Don’t know why she thought it fit me, though. Everything literally falls to pieces around me.“

3. What are your other names/nicknames?

“Cinderella was my first life’s name, but I called myself Cinder. I hated being named after a princess, being asked where prince charming was or why I didn’t have a broom with me.”

4. What is your gender?

“I’m a girl, duh.”

5. What is your sexuality?

“What? Why are you asking me that?”

6. Where are you from?

“Uh, hm. How do you want me to answer that one? My first life? My current life? It gets kind of confusing. So, let’s see. I was born in a city more or less like the ones you’re used to seeing, I died, then I was born in the neutral territories of my favorite game’s world.”

7. How old are you?

“Depends on where in my story you’re referring too.″

8. What is your magic form/what species are you?

“I’m half human half elf, and I’m an enchantress.”

9. What does your human form look like?

“.... Weren’t you listening? I’m half human half elf, we don’t just randomly turn into other things. What you see is what I am. Hide the ears and I can pass off as a pure-blooded human.... Well, at least to most people I look human without the ears. It’s hard to trick pure-blooded elves and beastmen can smell the difference.”

10. What’s your aesthetic?

"Sunflowers, old books, moonlight spilling through windows, a cup of hot cider, pine trees, fragrant herbs, rich earth, crumbling stone, broken pottery, torn parchments, rusted swords scattered across a battlefield, broken statues, and the glow of magic.”

11. Who’s your best friend?

“Jalen, I think. Has he told me everything? No, but he’s been by my side through some of the roughest times I had ever gone through. He stood up for me, no matter what. Did his best to protect me, even though there really isn’t much that could be done. He cheered me up, cheered me on, took care of me, taught me lots of things, and I couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

12. Would you ever get a piercing/tattoo?

“I never really thought of it before. I guess it would depend on what the tattoo or piercing was.”

13. When are you happiest?

“Seeing the people I care about smile, or right after having a really difficult enchantment succeed. There’s nothing better than those two precious moments, joy and victory. And, you know, not accidentally blowing the house to Rune’s palace.”

14. What’s your biggest secret?

“What’s your biggest secret? On second thought... I probably don’t want to know. Nothing good ever seems to come of other people’s secrets.”

15. What was your first impression of ___?

“My first impression of Crescent? Well, he had a nice face? Erm. I don’t really know. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. I ran right into his horse and he just stared down with this cool expression, like it was nothing. Not even the mob that had been chasing me seemed to bother him. We just were to him. Our existence noted, but not needing much of a reaction. He took it all in stride, took the reins like a leader, got them to leave me be and got me to agree to join his quest. When I realized he was the main character, I couldn’t stop thinking how I wasn’t ready for him to be there, how I hadn’t figured out how to save Raina, how to even save myself. But time was up and I was being sucked back into the game I had once loved.”

Tagging: @inexorableblob, @sorenfarwalker, @mischiefiswritten, @audgewrites, @pens-swords-stuff, @savannahscripts, @writingasrachel, @fangirlwritersworld, @likelyfantasywriterspsychic, @greenwood-writes, @imaghostwriter, @phoebewritesatnight, @dreamcatcher309, @avatarthorpe, @whywritewhenyoucansleep

As usual, there’s no pressure. If you don’t want to play feel free to ignore. =)

#tag game #the plight of a sparrow

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godemperor307 · 6 years

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I’m just a Luthor with a Super

Supergirl.

She was Earth's greatest champion. She had risked her life many times over for Lena, and indeed their whole world, despite not being from it. In quiet moments, Lena enjoyed silently admiring the hero from afar, but she knew it was far deeper than that. Supergirl's muscles, powerful figure, red S on her chest. It all made Lena blush and she considered it a miracle no one had caught on to her barely-concealed crush, especially during the day she unveiled the statue in Supergirl's honor.

Of course Lena was not stupid. Why would such a kind and wonderful hero date a Luthor? I'm just a Luthor. Supergirl was with that Mon-el boy, last I heard but that seems to have ended. No...I dare not hope to dream. I dare not think about her pretty blonde hair, soft face, kissable lips-STOP. What is wrong with me? I am a Luthor, not a One Direction fan. Yet Supergirl did have that effect and Lena wondered silently just how many girls she had managed to swoon. Oh who am I kidding? She's Supergirl. Every baby-gay is into her. Every baby-bi too.

