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harrypotter-imaginess · 3 years

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Part 2 Here!

Commission info for a Love Letter from you favorite character here!

- You’re probably someone on his morning routine, or who could easily become apart of his daily routine

- Maybe a friendly barista at a café he’s curious about on the way to the his store

- But I like to think you’re someone that works at the local flower shop

- He catches you on his way to work one morning, choosing to walk that day to stretch his legs

- Apparating is convenient, but if he’s not careful he’ll get out of shape pretty fast.

- He see’s you across the street, watering the plants you keep outside the shop, talking to each of them, a smile across your face as you do

- The morning light hits you just right, the golden glow spreading across your face

- “Well aren’t they quite cute?”

- He starts walking to work everyday from then on

- It’s on the fourth or fifth day you notice him-

- Well really you notice his hair, it’s such a rich red

- A livelier shade than any rose or hibiscus you could grow

- “I bet it’s hair dye.” Your co-worker tells you “you know how these city boys are-“

- Well your store is in the heart of the city, on the Jump Street, sandwiched between a book store and a boutique

- And yeah, most of the guys around here do seem impeccably dressed,

- one of your very handsome regular's who comes in to get flowers for his husband every Tuesday even admitted he has a running bi-monthly appointment at the spa, he gets a spray tan, dye job, eyebrows tweezed, the works.

- “It’s just what I have to do to compete, there’s so many young CEO’s now, you’ve got to keep up appearances.”

- And you’re sure he’s not the only one

- Still.. you can’t help but believe that a shade of red that vibrant- that beautiful- can’t be from just hair dye

- “Maybe” you mumble, turning your attention to the peony’s

- You wonder if you’ll see him walk by at the end of the day when all the offices close

- But even though you keep your eyes glued to the store front window, he never shows up

- You see him again the next morning, walking across the street

- This time you take a little more of him in

- He’s pretty tall, though you can’t make out much of his build when he’s wearing that rust colored coat

- And a splatter of freckles across his face, almost like constellations

- He’s got a long nose, but it works with his face

- He’s pretty handsome

- What comes next shouldn’t surprise you, but it does

- Perhaps he felt your eyes on him, silently assessing him- studying him

- Because his eyes lift up to meet yours

- They’re the deepest brown you’ve ever seen, especially when the morning light hits them just so

- Oh sh*t, he caught you staring

- Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.

- Okay, it’s fine

- Just okay- Just play it cool

- So, you pretend like you weren’t just staring at this handsome stranger admiring his features

- And shamelessly offer your best smile and a wave

- To your surprise he grins, smile spreading across his face

- A light pink dusting his face as he waves back

- And so you become waving friends

- Waving to each other every morning

- Which slowly evolves into trading morning greetings

- “How’s your morning going?” He asks from across the street

- Miffed commuters give him disgruntled looks as they walk around him rushing to work, but he stays rooted to the spot

- “It’s alright can’t complain!” You shout back from your spot by the gardenia bush, earning several looks as well

- “How about you?”

- He gives a teasing look to all the angry passerby’s and gives a “so-so” hand motion

- You almost laugh so hard you cry

- This goes on for a few more days, and your co-workers take notice

- “Flirting with the red head (Y/N)? On company time?” Your co-worker mock gasps and you roll your eyes

- “Oh hush, I’m just being friendly to a neighbor.”

- Your co-worker doesn’t look like they’re buying it, but they don’t say anything else

- It’s late in the afternoon when the shop bell rings

- You’re up to your elbows trimming and re-potting the hydrangeas

- You figure one of the others will get

- You hear some footsteps but ignore it,

- This part is tricky, if you damage any of the roots the plant might not be able to make it

- “Um excuse me, I was wondering if you might help me with something?”

- Ugh, don’t they see you’re in the middle of something

- You’re about to turn around and tell them that customers aren’t supposed to be in back room-

- When you catch a glimmer of vivid red in the corner of your eye

- No that can’t be right, he doesn’t even walk back this way in the afternoon

- Your heart stutters in your chest, face growing hot

- Your crush is getting out of control-

- When you look up, there he is

- His adorable freckles face in all its glory

- Here in the homely, rather dirty, back-plant room at your flower store

- A hesitant smile curled on to his lips

- “I’m sorry, it looks like I’m interrupting, the clerk in the front said you would be back here-“

- Of course they did

- So well what’s he here for?

- Is he here to ask you in a date??

- You might just combust from joy at the thought

- Or maybe he’s here to order a large bouquet for his lover, and the rest of your co-workers think it’s time you get yourself out of this little crush of yours

- The thought fills you with both embarrassment and despair

- Only extreme highs and lows with you, it seems

- “- I’m a business owner a few streets over, and I thought some flowers might add some atmosphere, they said you’re the expert”

- He gives you a boyish grin, his hands shoved into his pockets

- So somewhere in the middle then

- Aright you can work with that

- “Do you have an idea of what kind of flowers you might want?” You’re already moving towards the sink, washing the fertilizer off your arms.

- George blanks, he hasn’t really thought that far

- “Not particularly, do you have any recommendations?”

- You nod, lips pursed as you grab the order form

- “Well what kind of store do you have? Peonys’ and orchids’ are always good with boutiques”

- You figure he owns an upscale boutique or maybe a restaurant, those tend to be the places that do the best in this area.

- And by the looks of his taupe coat, his store is doing very well

- “Hmm well-“ his hand rubs his chin

- Technically it’s a joke shop, but it’s grown to be more than that isn’t it?

- He sells potions, charms, stationary, prank goods (of course), muggle novelty’s- it makes sense to him- but his store has grown to be quite eclectic over the years

- Besides he doubts he can explain it you

- He’s still on the fence whether you’re a muggle or from magic like him

- You’re plants have him suspicious, no way a muggle could grow a gardenia that would put Neville Longbottom to shame-

- Still, if you were a witch there’s no way you wouldn’t have recognized him by now

- The Weasleys have all become some sort of warrior clan war hero, he’s even on a chocolate frog card now.

- Well, he would rather not risk it

- He’s always been the cautious one

- “It’s sort of a hobby store? Well it started out as one, but now we’ve been expanding and we sell a bit of everything.”

- “So kind of like a department store?”

- Department stores are a bit more tricky, each room has a different vibe, but the overall tone has to be neutral

- Hmmmm

- “Maybe some white roses? Orchids might be nice too, and if you’ve got a bit of a green thumb I might recommend succulents or some devils ivy?”

- This is all going straight over George’s head, he never did pay much attention in herbology

- But you’re talking to him as if he’s an equal and he doesn’t want the cutie who works at the local flower shop think any less of him because he doesn’t know a d*mn about plants

- “Those sound lovely”

- He’s not entirely sure how it happens, but by the time he’s left he’s got an armful of plants, and a rolling order at your store to pick up plants every Tuesday

- “Are you sure you’re alright? We deliver for free you know?”

- “No no it’s fine-“

- The tall leafy plant shakes every time he shakes his head

- “Besides I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see you again” he winks before turning to leave

- You feel your heart skip a beat

- “Did you ask if it was a dye job?” You co-worker yells from the other side of the store as soon as he’s gone

- “Of course I didn’t Ainsley! For one that’s awfully rude”

- They nod knowingly

- “Yeah that’s really fifth date talk”

- They laugh when you throw one of the cards at them

- And like clockwork George comes in every Monday afternoon, and leaves with a handful of arrangements and plants

- You still talk to each other on the street

- “How are the hydrangeas working out for you?” You ask and he gives a ‘ditto’ hand gesture

- “They’re class! I was wondering if I could get a few more?”

- You nod

- “We’ll have more ready for you on Monday, are you sure you don’t want delivery?”

- He manages to carry them off every time, but it sure makes you nervous, just one tumble and they would be ruined

- “We’ve been over this, how would I get to see you then?”

- He gives you a lopsided grin and you find yourself reflecting the expression

- “Oi! Would you two stop flirting in the middle of the street, you’re blocking traffic!” Someone shouts

- He just laughs and offers you a wave

- “What’s with all the plants?”

- They’re the first words out of Ron’s mouth when he steps inside the shop, he’s already shrugging off his coat making his way to where George is fiddling with a new contraption

- “I thought they would make the place livelier”

- False.

- He just wanted an excuse to talk to you.

- He does like the plants though. The white hydrangeas you recommended for the potions section are absolutely lovely

- Though he did use a few charms to make them larger, and stay fresher longer.

- He’s basically got a wall covered in hydrangeas now

- Still lovely though

- “It does look nice” Rob admits

- “So where are the products you need help fixing?”

- George groans waving towards a few oddly stacked boxes

- The packaging on his restock of the portable swamps came in the wrong color, not a big deal he can always change it with a spell

- But it is tedious work, especially when you have to do it one by one, otherwise it might upset the contents.

- And he does not want a swamp in his store

- Ron only nods, unpacking the box

- “You want purple right?”

- There’s a moment of silence between the two

- Purple was Fred’s favorite color

- He used to joke it was because that’s the color Snape turned when he was mad

- But George knows it’s because purple’s the color of the first fireworks they saw.

- He, Fred, Ron and Ginny had snuck away when they were younger to a muggle festival in the village, awestruck by the shapes the fireworks took.

- Fred would have carved that moment into his bones if he could.

- George clears his throat

- “Yeah, purple, same shade as the shop sign”

- Ron nods, pulling out a products wordlessly, motioning with his wand

- “So what’s really the deal with all these plant?” Ron asks, and George sighs

- “Nothing I just thought it might be good for business”

- “Did you get swindled by an attractive salesman?”