Lena knew she would eventually have to break things off with James. He was nice, and treated her right but he clearly refused to take the hint. All she ever talked about with him was Supergirl (and Superman. He is the Jimmy Olsen after all. He knows a lot about the Kryptonians). He simply could not compete with her true crush, and it was unfair of him to even begin to try, or for her to continue stringing him along (to be fair it is extremely difficult to compete with Supergirl). Kara Danvers, her bestest friend in the whole wide world always seemed flustered as well whenever Supergirl became a topic. I wonder why that is? Questions for later.

Lena had three friends in the city, Kara Sam and Supergirl. It still warmed her heart to this day when Kara promised to protect her. But how can you protect me better than Supergirl protects all of us, Kara? I love you but you don't even begin to compare. I should call her. Get me in contact with Supergirl, even if I can just befriend her a little.

She grabbed her phone and began dialing the number.

"Oh my gosh, Lena. I'm so sorry, I forgot our lunch-date!"

Lena giggled at her best friend, "It's more than ok, Kar. But I was just thinking....it doesn't really matter, it's a silly idea-"

"No, tell me! Maybe I can help." Aw, Kara. Always wanting to help. She reminds me of Supergirl so much.

"Well...I was wondering...ifyoucouldcallsupergirlformesoicankissher-" Wow. Smooth.

"W-what?"

Lena blushed and stammered "Uh.....uh-um...I was wondering...if you could call Supergirl...-you know her, right?-and get me in contact with her because...I have things to talk about with her...Sciency things."

"Ohhh..." Kara laughed. "Of course! What are besties for? Supergirl is great. She's a badass." I know, Kar. I know. "Maybe you guys will, ya know, hit it off. I mean you guys are friends already, you know what I mean. Doesn't hurt to be more friendly, I mean- that came out wrong-"

Lena laughed softly at her friend's awkward rambling. "I know what you meant. Tell her to meet me at my office."

"Ok Lena! So good to hear from you!"

"You too, Kara."

Only a few moments later, Lena heard a whooshing sound, as the caped heroine swooped in and landed. Lena started to stare at the blonde's cheeks, and bright eyes. God....I am so freaking Bi right now.... I mean I'm always bi...shut up brain.

"Miss Luthor....you wished to see me?" Are you really blushing like a schoolgirl right now? Idiot.

"Y-yes....Erm...It has occurred me that you and I have saved the city at least twice together, yet I barely know anything about you. What's your name? Why did you only reveal yourself 3 years ago? What are your hobbies? Your name can't literally just be Supergirl."

"...You're absolutely right, Miss Luthor. I have been quite disrespectful to you." God, even her voice is like a goddess's....What the hell are you doing Lena? You don't need to know any of this. She's perfect how she is.

"I am from a planet called Krypton. I was actually originally sent to Earth to protect Superman, my cousin. But....my ship was trapped in another dimension and could not arrive here until my cousin was already grown up and saving others. I wished to be just a normal girl....but I decided I could not keep living a lie and denying who I really am." Lena sighed in awe, never considering how hard it must have been to lose one's entire planet only to end up having to fit in to survive on another.

"I am sorry, Supergirl. I hope you are now at peace with yourself. Of course everyone knows the dumpster fire that is my life."

"Yes Kara Danvers told me much about you." Supergirl said, as she smiled warmly.

"She did?" She did?

"Of course, Miss Luthor. That's how I keep saving you just in time, after all."

"Well you protect everyone, right? I can't be that important!"

"Don't underestimate yourself, Miss Luthor. You helped me save the whole world twice. You were voted the smartest woman on the planet three times."

"You were voted the most beautiful." Lena muttered, pouting cutely. "And you definitely deserved that." Lena whispered, blushing.

Supergirl laughed. "Please allow a hero some humility." Shit. Super-hearing. I forgot.

"Super-hearing! That reminds me, what powers do you have that you haven't used on TV yet?"

"Well, Kryptonians are essentially immortal. I won't age, at least not for a very long time."

"That is sad...."

"It's ok, Miss Luthor. According to Imra, your accomplishments last through the centuries. In a way, that is true immortality."

"I suppose you're right." Lena smiled at her friend, feeling a lot better. Supergirl was truly the giver of hope. She would never lie, never let her down, never make her feel unworthy. Never get drunk and hit her, or say she was too busy hanging out with Kara. Supergirl was super-amazing.

Lena could not wait any longer. She started moving closer and closer, wanting to feel the alien woman's warmth and grip. Her powerful warrior body.

"I am truly sorry about Mon-El. I know how much he meant to you."

"Do you? Ah, Kara told you....Yes I had to send him away but it was to save his life. Then he returned, with a wife. I realize now that...perhaps i over-idealized our relationship in a way. Perhaps the fairer sex is an option too."

"You're-?"

"I don't know, Miss Luthor. That's...not a problem on this planet, right?"

"O-of course not!" If only you knew....

"Someone has said things to me that made me....rethink all my interactions with other women. Even Mon El's new wife. I called her a goddess." You're a goddess!

"I'm bisexual. Always knew it. Only told Lex, Sam and Kara before now. It is a tremendous weight off my shoulders to tell you."

"I'm sure you will find someone amazing, Miss Luthor. You are a badass." I did. Supergirl grinned. Stop it, you cutie. I am gonna have a heart attack.

"Do you ever...get scared? Scared you won't make it home? This job...it can be a lonely one."

"Reign beat that fear into me, I think. She is the most powerful enemy I have ever faced. And yet, I'm still scared every single day, Miss."

""W-why? You're literally the Girl of Steel."

"Doesn't mean I'm invulnerable. There are beings out there, not just Reign who could tear our Earth in half without even trying. My war....our war...is to protect it for as long as we possibly can."

"Even so.....It doesn't have to be so lonely. I can help...let me help you, Supergirl." She began wrapping her arms around the blonde, squeezing her tight. Supergirl gladly accepted the hug.

"By the way..."

"Hm?" Supergirl hummed. The vibration made Lena slightly shiver in pleasure.

"You should call me Lena."

"Very well, Lena." Lena's mouth broadened in an almost painful grin, hearing her name from Supergirl's sexy lips. I love you so much.

As they began parting, Supergirl started to lean back in, then thought better of it. Lena curiously wondered why. Did she-No. There's no way....And yet I cannot look away. Her beautiful pink lips are just so kissable. Her rosy cheeks beg to be pinched. Her sexy chest was just pressing into her own.

Lena was red like a tomato by now...yet she could not stop herself, despite James, despite what Kara might think, despite her own self-esteem and self-hate. Her crush, the greatest hero Earth had ever seen, the Girl of Steel, the completely sexy, beautiful, blonde bombshell. She had to kiss those lips, and this seemed like the best chance she would ever have, in the woman's strong arms, staring into her bright blue eyes- It was finally happening. She felt the Kryptonian's lips on her own. To her ever-astounding surprise, Supergirl did not pull away and instead returned the soft, gentle kissing. She had been in love with the blonde alien going on three years, and she was finally tasting her lips. A sharp electrical feeling jolted through her entire body. She had never been kissed like this, not even by Jack. This was unlike any kiss she had ever had. She never wanted it to end, yet knew she had to breath eventually. Pulling away for air was the hardest decision of her life.

"Lena..." She was staring at her with utter shock.

Oh no....I will never forgive myself if she hates me for this. I screwed up! Damn it! Of course a Luthor and a Super would never work out!

"Lena, what was that for?" She asked softly.

"I....Christ, Supergirl....I just love you so damn much! Ever since you first showed up! I know I'm with James, I know there's probably no chance for us, but I can't help it!" She collapsed into her chair, sobbing. Supergirl rushed to her side.

"Hey, Lena. no, no, no. Don't cry. I was just surprised. I'm not angry with you. Actually, thank you for the kiss. It was...nice." Nice? I really screwed up! She doesn't like me like that! Lena cried harder, as Supergirl again cradled her in those powerful alien arms.

"My sister is gay and I was shocked at first too. I'm truly sorry you felt you could not tell me about this sooner. I am truly a bad friend." Supergirl's sister? She has a sister? Wait...

Lena sniffled, "It's not y-your fault. I'm the one who's gone and...f-fallen for a Super, despite being a Luthor."

"Is that what this is about? You're so silly, Lena! I promised you already, that I would always protect you." What? Wait.....WHAT?

Before Lena could respond to such a reveal, the blonde's lips pressed upon her own.

"I'm so sorry, Lena that I could not tell you sooner. I love you. I always will love you, my Lena."