- “I wouldn’t say swindled” you gave him a pretty generous discount, and you were even offering free delivery

- That’s kind of a lot to give for a muggle shop

- “So they were attractive then?” Ron says with a grin, he’s only ribbing

- But George’s inquisitive look and the pink flush across his freckles nose makes Ron think he’s on the nose

- “(Y/N)’s fairly attractive”

- Fairly is putting it mildly though, George thinks your adorable

- Ron stutters halfway through the transfiguration spell

- “(Y/N)? Like hot (Y/N)? From the flower shop?”

- George is puzzled but nods

- “You went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop?!?!? WITHOUT ME?” Ron looks like he’s about to cry

- “How would Hermione feel is she heard you talking about another person like that?”

- Ron just gives him an incredulous look

- “She would say ‘I can’t believe George went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop and didn’t invite us’!”

- Apparently you’re quite popular in the shopping district. Your flowers have won the city award twice, before you opened your shop you won a contract as the city’s horticulturist.

- “Last Valentine’s Day Harry and I stood in line for two hours to pick up our bouquets” Ron tells him, he’s already done with the first box

- He figured business was good, it’s almost impossible to run a flower shop in the middle of the city if it isn’t.

- But he didn’t imagine you were award winning or anything

- He sighs so you are a muggle, and you’ve got no need for magic, you make up the difference in talent and skill

- He likes that, maybe he should get some shirts or art prints that say something like that

- He feels a small smile creep onto his face

- Oh well, probably for the best, he’s not sure he has time to date what with how busy things have been

- “Free for dinner? We can go wherever you want, my treat.” George says, slipping on his coat as they finish with the last of the products.

- “How about (Y/N)‘s flower shop?”

- George laughs

- “I’m pretty sure they close at 5....also they don’t have food Ron”

- Ron sighs like he’s just been told Christmas is just cancelled

- “The leaky cauldron is fine too I guess”

- But George can’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the weekend.

- It’s not really that big of a deal if you’re a muggle, but-

- Well how would that even work?

- The closest thing to a muggle he’s personally known is Hermione- who’s a witch and just muggle born

- He wouldn’t be able to tell you about being a wizard- not until you were married, or at least serious enough that he knew you both were going to get married. Which he doesn’t know how he feels about

- So he would have three full time jobs

- Taking care of the store, being your boyfriend, oh and hiding his magical powers from you

- Lovely

- But Merlin- wouldn’t his family love it if he brought you home?

- His Dad would be over the moon, and his Mum, well she’d be happy he found anyone at all. But she wouldn’t mind the pointers you gave her on how to get pinker roses.

- Percy wouldn’t really care either way. He might even like it, a muggle in the family might help his political agenda.

- Good for optics and all

- He already knows Ron likes you

- He and Hermione will be quite pleased they get to ogle you all they want at holiday dinners

- Ginny will like having another person in the family, she would personally give you a tour of the burrow

- Fleur will like having another in law in the family- and Bill will be happy that she’s happy

- Charlie would love it, asking you all about what kind of plants his dragons might like, and if you might plant a few for him, come visit in Romania- the port key’s always open for family-

- Actually he might have to watch out for Charlie, his older brother might legit steal you away from him

- .

- ...

- Fred would have loved you

- Fred would have never let it go on this long

- Fred would have seen George’s lovestruck expression the first time he saw you and said-

- “Well are you going to ask them out?”

- Fred always was the bold one, George was just following his lead most of the time.

- That fireworks thing in their last year was entirely Fred’s idea.

- George would sputter and shrug in response

- ‘I was just lookin’, a man can look can’t he?’

- Fred would have given him one of his wicked grins and said:

- “Look if you don’t ask them out now, then I will”

- And pushed him across the street, holding him to it

- And then when he was halfway across the street towards you Fred would shout:

- “And see if they’ll give us a friends and family discount for the store!”

- George is grinning just imagining it

- Fred wouldn’t have cared at all that you were a muggle.

- All he would care about is that you would make his brother, his best friend, happy.

- “Honestly George, you get hung up over the dumbest things-“ Fred would have said

- “You like them don’t you? They make you feel good about the world and life?”

- And George would just dumbly nod

- “Then that’s all that matters doesn’t it? That you care about someone, and that you can see a future with them. All that other stuff- it’s just noise”

- Alright he’ll try then

- Not just for Fred, but for himself too.

- George strolls into your shop on Monday, an hour before you open-

- “Oh hello George! You’re a little early, I’ve got your hydrangeas trimmed I just need to get your potted plants ready and-“

- “Would you like to go out sometime?”

- “-then I’ll fix up the roses for y-“

- Huh?

- You freeze for a moment, almost dropping the plant in your hands

- Did he just ask you on a date?

- “If dinner is too much, maybe just tea- or coffee?”

- Maybe it’s not exciting enough for you

- Ugh! He knew he should have suggested something more fun like the zoo or maybe a botanical garden?

- But you’re around plants all day, he didn’t want to make you think he only knows one thing-

- “Friday?”

- His eyes shoot up to look at your face, he hadn’t even noticed he was staring at his shoes

- “What?”

- “Friday” you repeat, you’ve got a smile that seems lovelier than any of the flowers you grow.

- “Is Friday good for dinner? I close up at six”

- He grins so wide he’s afraid his face might break

- “Friday is perfect”

#harry potter imagine #george weasley imagine #george weasley #fred and george imagine #george weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #weasley imagine #harry potter reader insert #harry potter headcanon #george weasley headcanon #harrypotter-imaginess

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cherienymphe · 4 years

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Protect & Serve (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: Cop!Steve, mentions of abuse, mentions of miscarriage, eventual STALKING/KIDNAPPING/NON-CON

IF ANY OF THIS OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE DNI

Also this series will be based off of one of my worst fears, so you guys have fun with this.

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: escaping an ugly past, you have no choice but to return home. While much has remained the same, Officer Rogers is a new addition who has won over the hearts of the town in your absence. And no one believes you when you start to see him for who he really is

You threw the last of your empty boxes into the garbage in front of your house. Your back ached, and your legs were screaming for a reprieve, but you’d been determined to finish unpacking by the end of the day. And so you had.

The cicadas were loud in the nearby trees, the dark sky decorated with stars. Though you were back down south, you’d forgotten how cool the nights could get. You tightened your sweater around you as you looked along the street. In the years past, so much had changed…but a lot had remained the same.

With a sigh, you turned to make your way back into the house. You’d been running like a train nonstop for the past 3 days, determined to completely unpack and get settled long before school started back. You wanted one less thing to worry about.

You placed your back against the door as you closed it, taking a calming breath and locking it. You closed your eyes, reminding yourself that you were safe. Your ex-husband was far away and none the wiser to your location. You had nothing to be afraid of. You chanted this to yourself until you were able to finally move away from the door.

Your modest house was so quiet, and you welcomed the silence as you made your way upstairs. The atmosphere was so peaceful, and for the first time in a long time, you could hear your own thoughts. Living with Aldrich for so long, you’d forgotten what that had felt like.

He was regularly criticizing anything he could think of, his biting words packaged in a smile that was a tad too wide. Kissing you a tad too harsh and grabbing you a tad too tight. You honestly didn’t know how you’d put up with it for so long. You were disappointed with yourself, but even more disappointed that it took a miscarriage for you to finally leave him.

It should never have come to that.

You settled into bed, somewhat uncomfortable, but only in a way that was unfamiliar to you. You were alone and safe and at peace for the first time in years. Determined to have a good night’s sleep, you pushed painful thoughts out of your mind, and vowed to make your regrets fuel your new future.

The grocer handed your bags to you with a shy smile on his face, cheeks flushing when your fingers brushed over his.

“Thanks,” you told him.

“Have a good day,” he recited, something he probably said a hundred times a day.

You left with a quiet ‘you too’ thrown over your shoulder before making your way outside. The town was filled with both familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. Sure, you’d been gone for almost 10 years, but you hadn’t expected your small town to have expanded this much in a million years.

You noticed a scratch on the side of your car when you neared it, and you took a closer look. With a huff, you looked around, but no one was parked near you and no shopping carts were close by either. Convincing yourself that it wasn’t that big of a deal, you settled into your car and placed your groceries in the passenger seat.

As you drove down the familiar street, you chuckled to yourself, recalling how you vowed to never return here. The universe had a twisted sense of humor that way because here you were, almost 10 years later, seeking sanctuary in the one place you hated most. Perhaps, in a way, this was your life lesson.

You’d been so desperate to get out of this backwards small town that you’d run off with the first man to give you the chance. How foolish you were then to think you were in love. You were just barely an adult, could hardly even be called one. Aldrich Killian was older and gorgeous and most importantly, he’d been going places.

A chance of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had placed him in your nowhere town, and you’d fallen head over heels immediately. He took to you just the same, and there was no hesitation whatsoever to run off with him to the big city. You left everything and everyone behind without a backwards glance.

He hid his true nature well. So well that it took you an entire two years into the relationship to learn about the other women. Having traveled all the way to New York on his coattails, you’d been distraught…and hurt. You may have been silly then, but not that silly.

He came home the next day to find you gone. His money made it easy for him to track you down at a friend’s place though, and the romantic in you was swayed by the sight of the powerful man on his knees, begging for your forgiveness. Surprisingly, he was true to his word, and from then on out, you were the only one.

But your relief was short-lived. You soon came to find out that these other women had something in common with the way he treated them, and with them out of the picture, you soon had that very same thing in common too.

It started out small. A raised voice here, a harsh grip there, but then he’d slapped you. Real hard too. It had left your ears ringing, and you’d been so shocked, that you didn’t see the next one coming. It became a regular occurrence, but it was always followed up by gifts and apologetic words. He’d be good for a few days, and it became easy to believe things would change. But like clockwork, the cycle repeated.

You hadn’t even known that you were pregnant when he shoved you down the stairs. You could only blink in shock when the doctor told you that you’d suffered a miscarriage. That was one of the first things you heard when you woke up inside of the hospital, and the sudden loss of something you didn’t even know you had was heartbreaking.