#supercorp #Karlena #Lena Luthor #Lesbian love #Supergirl #twentygayteen

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blamebrampton · 6 years

Text

Eurovision 2018, Semi Final 2

I’m watching on replay and it’s getting late, so this is going to be as swift as possible. We open with a gorgeous montage and I really do feel like going to Lisboa after this week, were I not broke as a broke thing. The women are back and they look great. The NCIS one has come in an assassin’s cocktail dress, the saintly one is dressed like a tasteful wedding cake, the blonde has come over all black swan and the little one has picked up on last semi final’s sci fi villains theme and is cosplaying Servalan. They are doing nautical allusions again and I will continue to ignore them wherever possible. And also their jokes. They are lovely people, but I am here for the singing.

1. Norway, Alexander Rybak, That’s How You Write A Song. He’s back! With the air fiddle this time. In fact, a raft of air instruments that are animated in. Look, he’s still cute as a button and charismatic as a puppy, but this song is reminding me of Cliff Richard and that is not something I wish to be reminded of. It’s no Fairytale. ACTUAL violin has just appeared! About bloody time. He nearly transcends the song, but the song is well meh. Watch it win now. Backing dancers exist and are perfectly fine. Let’s move on.

2. Romania, The Humans, Goodbye. White dress, drink. No, it was a fakeout, the lead singer is wearing purple. She’s surrounded by band members in white with creepy white masks. And mannequins in in gimp suits, also with creepy white masks. I’ve got a real Bonnie Tyler vibe here, which is at least a step up from the last song. BIG power chords into the main body of the song. She’s exhorting the mannequins to live their best life and I cannot bear to break it to her. White dress girl is back, she’s the cellist and I respect a band with a cellist. BIG HERO NOTES! ooh, her purple frock has matching shorts. Nice. Song was OK, band was great.

3. Serbia, Sanja Ilic and Balkanika, Nova Deca. Pipes and wailing vocal intro and I am sold already. If I was up this morning, this would have had my vote. Soz, kids. Three girls wailing mystically with a man looming behind Rasputinly. Seriously, his whole outfit is mad monk. Big Taiko style drums with an enthusiastic man beating away — erm, on the drums — and now some dance beats to lift it. I have to say that I would love this on the club floor late at night when you want something a bit slower and trippier. The girls’ outfits are sort of earth goddess meets debutante. I’m not going to lie, I flipping loved this one.

4. San Marino, Jessika, featuring Jenifer Brening, Who We Are. Lead singer in a lacy red frock over undies. Two human girl dancers and a set of robot dancers. Look, Ive seen worse. Jenny B has just stonked out down the walkway rapping determinedly and it’s all … fine. It’s a perfectly fine song and there will be some young folks who love it. A robot is holding up body positivity messages, actually, the poor wee thing just dropped it, but now he’s holding hands with the singer. It’s a bit community centre talent night, but they’re enormously likeable and I wish them well.

5. Denmark, Rasmussen, Higher Ground. Sudden plunge into darkness. Faint mystic chord as of pipes over water. Dry smoke. Backlit bearded man standing on a ramp. Square sails and more bearded men. Yes, we have hit peak Viking for the night and there is chanting and stomping and more beard pomade than is probably safe in an environment with pyro. We’re singing about men laying down their swords and making their mark and it’s all very Scandirevival, but I have to confess I rather like it and they can all bloody well sing. I have a nose full of North Sea wind and my cheeks feel windbitten at the end of this song, Oh, look, a white flag of peace. Sure. Key change! Snorri Sturluson would love these guys. The boy Aussie commentator has just said they remind him of when Durmstrang walked into the Hall in Harry Potter and he is right on the money. Definitely a contender.

6. Russia, Julia Samoylova, I Won’t Break. Set design is from the cousin of whoever did Estonia, so it’s nice to have two iceberg singers in the one contest. Super dancers: ballet this time, with Russian technique, which is always lovely to see. Look, I disagree with her politics and her country, and the song’s another meh one, but I wish her well. Moving on.

7. Moldova, DoReDoS, My Lucky Day. They have brought a whole miniseries in the staging of this song. She’s seeing blue suit, but red suit behind his back. Now she and red suit are official, but blue suit is getting some on the side. Lots of comedy from the dancers in the background, who are working within a white box set. It’s silly, it’s saucy. it’s a lot of fun. It would absolutely be the theme song of a sex comedy from 1959 starring Sophia Loren.

8. The Netherlands, Waylon, Outlaw in ’Em. Steel string guitar, pulsing lights and wailing vocals. I’m sorry, I’m allergic to wailing dead dog country that uses gun metaphors, They’re very talented, just not my thing. I’m sure he’ll make a fortune in America and good luck to him.

Short presenter is down with the audience and why?

9. Australia, Jessica Mauboy, We’ve Got Love. Cards on the table, I love Jess. She is a super lovely person as well as a great singer. I don’t the song is quite as good as Dami’s Sound of Silence, but she can perform like a goddess. She is bringing her inner Beyonce with the hair and squats, and selling the lyrics, which are basically, ‘don’t give up, we’ve got love’ and look, sure, but this is a country that numbers Sia, Nick Cave and Kate Miller Heidke among its leading lyricists and I just feel we could have done better for our Jess. But she is putting it all out there, and getting the crowd in on side. The drapey bit on her minidress is a bit distracting, but who gives a proverbial, she’s a champ and she should definitely go through to the finals.No matter how absurd it is that we are there.

10. Georgia, Ethno-Jazz Band Iriao, For You. My first question is whether that is actually the group’s name or if they added a little descriptor for the booking agent once and it’s stuck. It matters not. Lovely quiet jazz piano opening, then classical vocals soaring over the top, dry ice already, and a chanting backing vocal that is somewhere between Gregorian monks and Il Divo, but entirely pleasant to listen to. The vocals are very tight and the arrangement intelligently spare and restrained in parts to show off the voices. I approve! There is a lot of eyebrow emoting, but I don’t mind that in a dark Eastern European man, it’s like queueing if you’re British or buying sausage sandwiches at hardware shops on weekends if you’re Australian. That was a good three minutes for me, I hope they get through!

11. Poland, Gromee, featuring Lucas Meijer, Light Me Up. They are wearing ridiculous hats. More Pharrel than Devo, but the sort of hat that will stand in for a personality when you’re young and nervous. Fair enough, some of them look about 14. Good performers, strong backing vocals and the sort of winning stage performance I would have loved the first 250 times I saw it. It’s not your fault I am old and jaded, Gromee, but I am. There is pyro, there is hand dancing, he is dancing with the audience, he is counting. It’s all fine. OK, bye.

12. Malta, Christabelle, Taboo. She is standing inside four big screens and now a heart is glowing against her black dress. People writhe on her screens and the world spins out from her hands. She is singing about the need to respect and support each other in a world that can be hard and cruel. I… I really like her. I’m not sure whether I also like the song or if I just find her so committed to it that I think I like it, but it doesn’t really matter. There’s a real dancer inside the screens now, and Christabelle loves us all. I love you too, Christabelle. I would totally invite you to my barbecue with Jess.

13. Hungary, AWS, Vislát Nyár. Going for the risky Lordi without masks vote, they drum their way in and then launch straight into rich, angry, headbanging lyrics that are upset about something but my knowledge of Finno-Ugric languages begins and ends with a song about little piggies. Another performance with sincerity rather than just polish, though, and that counts. CROWD SURFING GUITARIST! He’s been returned safely, bless you lovely Eurovision crowd. Angry shouting, epic pyro, lots of drumming. There we go.

14. Latvia, Laura Rizzotto, Funny Girl. Another red lace minidress, with a train this time. Actually, it’s more a shorts dress. A playsuit with train. She looks lovely whatever it is. Her song is apparently about a girl who just a wee bit of a stalker. You know you can tell a chap you like him and not just hang around waiting for him to notice you, yes? Some nice bits of tricky tempo and big hair singing. It’s not my cup of tea, but it is well brewed.

15. Sweden, Benjamin Ingrosso, Dance You Off. Brief moment to mention it is bloody freezing in Sydney tonight, for the first time in forever. This is another very polished performance from a skilled performer and it’s doing nothing for me. Might go and find a blanket for my wee toesies.

16. Montenegro, Vanja Radonovic, Inje. Man at piano, women in background, intense man in front, who is Vanja. He is upset. Possibly because some bastard has bedazzled the crap out of his suit. Nice vocals in the ballad, though. The girls are striding, the piano is staying still, which is as it should be. Ooh! The girls are playing statues. Nice. There is a lot of emoting, but the girls’ costumes and facial expressions make it a little unfortunately close to ‘help us, we have been enslaved by vampires and need you to stake us to free our souls’. Lighting and key change, but otherwise much as before. The girls are still suffering. It’s probably a complex retelling of current politics.