So when they asked for the truth, suspicion already in their eyes as they looked at the fading bruises and the fresh ones, you gave it to them without hesitation. Proving it was easy enough, and the divorce papers had been drawn up in no time, but Aldrich had money. A lot of it too.

He didn’t even do some measly community service.

You scoffed in the quiet car, hands tightening on the wheel. All of that was over now. You were back home and far away from him. Things would be different now. They had to be…

You frowned when your car started to sputter, confusion filling you as your eyes widened. You looked at the dash, and your confusion grew as you realized you were completely out of gas. A disbelieving scoff left you as you had no choice but to turn your car off. You sat back in your seat with a sigh, blinking as you realized that you had no one to call.

All of your family was gone, and all of your former friends had long left. The ones that hadn’t, the bridge had been burned long ago. Grabbing yours keys and your purse and the few grocery bags you had, you decided you’d have to walk home. It wasn’t too far of a walk. In New York, it’d be considered nothing.

It was late in the evening though, and you were sure it was going to be dark before you reached your house. You didn’t feel comfortable just leaving your car on the side of the road, but you didn’t exactly have a choice. This stretch of road was lengthy, and the thought of being out here at night made you nervous.

You squinted when red and blue reflected off of the pavement from over your shoulder. You looked over just as a police cruiser pulled up beside you. Your heart skipped a beat when the person inside turned it off and proceeded to exit the car. He curved around the front of the car, and you blinked at the full sight of him.

His blond hair was neatly pushed away from his face, and you sharply inhaled at his handsome features. He was tall, and his blue eyes were focused entirely on you as he approached you. His smile was kind, inviting even, and you were tempted to return it, but something prevented you from doing so. He reminded you of your ex-husband, and you warily eyed the way his uniform hugged him, plastered to the bands of muscle that were his arms.

“Evening, ma’am,” he greeted.

“Good evening,” you murmured.

“Was that your car I passed not too long ago?”

You looked in the direction of where you left your car before nodding.

“I…ran out of gas. Which is odd because I was sure I had over half a tank when I left home,” you told him.

He chuckled, and you frowned at him. Catching sight of your glower, he shook his head, taking a step towards you.

“I’m not laughing at you, I promise. It just seems that the punks in this town got another victim.”

He pointed in the direction of your car.

“You got yourself an older model, one that doesn’t require the gas cap to be opened from the inside. They like to steal gas from whoever they can,” he explained.

With a scoff, you realized they were still pulling that mess the teens did before you left. How silly of you to think the kids here would move onto bigger and better things. The blond before you spoke before you had the chance to.

“You live far?”

You squinted up at him, hesitating before eventually shaking your head.

“Not really…no.”

You watched as he walked to the passenger side, opening the door as he faced you.

“Let me drive you home,” he offered.

Your face pinched, wondering how to refuse. You didn’t get in the car with strangers, no matter their profession. You started to shake your head.

“It’s not that far. I can walk-.”

“It’s going to get dark soon, and you need to get those groceries in the fridge.”

He wasn’t wrong, but still, you hesitated. He threw you a crooked smile, leaning his arm on the open door now.

“I won’t be able to rest if I don’t know you made it home, so if you don’t get in, I’ll just have to ride alongside you,” he teased.

Although, you got the feeling that he was entirely serious. Reluctantly, you walked towards the cruiser.

“Okay.”

He closed the door for you as you made yourself comfortable, clicking your seatbelt into place.

“Are you really that responsible or is it just because you’re in the car with me?” he wondered with a chuckle as he sat beside you.

“Just that responsible,” you murmured as he started the car.

You gave him directions to your house, and he followed them with a hum.

“You’re new,” he suddenly said.

It was a statement, not a question, and you frowned.

“Hardly,” you said, shaking your head.

“Huh. I’ve never seen you around…”

You squirmed in your seat at his questions, and you fought with yourself. You told yourself that you were just so skittish after your ex-husband, and you told yourself to calm down. This man wasn’t him.

“I only recently moved back,” you eventually replied.

“How long you been gone?”

He took a left, and you blew out a breath.

“Almost…10 years?”

He let out a low whistle, tapping his finger on the wheel.

“No wonder. I moved to town about 6 years ago. 10 years is an awfully long time,” he noted. “What made you come back?”

“Divorce.”

He didn’t respond right away, and you could feel him eyeing you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly said.

“Don’t be,” you honestly replied.

You pointed at your house, and he pulled into the yard. You tried not to be so obvious as you hurried to get out of his car. You were halted by a hand on your arm, and you looked over at him.

“Don’t worry about your car. I’ll get some gas in it and make sure it arrives here safe and sound,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, you don’t have to-.”

“Don’t worry about it. Consider as part of my job description.”

You nodded, finally throwing him a small smile.

“Thank you…” you eyed his badge. “Officer Rogers.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Please…call me Steve.”

You simply replied with a strained smile before exiting the car. He watched you as you made your way to your door, and when you finally got it open, you waved him goodbye. He returned it, but he didn’t drive off. Not even when you closed and locked the door.

Through the window, you watched him sit there for a while, longer than you deemed necessary. Eventually, he pulled out of your yard, and you turned to put your groceries away with a frown.

“Y/N Y/L/N… I haven’t seen you in ages…”

You glanced up at the familiar voice, and your eyes widened as they connected with familiar blue ones. You blinked.

“Wanda,” you greeted in surprise. “…hi.”

She placed her hand on the chair across from you, grinning as her reddish-brown hair spilled around her shoulders.

“So you’re back,” she said.

“So I am,” you nodded. “You look great!”

“You’re one to talk. When you skipped town, you were this confused little girl who didn’t know who she was trying to be. Now you come back here and you’re like something out of every miserable husband’s wet dream,” she teased.

You scoffed at that, shaking your head.

“Hardly…”

“Still as blind as ever, I see. Are you back in the old house?” she wondered.

You shook your head.

“No. I considered it, but… It’s too painful,” you told her.

She solemnly nodded, and you perked up.

“So…do you work here?” you wondered, glancing around the impressive diner.

She smirked.

“Sort of. It’s actually kind of mine now…”

Your lips parted, and a genuine smile fell over them.

“You bought it,” you said, in awe.

“I did,” she breathed, glancing around. “I always said I would…but part of me didn’t think I’d ever do it.”

“…but you did! And it looks amazing! You actually turned this place into something worth coming to,” you complimented her.

She hummed, taking the seat in front of you as she looked around with a wistful sigh.

“This could’ve been ours, you know…”

She looked at you, and you glanced away.

“Yeah, well… I was too busy chasing dick,” you replied, and she laughed.

“You were young and in love! If I’d had an Aldrich Killian offering to whisk me away from here, I’d have done the same too.”

“…and I would have locked you away to prevent you from ruining your life,” you threw back.

Her smile fell, and her eyes dimmed a tad as she studied you.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. I’m not sure there ever was…”

There was a brief awkward silence, and she suddenly sighed.

“Was he the reason you didn’t come for the funerals?”

You didn’t reply, but there was no need to. She shook her head.

“I knew you wouldn’t just…not come. Everybody else was so convinced, but not me. I knew there had to be a good reason… Where did he drag you to anyway?”

You leaned back in your chair with a wistful smile.

“New York.”

“Was it at least fun?”

You mulled over her question before you shook your head.

“No. Aldrich…liked women,” you said with a shrug.

Wanda’s face fell at that.

“…and…when he gave those women up so I would stay, I found out that…he liked hitting women even more,” you quietly continued.

“Y/N,” she whispered, reaching across the table to take your hand.

“I’m past it…mostly. Some of us just have to learn our life lessons the hard way,” you told her with a shrug.

“Don’t say that. You loved him! That’s hardly worthy of a punishment. Sometimes, people are just shitty, and it has nothing to do with us.”

The bell over the door rang from behind you, and Wanda loudly welcomed them without even glancing up. Several voices filled the establishment, and you noted that they traveled and congregated to a table in the back corner, behind you. You heard footsteps approaching, and Wanda finally glanced up. You watched as she grinned at the newcomer.

“Steve!”

You followed her gaze, and sure enough, it was the officer from the other day. You didn’t know if he was on break or getting off of a shift, but he was still in uniform. His hands were on his hips as he looked between you two, a slow smile moving along his pink lips.

“Wanda…ma’am,” he greeted.

Wanda gestured to you.

“This is my friend-.”

“We’ve actually already met, but I never did get the pleasure of learning your name…”

You cleared your throat, feeling put on the spot as Wanda looked at you.

“Y/N,” you told him.

His smile slowly widened, and he ran his eyes over your face, drinking you in.

“Y/N,” he greeted again. “It’s nice to put a name to the face.”

You simply replied with a tense smile as you laid your arms on the table.

“Wanda, me and the rest of the crew are going to have the usual,” he told her.

“Of course! I’ll get Gwen to get right on it.”

He smiled at her.

“Thanks.”

He looked to you, blue eyes connecting with yours.

“Y/N,” he acknowledged with a nod just before leaving.

“You’re in town for five minutes and already have an admirer,” she slyly said once he was out of earshot.

“No, I’m in town for five minutes, and you’re already trying to set me up,” you corrected.

She waved you off.

“I’m just saying…he’s nice. I’m not telling you to marry the guy, but he’s a good man. As squeaky clean as they come,” she told you.

“So you’re saying that’s what I need?” you sarcastically wondered.

“I’m not saying you need anything. I just think it’d be nice for you…and he clearly likes you. Leave it to you to be back for five minutes and catch the eye of the most sought-after man in town,” she breathed. “Every woman within a 75-mile radius has been trying to bag Steve Rogers ever since he breezed into the city limits 6 years ago.”

“Well then you take him.”