17. Slovenia, Lea Sirk, Helva, Nei. She has pink hair so I like her already. Backing dancers are muscular and fast, I like them, too. Do not bother any of these women or they will make you regret it almost immediately. Her frock is another curtain over undies number, but with more plastic than most others. Who can explain it, who can tell you why? Their music cuts out at one point and they get the audience to clap their beat and I am not certain that was real, but it was nicely handled. Confirmation that was a faux error on the music. Whatevs. As no-one says anymore.

18. Ukraine, Melovin, Under the Ladder. Before I hear a word, I learn he likes horses, David Bowie and Verka Serduchka, so we’re basically friends now. He opens the song in a crypt, which opens up in a cheerfully cheesy Hammer Horror way. He’s dressed like an old-school vampire and the crypt is really the inside of a giant piano at the top of a set of stairs. Clearly Dead or Alive were 30 years too early for this chap, but I am glad YouTube will let him experience them. As everyone guessed, he is back up the stairs to play the piano, soulfully. And now the stairs are on fire, and there’s random pyro everywhere. Of course there is. Vampires love fire. At least dress your backing singers as avenging villagers, who have finally arrived to free the girls from Montenegro.

And we are done! Voting is about to open. I am fast forwarding through this bit because life is too short. ESCLOPEDIA IS BACK! Hello bearded man! More clips from past songs, and an allegation that there is a link between Eurovision and fashion. That is A LIE. You know, Portugal, you’re no Sweden and the women are no Petra and Mans, but I respect that you have kept these interval bits short and cool.

I spoke too soon. Presenters are back with costume changes. NCIS is in a short blue cocktail dress, Blondie is in a pink line dancing dress, Saintly is wearing a costume from my Grade Two Tap exam and the little one is cosplaying Severus Snape. They are doing dance moves from Eurovisions past. The Little One is actually pretty funny, but you will have to download it as I am not up to describing that much physical comedy. There is a Riverdance moment. Which I believe is obligatory for every third Eurpovision.

They run through the acts again, and Denmark’s lead singer has brows you could crack nuts on. Walnuts. Not the other kind. Though he looks as though he would be against toxic masculinity, so perhaps that would also be OK.

Votes are closed. We are touring through Portugal. It is very lovely. The acts are ding the bits that have preceded every song and coming out through their doors and visiting locations and generally cocking a lot of it up, bless them. They look as though they are having fun.

Little presenter has just turned up at the Aussie table and is handing out pastéis de nata a la Oprah and Jess looks as though she is in heaven. Custard really is that good.

Saintly presenter is talking about Eurovision’s role in Portuguese politics! 1974, the year Sweden won with Waterloo, was the year that the Portuguese entry was chosen to be the signal for a revolution. It was played on the radio in the early morning as a signal to take to the streets and by the end of the day there were carnations in gun barrels.True story.

Black swan presenter has found British fans and I think they may have been on the drink, but they say lovely things about Portugal (and Jess), so well done, kids!

Bridal cake presenter is introducing the tracks from France, Germany and Italy and Little One is with them. The French performers are cute as, and sing last years’ winning song in French. Suck ups. But lovely voice. Ooh, NCIS has taken over with Germany. who looks a little like Josh Widdicombe. He’s doing a ukulele cover of Fly on the Wings of Love and I confess I liked it. The entry is nice, too. Look forward to the full version in the finals. And now it’s Little One again with Italy, who really look 100% drunk. But they have spectacular hair. And do a chorus of Nel Blu Dipinto Di Blu, ‘Volare! Oh-oh. Cantare, oh wo-oh-oh’ They are SO VERY drunk. Or just exhausted after sitting through 17 hours of this.

Jon Ola Sand says the votes are in. Thank Zeus!

The winners are: Serbia! Fair enough. Moldova! Excellent. They were hilarious. Hungary, because all those Norwegian Death Metal fans were there for you. Ukraine, sure. Sweden. Really? Look, you’re a lovely country. Australia! YAY JESS! Norway, meh. Soz Sasha. I love your country. Denmark, which is entirely fair. Slovenia, which is good news. Last spot goes to The Netherlands, which is fine, the country and western people need something. That’s it till Sunday morning, Which will probably be Sunday night, let’s be honest.

#eurovision #eurovision 2018

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