“I would, but I’m happily taken. Besides, he seems to have his eye on someone else. How did you meet him anyway?”

You happily told her of your embarrassing encounter with the man that was sitting not even 5 tables away.

You watched as the tow truck pulled your car just beside the curb in front of your house. Officer Rogers and his cruiser were parked on the other side of the driveway, and the blond man leaned against the vehicle as he supervised the process. Only a few minutes later, and your car was back, and the truck was driving off as Steve waved them off.

You hugged your sweater to you as you approached him. He met you halfway, and you sent him an appreciative smile.

“Thank you,” you breathed. “You honestly didn’t have to do that. I could’ve easily put some gas in it and drove it home.”

“…but you would’ve had to walk to the gas station to fill a gas jug, and then walk to your car,” he said, shaking his head. “It was nothing, really.”

“Either way, I still feel bad. I was more than capable…”

He chuckled.

“So how do you know Wanda? You girls go way back or something?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “We were two troublemakers.”

He found that funny, maybe because Wanda was so different now. He rubbed the side of his neck, and his face slowly began to fall.

“When you told me your name, I thought it sounded familiar, you know. You’re Y/N Y/L/N…aren’t you?”

Your own visage grew solemn, and you slowly nodded.

“I’m sorry about your family. I know it happened years ago, but… I wanted to offer my condolences all the same,” he whispered.

You took a deep breath, chest clenching.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that…and for my car,” you added, trying to lighten the mood. “You really didn’t have to do that…nor drive me home that night.”

The corner of his lips quirked upwards ever so slightly, and his blue eyes sparkled.

“Well…if you’re feeling that bad about it…treat me to dinner,” he offered.

You blinked, taken off guard by his bold proposal, and your lips parted as words failed you. He ran his eyes over you as he waited for your response. You thought about Wanda’s words. She assured you that he was a good guy, and to be honest, you wanted a good guy…but not yet.

Your divorce had only been finalized a few months ago, and you really needed time to yourself. You were barely an adult when you ran off with Aldrich, and you’d spent the last decade with him. You wanted to know who you were when you weren’t with him. You owed yourself that.

“I uh…I’m flattered, really, but… I’m not really interested in anything like that for the time being,” you honestly replied.

His eyes dimmed just a bit, but the smile never wavered. You felt bad.

“I’m really sorry. Besides, it just…doesn’t seem appropriate for some reason.”

Steve sharply inhaled and nodded.

“I understand. Have a good night,” he said before taking a step back and turning to go to his car.

You sighed as you watched him go, but you knew that it was for the best. You made your way inside of your quiet house, hoping for a good night of sleep, but sleep did not easily find you.

Too many things were on your mind.

Seeing Wanda brought back so many memories that you would honestly rather forget. She reminded you of a time you spent sneaking out to meet her, idly dreaming of things you halfway hoped to accomplish. An already rocky relationship with your family that only crumbled when you took off.

You thought about how you didn’t talk to them for years, too busy following Aldrich around like a lost dog. You’d thought you had more time. You had put off what you knew you needed to do again and again. You thought the chance would always be there…until it wasn’t.

In a single night, your entire family had been ripped away from you. A car accident. Something so simple. Aldrich hadn’t even let you go to the funeral. By then, he’d grown possessive, and it wasn’t long after that he started putting his hands on you. Part of you thought he’d waited until you had no one to run to.

You sat up in bed when you heard a noise on the side of your house. You were upstairs, and the fact that it was loud enough to reach your ears worried you. Slowly, and quietly, you left your bed, creeping towards the window.

At first, you didn’t see anything and thought that you’d imagined it. However, what you thought was a part of the general darkness, moved. Your eyes widened, and you reached for your phone, immediately dialing 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

You stumbled over your address, the numbers and street name still new to you, but you shakily told her about the strange man in your yard. Your eyes didn’t leave him the entire time, and relief didn’t fill you when the silhouette eventually left.

One of the upsides to a small town was that it took no time for you to hear sirens coming from down the street. You hurriedly ran downstairs, opening the door as the cruiser pulled into your yard. Steve greeted you, and you did calm down a bit at the familiar face.

“Is he still here?” was the first thing he asked, one hand on his gun.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, placing one hand on your heart and the other on your forehead.

He briefly touched your shoulder before telling you he was going to secure the perimeter of the property. You stood in your doorway while he did so, trying, and failing, to convince yourself that you’d imagined it. After all, the worst thing to happen in your town was your family’s car accident. Strange men skulking about people’s homes was unheard of.

When Steve was done, he shook his head at you, one foot on your steps.

“It’s all clear.”

You didn’t know whether or not to be relieved.

“Are you sure it was a man? Not some animal?”

You shrugged.

“I…don’t know. I was trying to fall asleep just before so it’s possible. I’m sorry,” you apologized.

He sighed.

“It’s alright. This is my job, remember? This is what I’m here for,” he told you.

“Thank you,” you breathed. “I appreciate it, Steve.”

He paused, blue eyes connecting with yours as the corner of his lips curved upwards into a smirk.

“That’s Officer Rogers to you.”

You blinked, brows furrowing just a tad as he turned away.

“You try to get some sleep,” he threw over his shoulder.

You hurriedly closed your door as he drove away, frown deepening as you mulled over his cold behavior.

tags: @harryspet @darkficreposter @mcudarklibrary @jtargaryen18 @kellyn1604 @readermia @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @opheliadawnwalker3 @notyourtypicalrose @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @coconutqueen21 @briannab1234 @buckybarnesplumwhore

#dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #Dark Fic #cop!au #cop!steve #cop au #Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x reader

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi? Answer: Jeon Jungkook.

pairing. french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating. hybrid!au set in college. super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out. explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself. oops.

tags / warnings. honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning. but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns... the usual.

wc. 4.4k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif as always become, c’mon. i’m me. she’s her.

author note. this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii). i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy. feedback goes a long way! xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in. Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant. (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.) He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile. All the girls swoon. So do the guys. Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes. You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur. His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes. He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag. They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him. You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his. (You try not to think about it much.)

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change. It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air. Weird.

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother. Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does). “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that. Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball.

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there. Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible. But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it.

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama.

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something. Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time. Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,” he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes. His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often. Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak. Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?” Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,” you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever. But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural. You wonder why that is.

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest. Not bulky by any means, but big. Strong. Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind. It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut. “Got a problem with me standing here?”

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point). “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?” You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop. “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.” You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’. He’s cute like this, you think. Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I do?”

There’s that cheek thing again. It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin. “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,” he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright. They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable. So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours. You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine. A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.

“What’s what?” You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest. (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.) “Are you okay?” He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton. It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later. The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind. It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid. True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare.

“No I don’t.”

“You do.” Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie. The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails. “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell. He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee. It’s made up of too many moving parts: the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth. You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class. (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A. You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,” he hums, looking down at you. You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night.

“It’s not bad.” Really, it isn’t. It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another. But it isn’t unwelcome.

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar. It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars. You can practically taste it. Him.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations. It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting. Should you? Shouldn’t you? You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.

He beats you to it. “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”

You don’t think you could want anything more. “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch. The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures. There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours. It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air.

“So—” You start.

He finishes, “do you wanna go on a date with me?”

That’s surprising. (Or is it? You’re not really sure.) You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person. Something something all or nothing.

“What?”

“Do. You. Want. To—” He’s being insufferable for the hell of it. You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.

“Not if you keep that up,” you retort, though you both know you’re lying. You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him. Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning. Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You won’t get it in.”

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief. How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature?

“What do I get if I do?” The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim. He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.

“A pat on the back?” As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms. A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers. (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.) “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.” He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose. It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch. “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you. Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking. He must be joking. This is your third date.

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest. It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor.

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?” It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No. I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.” You should say no. Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news. Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.

“Is that a yes?” He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it. (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag. What comes out isn’t what you expect. “Okay.”

Damn you. Damn him. Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over. (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din. It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.

“Cool,” he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool. He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing. You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth. How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream). How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro! How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists). How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch. How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special? Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?” He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple. It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in). You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes.

“Let’s.” You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine. It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place. He takes the blue gun, you the red.

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon. “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,” you return.

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen. Neither of you mind that much though. He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.

“Kook!” Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips. “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over. Not even your second or third. You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court. You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different. You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.

“Are you hungry?” He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.

“I’m good.” You are, really. You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness. You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you.

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack. Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours. Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair. “Are you tired?”

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.

“No bed then?”

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?” You’re only teasing. A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets. (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home. He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home. “Can you blame me?”

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.” Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders. He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid. “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?” He asks, just to make you laugh.

“If you don’t shut up—”

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks. “Don’t be mad, kitten.” The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter. “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again. Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day. You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage. He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them? Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do. Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook. Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look. Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?” The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood. (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.) “Don’t ignore me,” he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,” you retort. You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest. You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay. People don’t tell him no - only you. Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.

“Sorry.”

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves. How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go. Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around. He’s impossibly big, thick and long. The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him. He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips. (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,” you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his. The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.” When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine. He’s demanding and unrelenting. It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”

“Not.” Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder. “A.” He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with. “Wookie.” Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.” It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.

His rhythm stutters. The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame. No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.

It doesn’t work. You love it anyway. Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head. You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care. You can’t. Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out. It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base. It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it. It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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akakeiiji · 4 years

Text

-`,✎ Meteor Showers and Milk Bread — Oikawa Tooru

→ synopsis: when tooru sneaks out of the palace in secret, wanting to explore and experience the city for himself, he doesn’t expect to spend the entirety of his evening with an odd, brash, and frankly rude mage but he wasn’t complaining

→ pairing: prince!oikawa tooru x fem!reader

→ genre: royalty au, fluff, angst if you squint enough

→ warnings: none (i think)

→ word count: 6.2k

→ taglist: open (just message/send me an ask!)

[ part two coming soon ]

If you’re wondering what “Planus” is, please go to google translate: Latin to English. I just thought that it was very befitting for our precious little birthday boy.

I wasn’t planning to make this a two-parter but I wasn’t able to finish this in time before Tooru’s birthday so here we are. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to finish the second part but I’ll try my best to get it out soon.

Anyway, happy birthday Tooru, I love you so much even if I do bully you a lot ♥︎

Even after all these years, it still never ceases to both amaze and perplex Tooru how unfailingly consistent the royal guards are. When he was younger, he mistook them as a hindrance to his schemes but now he was older, smarter, and eternally grateful to their unnatural punctuality and constancy, that of which turned out to make his life a whole lot easier.

He keeps his eye on the small, practically invisible peephole, peering into the dark—yet still grand—corridors from behind the large oaken doors of his bedroom. His left hand—uncharacteristically bare, devoid of any of his usual rings and other flashy accessories—was held firmly on the golden door handles, his other clenching a small, equally gold, pocket watch.

He stands in silence, the slow, monotonous ticking of his watch being the only sound filling the bedroom.

And then, just like the intricate clockwork of his watch, a pair of armor-clad guards appear from the around the corner of the hallway just as the clock struck twelve. Tooru grins at the sight, “Just on time.” He chuckles as he carelessly stuffs the watch into his cloak.

He waits not-so-patiently as he watches the guards march rigidly through the corridor. Could they be any slower? Tooru thinks to himself, his foot tapping rapidly.

Finally, after what seemed like a millennium, the guards pass by Tooru’s quarters—their eyes trained on the grand entrance to the room—unaware that he was watching them carefully.

Tooru definitely didn’t regret secretly installing the peephole. He worried about it being cursed, the witch who sold it to him seemed odd, but in the end, the trade proved to be worth it. Whether it was cursed or not was still up for discussion though.

Tooru waits for a few more seconds after the guards marched out of sight around the other end of the corridor, ensuring that they were out of earshot before beginning to twist the door handle open in a painstakingly slow pace, wincing slightly at the loud click it emitted. He opened it just enough so that he could barely squeeze through and took one last look into his bedroom.

He hoped the pile of pillows he arranged underneath his covers was enough to trick any unwanted visitors throughout the night. Though Tooru knows only one person would have the gall to suddenly barge into his quarters at such an hour and he doubts this would be enough to deceive his ever so perceptive personal attendant.

Speaking of Iwaizumi—or rather, Iwa-chan—his clothes are frankly much too large on Tooru. It must have been the result of his relentless training with the other swordsmen and guards in the palace.

He didn’t want to have to borrow (read: steal) Iwa’s clothes like this, but nothing in Tooru’s large, ever-expanding wardrobe would be inconspicuous enough to suit his needs for that night. He needed to keep a low-profile, to remain hidden and unnoticable. The complete opposite of his usual self.

After all, the Prince of Seijoh can’t be out and about meandering around the city all on his lonesome. It simply isn’t safe, it isn’t ethical, it just isn’t allowed for His Royal Highness.

Tooru can’t help but roll his eyes at the thought. He could clearly imagine all the royal advisors, attendants, and anyone of high position really, telling him all this if he gets caught during one of his many escapades to the city. He could already feel the long, drawling lecture from his parents and the cold stare of his sister who would be upset not over the fact that Tooru snuck out of the palace but because he didn’t take her with him.

No, it was one thing for the prince to sneak out but for the crown princess to so much as step foot outside the palace grounds without her cavalry of guards and mages? It was simply unimaginable.

Tooru reaches the end of the hallway. Careful to only step on the soft velvet carpet lining the marble floors as to not make any sounds, he edges towards the wall and peers around the corner. As usual, guards were stationed at every alcove of the corridor, ready to attack any and all intruders, trained to jump and pounce at any sound they hear. Which was fair, they were protecting the royal family after all. Which of whom would be fast asleep by now if they were the obedient little royal they ought to be, if they weren’t Oikawa Tooru.

It was a good thing Tooru memorized the palace as if it were the back of his hand. There was no need to bother with the guards lining the main entrance of the royal chambers when he could just use the servants' passageways.

He palms the wall blindly until he finds the one brick he had to press to reveal a small entryway on the once bare wall. He slips in before the entryway conceals itself once more.

It was admittedly an oversight made by the countless architects and engineers that designed the palace. Or maybe they just didn’t think that a royal such as Tooru would know that such passageways existed. Regardless, he didn’t care, what mattered was that he could now maneuver freely around the castle without worrying about the myriad of guards stationed all over the main hallways.

Palace surveillance was light in the servants’ quarters and areas. As Tooru nears the foot of the stairs from the maze of passageways in the castle, he could already hear the rowdy laughs and rambunctious voices of the numerous other inhabitants of the castle. It was at this hour where chambermaids, cooks, out of duty guards, and the like would be able to rest and relax, free from their usual day to day responsibilities in the castle. Tooru loved it here.

He wished he could stay but he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head and steps out from the stairwell, trying to seem as casual as he could.

Of course, nobody pays him any mind. There are hundreds of people coming and going in this area of the castle every day, Tooru was only one of very, very many. He snatches an apple from a farmer’s basket as he skips out through the back gates of the castle, one exclusively for the castles many servants and workers, a triumphant smile on his face.

When one thinks of Prince Tooru, they think grandeur, they think regalia, and such. The people of Seijoh know about his brains, his charms, and his wicked good looks, but not many have actually had the pleasure of seeing the prince with their own eyes. At least, not without knowing it was him.

No one would have expected that the boy wandering around the streets—the one with a look of pure, childlike wonder in his eyes—clad in an oversized tunic, loose pants, and a ratty cloak would be the infamous prince. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Despite the late hour, the city was still bright and bustling, shops were still open, lanterns were still lit and the streets were still lined with people, for it was the night the Planus meteor showers would grace the skies.

Tooru had been waiting for this day for years, the minute he read about them from his absurd collection of astronomy books, he knew he just had to see them for himself, only to find out that they occurred once every fifteen years. He was barely three years old the last time they appeared. Just his luck.

He had absolutely no clue why the castle wasn’t hosting a grand ball or banquet of sorts right now. There should be a celebration of some kind for such an event but no, they’d rather celebrate the birthday of some old, long deceased great-great-uncle of theirs—which was hands down, one of the dullest balls Tooru had ever attended in his life—than celebrate this.

At least the people of the city had their priorities in order; there was a three-day festival all for the meteor showers. Tooru made a mental note to tell his sister to create that day a kingdom-wide holiday when she becomes queen.

A part of Tooru is glad that there wasn’t any form of an event held that night though. It would have been virtually impossible to slip away unnoticed if that were the case and he’d never be able to witness the city in such a state.

Large golden lanterns were strung across the roads, tied to the street lights, basking the city in a warm, orange glow. Food stalls were set up in every corner selling snacks ranging from traditional sweets of the kingdom to eccentric fruits and drinks from far away countries. Jesters and wizards were performing acts and magic tricks in front of starstruck children. Crowds were gathered in the city square, where loud music was playing and people were dancing around the statue of Tooru’s great-great-grandparents, the crowd clapping along with the beat of the music—which Tooru noticed was coming from a group of instruments playing themselves, obviously the work of a skilled mage.

Tooru was clapping along with the crowd, watching the dancing couples flit gracefully around the square when a familiar scent meets his nose. His eyes tear away from the scene in front of him and finds himself staring at a small bakery, more specifically at the familiar pastries set on display by the open windows.

He bought three milk bread buns that night. Two more than he probably needed but he didn’t care. They weren’t like the ones served at the palace; the buns were smaller, denser, and not uniform in size or shape. The ones usually served at breakfast were always unnaturally consistent and identical to one another. Each one was the same size, the same shape. They were all meticulously scored giving the buns intricate designs yet even those were uniform as well.

The commoner buns were better.

Perhaps the choice of analogy could be better but Tooru thinks about how the two milk bread buns perfectly described the way he felt about the members of nobility and commoners.

Though plain, though unrefined and rudimentary, in the end, the simple milk bread buns from that little bakery down the street could beat the seemingly perfect ones at the royal palace, the ones prepared by the cavalry of specially trained cooks and staff.

Unlike the ones served at the palace, the ones he had in his hands right now were more filled with life and personality—if that even made any sense. He could tell that they were made with love, with care from the elderly couple that ran the bakery. It didn’t matter that it was flawed, not as intricately designed or made with expensive ingredients, these were loads better than any other bread the palace could have served him.

This was probably why Tooru loved being out in the city so much, devoid of his usual riches and regalia. This was also the reason why his best friend was his personal attendant instead of some other prince or noble. They were far more real than any other royal he’s met before.

Tooru is suddenly pulled away from his thoughts at the sound of yelling from afar. He follows the crowd of people who too were drawn towards the person, trying to get close enough to understand what he was trying to announce to everyone.

“—Make way! It’s starting! Everyone make way!—”

Tooru only manages to catch these words because suddenly, like a deafening canon, everyone around him starts cheering and whooping excitedly. He barely has time to react when people start clearing the middle of the roads, pushing themselves onto the sides of the brick sidewalks in a matter of a few seconds, squishing Tooru between a wall and the backs of the still cheering crowd.

Everyone was facing the cleared out road in front of them, their eyes trained at the end of the street evidently waiting for something to appear.

Tooru struggles out from in between the wall of people and the actual wall he was stuck in and walks along the streets, behind the lines of people.

“Erm—excuse me?” Tooru starts, tapping the shoulder of the nicest looking person he could spot. “What’s happening?”

The man shoots him an incredulous look, one that asked are you serious? “What’s happening? How could you not know what’s happening?”

Once it was evident that Tooru really was serious, the man chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “Not from around here, huh?”

Tooru laughs sheepishly, subconsciously tugging his hood down even more. “You could say that.”

The man goes to explain but his and Tooru’s attention were torn away when loud music began playing from the end of the street. Tooru was glad he was tall because he was able to see even from behind the crowds of people.

It was a parade. Of course, it was, how had Tooru not realized? He internally smacked himself for his momentary stupidity.

He stands on his tiptoes, trying to get a better view of the gargantuan floats coming nearer and nearer. The first one was the size of two carriages stacked on top of one another and it was designed to look like meteors were on top of them. It obviously had some sort of magic imbued in them since they were glowing brightly, basking the street with blues and purples.

Tooru has never seen anything like this before. His brown eyes are wide with amazement as he follows the floats with them, his mouth agape. He could imagine his teachers scolding him for doing so, saying it was unsightly to hang his mouth open like that.

Commoners never fail to amaze him.

The other floats were similar to the first one, though they featured different things such as jesters, mages, centaurs, and pegasi. His personal favorite was the one of a giant griffin, its wings were charmed to flap and spread out as it rolled by, blowing wind into the faces of the crowd. Tooru’s hood was blown back but he didn’t notice nor care. He could barely hear the music from the band of players marching by the floats over the screaming and oohing of the crowd but Tooru was able to catch a few words from a pair of girls in front of him.

“—Mina look! It’s the royal float!” She points her finger out to a white float from afar. Her friend giggles, trying to get a better view. “I know! The man playing Prince Tooru is so handsome.”

The what playing the what now?

Tooru follows the girl’s finger and finds himself staring at a float of the royal palace. It showed the facade of the castle, it even had the same flags perched on the rooftops, but what caught Tooru’s attention however were the four figures standing on the turrets of the float, waving at the crowd.

There were people playing as the royal family. They were dressed in luxurious robes: fur-lined cloaks, epaulettes, and gowns—though Tooru suspected that they weren’t actually made of the same material as the real ones back at home.

He saw a couple playing as his mother and father, waving politely to the crowd. They didn’t look exactly like his parents of course but they were able to find actors that looked sort of like them, which makes sense, the king and queen have made frequent public appearances in the city.

However, what really caught Tooru’s eye were the ones playing him and his sister, who unlike their parents, have never been seen by the public.

His sister was played by a woman in her twenties, dressed in a lavish pink gown his actual sister would never have even looked at, waving enthusiastically at the crowd, sending flying kisses and throwing petals towards them.

He would have laughed if he had not seen the man playing himself.

He was probably around fifteen, years younger than he was. He was smiling devilishly at everyone, winking and shooting looks at all the girls in the crowd. He had an air of pompousness around him, especially with the way he ran his hands through his curly blonde hair.

Yes, blonde. They hadn’t even gotten his hair right.

Asides from that he was waving a sword around at the sky, yelling about how he’s vanquished dozens of dragons—which Tooru has never and, frankly, will never do.

Tooru scrunches his face in disgust as he listened to this child make a fool of himself—which in turn made a fool of Tooru. He could admit, it was childish to feel so offended by this but he couldn’t help it.

He starts walking in the direction the floats were headed at, his eyes still trained at the “royal” float, wanting to hear more despite knowing how it would just irk him even more.

Tooru was even more horrified when the boy pulled out a rose and started announcing his love to a princess from Niiyama. Tooru would rather eat a toad than marry the frankly terrifying princesses of Niiyama who intimidate him to no end.

“HEY WATCH IT!”

Tooru really should have been paying attention to where he was going because before he knows it, he’s laying on the sidewalk. His hands were flat on the ground, bleeding slightly after the impact of the fall.

“Ow—ow—ow.” Tooru hisses as he stares at them. He didn’t know how he was going to explain this to Iwa tomorrow. He suddenly sees a sight much worse than his scraped hands.

“My milk bread!” Tooru cries out, staring at the two remaining buns which were tucked safely in his bag, now trampled and squashed on the street. Tooru could feel a piece of his heart breaking off at the sight.

His attention is torn away though by you, the person he ever so gracefully crashed into.

You, however, paid no mind to Tooru or the tragic loss of his milk bread. You were too busy examining a large telescope you seemed to be carrying earlier, not even caring that you were laying in the middle of the dirty street as you searched for any sign of damage on the instrument in your hands.

“Oh thank god.” You sigh in relief, realizing that it was fine and only sustained a few scratches.

“Are you alright?” Tooru asks, holding his hand out to place it on your shoulder.

You whip your head towards Tooru, the relieved expression on your face turning to one of annoyance as you glared at him. Tooru freezes.

“Yeah and no thanks to you.” You huff as you clutch the telescope protectively to your chest, veering away from his hand. Your eyes then fall on your papers and books which were now littered all over the brick sidewalk and you gasp. “My notes! Great, thanks a lot pretty boy.”

Pretty boy? Tooru retracts his hand, his bottom lip jutting out slightly, and instead goes to help you pick up the rest of your papers. He couldn’t help but stop and stare at one of the papers he grabbed. It was a star chart, not unlike the ones he sees in his astronomy books, but this one was covered in scribbles and writings. Tooru realizes that these are runes, the same one he sees the mages employed at the palace read and write.

“Hey, here are your—” Tooru says as he heaves himself up only to find you gone, the space where you were just laying on empty. He twirls around to find you running around a corner, your cloak billowing behind you.

“—notes.” He trails off, staring at the thick leatherback book and pieces of parchment in his hands. As much as Tooru wanted to just leave them on the side of the road and go buy more milk bread to replace the ones he just lost, he knew he had to return the important looking papers back to you.

Curse him and his morals.

He runs after you, turning the same corner you did to find himself staring at a small street that had stone stairs leading up along it. You only had a few seconds headstart but somehow you already made your way to the top of the stairs, turning another corner towards another street, paying no notice to Tooru’s calls.

“Good god.” Tooru sighs as he runs up the stone steps after you, beginning to question his life choices.

He continues to follow you through the winding, labyrinth-like streets of the city. The farther you two went from the city square, the fewer people there were, and the darker it became. Tooru was beginning to think he’d lose you when he suddenly turns the corner and finds himself staring at a massive, open field.

You two were at the edge of the city, on top of a large hill. Trees surrounded the field which was covered in flowers filling the area with a sweet scent.

You rush over to a patch of grass that didn’t have flowers growing all over, gingerly placing the telescope beside you and then throwing everything else to the ground with no disregard. Tooru watches from behind you, bent down, and clutching his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

You two essentially ran up dozens of flights of stairs and roads that were all uphill but you didn’t seem affected at all whilst Tooru was basically dying from exertion.

Again, curse him and his morals.

“Where is it?” You cry out as you sort through the pile of papers and books on the ground. You take out your bag and begin sifting through it, praying that you’d find that specific volume of astronomy 101 you needed for your study, but alas, it had vanished.

Your mind flashes back to the time you fell in the streets, dropping all your things and you slap your forehead in frustration. “Pretty boy!” You wailed in realization.

Perhaps you still had time, maybe you could run back and find it back at the square. Hopefully, no one had taken it and it was still there.

“Looking for something?” You whip your head back to find none other than Pretty Boy and, more importantly, your textbook in his hands.

“Did you follow me?” You gasp, getting up from your spot and walking over to Tooru, who was still heaving. You grab the book and papers from his hand and flip it open; It really was your missing textbook. You sighed in relief, placing the book against your chest.

“I’m pretty sure a thank you is in order.” Tooru quips, shooting you a look as he straightens himself. He was much taller than he seemed at first glance.

“Well, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you were actually paying attention to your surroundings.” You state as you lightly poke his chest and you turn to march back to your little spot in the field. Just like earlier, Tooru’s bottom lip juts out, one eyebrow raised.

“But thank you—I guess.” You say stiffly, looking over your shoulder a bit. Tooru’s expression immediately lights up at these words.

Much to your surprise—and annoyance—he follows after you, matching your pace so he was walking by your side, his hands clasped behind his back.

“You’re a mage, aren’t you?” He declares this more than asks really, a knowing smile resting on his lips. “No—a mage’s apprentice.” He adds quickly, correcting himself.

You glare at him, ignoring his question, as you flop back on your spot beside your books and papers. “And why are you still here, exactly?”

Tooru looks back at the city behind you two sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Multiple reasons.”

“Do tell.” You voice, setting up your telescope in front of you. “I’m ever so interested.”

Tooru ignores your blatant sarcasm and takes a seat beside you, also ignoring your groans at this action. “First things first, I have no idea how to get back to the square, I’d probably just get lost and spend the rest of the evening wandering around aimlessly.”

“Secondly,” Tooru stretches his arm up over his head and leans back onto the soft grass, his forearms cushioning his head. “I’m exhausted.”

“We didn’t even go that far.” You comment, raising an eyebrow at the male who was staring up at the sky. He gasps dramatically and turns his head towards you. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve never ran so much in my entire life, I feel like I just scaled a mountain.” He lifts a hand, his pointer finger thumb just barely touching. “My legs are this close from snapping off.”

You snort, turning your attention back to your telescope. Tooru beams, pride swelling at his chest at the fact that he made you laugh—well, sort of laugh. He turns his entire body towards you so that he’s laying on his side, his right arm extended over his head, his cheek resting on his palm.

“You never answered my question.” He starts, staring at your pile of papers and books. “You are a mage, right?”

“Well you aren’t wrong but you also aren’t right.” You respond, purposefully cryptic. Tooru rolls his eyes, deciding to just drop the subject. “Fine, don’t tell me, whatever.”

His attention is turned towards your telescope when you let out a satisfied hum as you finally finished setting it up, his eyes brightening at the instrument. He’s never used a telescope, the royal mages at the palace had them but they never allowed Tooru to use them before.

“Can I try?” You smack his hand away from the instrument, Tooru huffs rubbing the spot where you hit him. “Absolutely not, you’ll just break it.”

Tooru’s pout returns as he groans. “No, I won’t, come on I’ll be careful, just this once, please.”

“After what happened just earlier, you don’t exactly have the best track record for being careful.” You chide, pointing at the base of the telescope. “Look, it’s scratched now.”

Tooru puffs his cheeks as he stares back at you and back at the telescope again, mulling over what to say.

“Well, you aren’t the only one that was affected by the fall earlier.” Tooru begins, sighing dolefully. “I lost my precious milk bread.”

You let out the same snort from earlier. “Yeah, because milk bread is just of equal worth as a telescope.”

An indignant gasp escapes from Tooru’s lips, “Don’t belittle my milk bread.” A hand rests on his chest as he speaks. “I don’t know how I’ll ever recover.”

A silence falls between you two before you both start chuckling at the absurdity of his words. This was rare for Tooru, letting out an actually genuine laugh with a person that wasn’t Iwa or his sister.

He surprisingly feels way more at ease than he thought he would. He’s always been guarded towards strangers, always polite to them as to not offend and inflict the wrath of his advisors and personal attendant but never nice enough to blossom new friendships. He was perfectly satisfied with the people he had in his life now, he didn’t need any more than necessary.

But somehow, he found himself drawn to you and your brash attitude and sarcasm. He knew you didn’t have the slightest clue that he was the prince of the kingdom but it was still odd to be treated in such a way. The vast majority of the people at the castle would freeze and stiffen when he was near, their eyes always trained at the ground as if eye contact with him was forbidden, which it certainly was not. They’d avoid having to speak to him if they could, and if they couldn't they’d always regard him as “Your royal highness” or “Prince Tooru”.

They’d probably faint at the mere idea of calling him Pretty Boy.

This was another reason why Tooru was so close to Iwaizumi. He wasn’t afraid of him. Yes, he was the prince but he was first and foremost a person, and Iwa knew this and never walked around eggshells with him. He wished more people were like him. More like you.

Tooru watches as you peer into your telescope, scribbling rapidly on a spare piece of parchment, taking note of something Tooru couldn’t see. He whines loudly.

“Just let me try. I’ll be careful, I swear!” He pouts at you once more as he inches closer to you, shooting you his infamous puppy dog eyes but you were unperturbed. You flick his forehead causing him to fall back to his previous position, groaning in defeat.

“You’re just like the mages at the palace, they never let me—”

“Palace?”

Tooru freezes, you freeze too, shooting him a quizzical look, your quill now lax in your hand.

“As in the palace? That royal palace?” You ask, pointing at the aforementioned building which was visible even from where you two were. Tooru’s really done it now this time.

“No! I mean, yeah—I, erm—work there.” He stammers, avoiding eye contact, his thumbs fiddling around each other nervously but you pay no notice to this as you stare in awe at the glowing building. “Woah, that’s cool.”

“Not really, it’s not as great as it seems.”

“Are the royal family snobs?” You tilt your head to the side. “I don't know, I just assume they are. Most of them are.”

“All royals are snobs.” Tooru says wistfully.

You bite the inside of your cheek, you may not know him but you could tell that this was a sensitive subject for him. You decide to just drop the subject.

You instead throw yourself to your work, continuing on writing down the names of stars and movements of certain planets and such. Tooru continues on pestering you, asking you questions about what you were doing and commenting on certain things he saw in your textbooks—you gave up on telling him off for touching your stuff. He surprisingly knew a lot more than you expected for someone who wasn’t a mage.

“—which is why I believe that there is life outside of Earth. Perhaps in some other planet or something.” Tooru finishes off, he had been rambling about extraterrestrial lifeforms for the past ten minutes. “Don’t you think so too?”

You shoot him a look, ignoring his question. “Do you ever shut up, Pretty Boy?” You jeer halfheartedly, he chuckles. “Only when I want to.”

You roll your eyes as you close your book. Finally done with your assignment. All you had to do now was wait for the meteor shower. You lift your arms up, stretching after staying in one position for such a long time. Your eyes fall on the man beside you, who was staring longingly at your telescope as he bit his lip apprehensively.

He opens his mouth, no doubt ready to beg once more but you cut him off before he could. “Fine, but if you break it, I will curse you into oblivion.”

Tooru’s face lights up instantaneously, jumping up from his position in the grass and crawling to the telescope, he gingerly takes the instruments in his hands before he gives you a look which asked are you sure?

“I said it’s fine, go on before I change my mind.” You urge, waving a hand. Tooru lets out a wide grin, his eyes brimming with excitement before he peers into the telescope.

Every so often, he’d let out a small gasp or “Woah!” as he observed the night sky. Just like earlier, he’d ask you a few questions about unfamiliar stars of constellations. He reminded you of a child being in a toy store for the first time.

After some time, Tooru straightens and turns to you, a satisfied smile gracing his features. “That was amazing.”

“I’m glad you think so,” You lightly punch Tooru’s arm. “But don’t think I forgot about earlier. Telescopes are expensive, you know. I doubt you’d be able to afford a replacement.”

Tooru’s small smile doesn’t leave his lips even as he rubs his arm. How funny, a commoner telling him, a prince, that he couldn’t afford something. He remains silent though.

“Hey, what’s that on your hand?” You furrowed your eyebrows as you scooted closer to him, staring at his hands. Tooru turns it over so that his palm was face up and stares at the scapes on them with a look at that say oh I forgot about that.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” But you were already digging through your satchel, ignoring his protests. You pull out a small vial that was full of a thick red concoction.

“Okay, what is that?” Tooru says suspiciously, instinctively veering away from the potion. You roll your eyes, opening the vial. “It isn’t poison, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You hold out your free hand towards Tooru. “Just trust me, okay?” You ignored the fact that you were a total stranger and pushed on.

You hadn’t the slightest clue why you were even doing this, using an invaluable healing potion for some stranger’s minor scrapes but here you were anyway.

Tooru reluctantly slides his hand over yours and you pour a few drops of the potion onto his palms. You put the vial down beside you and begin spreading the substance over his wounds. His hand was oddly soft, as if it hadn’t done a single day of work in its life but you chose not to comment on this.

Tooru winces, the potion stinging at first before a cooling sensation instantaneously spreads on his hand. He sighs at the feeling.

“Okay, other hand.” You instruct, letting go of his right hand. Tooru follows obediently.

He stares, not at his hand on top of yours, but at your face. At your concentrated expression and the way you bit your lip as you worked, something you must do when you were focused since he saw you do it often as you worked earlier. He may or may not have been watching you.

Then he realizes it. He doesn’t even know your name.

“I never asked, what’s your—”

“Oh my god! Pretty Boy look! It’s starting!” You jump up from your seat rushing to your pile of notes, looking for a blank piece of parchment. You pull one out and stare up at the sky, writing down your observations as you did so.

Tooru whips his head around and watches the bright lights whoosh through the night sky as it basks everything in a myriad of colors, mixes of purples, blues, and greens. His eyes are as wide as saucers, his lips forming an “o” shape as he stared at the sky in awe.

He’s never seen anything as beautiful as this before in his entire life.

He turns to you, ready to jabber excitedly, only to find you frozen in place, quill and parchment forgotten on your lap as you marvel at the sight before you. Tooru decides to stay silent, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He can’t help but sneak glances towards you every now and then as the meteors flew by. He could admit, you were actually pretty when you weren’t getting annoyed at him. Okay, fine, you were actually beautiful. Especially with the way the flurry of lights shining over you, the meteors reflected on your eyes, making it seem like they were glowing in the dark.

“I have to admit something,” Tooru says when the last meteor flew past the two of you. “I lied earlier.”

“About what?”

“Well, I told you that I couldn’t go back to the square because I’d get lost,” Tooru explains, grinning slightly. “That was just an excuse, I really just wanted to stay because you seemed interesting.”

You flushed but you hoped it wasn’t obvious in the dark. You smacked him on the arm once more out of reflex. “That’s so creepy.”

A comfortable silence falls between you two as you stare at the sky, unaware that Tooru’s remained fixed towards you.

“Hey, I just realized that I don’t know your name—”

“SHITTYKAWA!”

You and Tooru jump like frightened cats at the booming voice. Thunderous stomps approach you two and before the both of you know it, Tooru was lifted onto his feet by the collar, being dragged away back to the streets by a man around your age who was yelling angrily the entire time.

You couldn’t catch everything he was saying though you caught a few phrases such as “—YOU’RE SUCH AN IDIOT—” and “—I’VE BEEN SCOURING THE STREETS FOR HOURS—”

Tooru struggled against Iwa’s grip but he wasn’t strong enough to rival his strength, he still tried though as he pleaded with Iwaizumi to let him go for a moment but it was all for naught.

When Iwa finally caved in to his best friend’s whining and pleading and let him go, he ran back up the street to the flower field to find the spot where you once were empty. The pile of books and papers, the telescope so carefully set up, and most importantly, you, had vanished in a matter of seconds.

Tooru furrowed his eyebrows together, staring at the empty field in dismay before Iwa ran back up to him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him away.

“We have to go.”

“But—”

“No, Oikawa, we have to go now.”

“But I never got her name.”

taglist: @sugarkou (hi dork, ily)

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blizzardfluffykpop · 3 years

Text

M&M’s

Summary: Need a tutor? Well, you’ve come to the right school, we have just the one for you. And he’s attractive too.

Do or Not Series

Fluff

Word Count: 2,346

Hongseok X Reader

Of all my time at school, I never thought I would need tutoring. I was an A+ student when I started failing my classes. My grades were in the trash, and I had no idea how to improve or even raise them. How do you even study? Why is college structured like this? UGH! So now here I am sitting in the Dean’s office listening to them preach about how I need to learn from this person to pass. That they won’t hold it against me if I pass because of this tutor. All I have to do is pass the exams, and if I pass. I will move up to the Sophomore year. How am I supposed to pass a class that I’m not participating? And who is this person they are setting me up with? As if to answer my question, they say, “He should be here any moment.”

Like on queue, the door opens to reveal a rather attractive guy. They expect me to be able to study next to him? Oh god, I am so screwed, even worse than I was before. Okay, (Y/n), put your game face on and act like he does not affect you. “This is your tutor, Hongseok, and Hongseok this is (Y/n). I think you two will do well together.” We exchange a polite ‘hello’. Then the Dean tells him what the expectations are for the both of us. And I cannot help but feel my anxiety spike at each time he mentions ‘study’, ‘quiz’, and ‘pass’. What happened to cruising through school? Why is it no longer easy to pass? What did I miss when I was younger?

I was missing the old school structure. That I was memorizing what they said to forget it later. Because back then, as long as I knew the basics, I could pass. It wasn't like those classes were hard either. They repeated the same things over and over. So it was easy to remember, Hongseok had explained to me at our first meeting in the library. He wanted to know why I was failing and what made me remember best. I shrugged and said, 'probably repetition and listening' I wasn't sure, but that was the best guess I had. I never thought of ways to study because I never needed to beforehand. He grinned, “I know you wouldn’t believe it, but my first year here, I didn’t study. I didn’t know how or what worked for me or how I even learned. It took me to the last semester to realize what it was. Once it clicked, it was too late, and I barely passed my exams. To make up for me failing everything else, they asked me to tutor someone.” While I couldn’t believe my ears, something in my gut told me he wasn’t lying. Thus I decided that he was my best bet to make it into my sophomore year.

The following Wednesday, we are stuck inside the library again. When we get settled in our seats, he pulls out two packages of m&m’s. “What are those for?” I ask, and he shrugs and says, “You’ll see.” I pull out my books, a pencil, and a notebook. I’m worried he will look down on me for not having any past homework or past tests. But I threw them all out in exhaustion and frustration. I couldn’t deal with that massive amount of failure. But rather than saying anything, he pulls out some flashcards and a calculator. “Let’s start with math.”

Every time I got a question right, he gave me an m&m. My stomach growled at me every time I would get something wrong and lose out on an m&m. Not that I couldn’t reach in and get one, but the m&m's are rewards for whenever I get something right. Plus, he would give me his charming smile every time I got something correct, so I strived to get them correct.

It wasn’t until we finished math and science and we were walking out together. That I noticed, he was catering to the way I learned. Repeating steps with me or asking me the questions out loud and going through the steps with me. Whether it be an example or how to fix my mistakes, my heart skips a beat as he asks to walk me home.

"So, do you like university other than this?" I shrug, "It could be better, but generally I like it. Everyone I met is kind, like my roommates Changgu and Yanan. Like you're kind and sweet, I wanna thank you for helping me out." He grins, "You're helping me out too. I don't think either of us wishes to repeat Freshman year." I laugh and agree, "What about you? Do you like it here?" He shrugs, "It's okay. I don't have a roommate, but I have quite a few friends. So it helps, plus once you know how to study, it makes it so much easier." I laugh, "Yeah,... if I ever get to that point." When we reach my dormitory I tell him, "This is my stop." As I head inside, he yells, “I’ll see you this Sunday for History and [Subject].” I yell back my agreement and walk up the stairs to my room. I thought this would drag and not want to show up. But he makes me look forward to studying with him. Throwing my finished m&m bag away, I walk to my dorm with a proud smile on my face.

Like clockwork every Wednesday and Sunday, I spend the whole afternoon studying. And he would ask me to study for little quizzes that he would give me on Thursdays. They are over everything we have ever been over together. With each test I passed, my confidence grew, and so did my feelings.

Out of all the days that I spend with him, Thursdays have to be the hardest. With each test, I take the harder they become. I feel like my soul almost leaves my body every time he grades them. How his face turns up in cute ways, trying to figure out my process. Or when I get something right, he sends me a beautiful smile or his pout when I miss a question. His faces make my heart flutter while my stomach wants to throw up from fear of failure. Between the two, I can never seem to stomach Thursdays.

While I have learned my study pattern, I still have to pass this course with him or I fail. While I’m taking a quiz, three Thursdays before my exam, he tells me. “I can already tell you that you are going to succeed with flying colors. So if you fail this quiz, take it with a grain of salt. You have to fail sometimes to succeed.” The first page was easy I knew all the answers without a problem. I rushed through them, and the next page was a little harder. When I got to the eighth page, I was starting to question whether I was studying. What does the eighth number of pi have anything to do with this course? I wish to cry as I take my best guess, which is all I can do when I reach the tenth page. I sigh in relief, it’s the last page it can’t be that hard, can it? Oh, yes, yes it can. “If you take the 4th number of the last answer. [Which I am positive I did not get right, considering that I only gave a two-digit answer to the last question]. Exponentially expand it by twenty-two. What is the number you get?” And that is the first part of the ten parted question. My brain craves a nap and a family-size bag of m&m’s.

By the time I finish the last page, I am running on one brain cell. That is running around, throwing all the files in my brain into a shredder, and giving up. How did I not know a single answer after the third page? His face is in a pout after the second page, and my heart breaks. I don’t want him to disappoint him. I should study harder to make him proud of me. I groan internally, this is going worse than I expected. “Out of thirty questions, you got seven right!” He says in a cheery tone, and my heart falls out of my body, and my soul has ascended.

“Remember what I said when you started taking the test?” I rack my brain for answers and find nothing. I shake my head 'no', and he pouts, “Aw,... Well, I said take it with a grain of salt. Maybe some quizzes are made impossible.” My jaw drops, “You did that on purpose--!” He shrugs, “Did I?” He makes me rethink what I said, and I pout and cross my arms over my chest. He hands me a pack of m&m’s, “Maybe study harder.” He winks, and I push him to the side when we get up to leave the building. “You know you passed the hardest question on the quiz, right?” My eyes nearly pop out of my head, “What?” He grins, “None of your work made sense, but in the end, you answered four on the last question, and that was the right answer.” I smile, “Sometimes taking your best guess works. Also, four happens to be the professor's favorite number, so if you aren’t sure, guess that.” My jaw drops open again as he ruffles my hair, “You did pretty well, (Y/n).” I brighten at his words and hug him. “I promise to study hard! Two more quizzes before the final test!” He laughs and hugs me back telling me, “You got this!”

It wasn’t until the last study session that I realized how much I would miss Hongseok’s presence. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and when I got to my room, I was bawling. I wanted to see him more. I wanted to be around him and get to know him more. It took me a few moments, but I realized I fell for my tutor. How could I not? When I had a tutor like Hongseok,... Based on all calculations, I have a crush on him. I wonder if he likes me back, but there is only one way to know. Do I have enough courage for that? I’m not sure. I sigh and wipe my tears, saving them for a less important day. I need to study and pass these four exams.

I spend hours studying for tomorrow, although I know my study method. It did not make studying any less boring. I missed Hongseok, who would crack a joke or grab us a snack. He made this so much easier studying five hours with him felt like two. Ugh, now five hours of studying feels like fifteen. At the sixth hour, I call it a day and pull the covers over my head, and dream of failing the exams.

When my alarm clock finally rings, I’m happy to be up and away from those horrid dreams. With a brave face, I get ready for my exam day. I check my phone and see it’s Hongseok. He texted me, “Good luck on your exams! Fighting! You got this!” I smile and text him back, ‘thank you'. I got this, I keep reiterating to myself, but I can’t help but hear the doubtful voice in the back of my head. I am taking all my exams in one instance. So that means five hours of taking four different tests. While I know all the study sessions were preparing me for this moment, I want it to be over and done with already.

Of course, none of the tests were easy they each pulled at my wit's end. I sit there for another thirty minutes waiting for them to grade my tests. Preparing myself for the worst news, I think about Hongseok’s encouragement. If he thinks I’ll pass, maybe he’s right. If it wasn’t just my grades on the line, I wouldn’t care as much. But when it comes to Hongseok, my heart is grasping at the hope that I made it above passing.

The professor looks up at me as I turn a page in my book. I set it down with a bookmark. They smile at me, “Your lowest is an 87,” I gulp, no way, “Your highest is a 99.” My brain is no longer processing words as I rush out of my seat to see my results. “Congratulations, (Y/n). You passed with flying colors.” I smile and shake their hand, thanking them, and skip out of the building. I passed. I really passed! Is this real? I'm not dreaming again, right? I pinch myself and let out a small ‘ouch’ definitely real. I skip out of the building and see someone wearing a blue sweatshirt sitting on the fountain. As I come up closer, I recognize them as Hongseok. I run up to him and hug him. He whispers, “Did you pass?” And I shake my head 'yes'. He runs his hands through my hair, “I knew you would! I’m so proud of you.” Hearing him say that my heart pounds, “Um, Hongseok,...” I pull away from him a bit, my arms still wrapped around him. He nods for me to continue, “Would you maybe,... possibly want to go on a date with me?” He smiles, “I was gonna ask you that!” We both laugh as he hands me a family-size pack of m&m's for us to share. We head over to my dorm, and that is the start of our new beginning.

While we still study together, you can find us lying on the floor while watching the tv and throwing m&m's at each other. Making different kinds of foods together, making an even bigger mess in the kitchen. So yeah, if given the opportunity, I would fail my classes all over again. If it meant I got to meet Hongseok.

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entracteofevil · 3 years

Text

Round Table Discussion with the Cover Illustrators

Entr’acte of Evil, page 142-145

--First, everyone please introduce yourselves.

Ichika: I’ve been responsible for the first cover and the illustrations for the series. My name is Ichika.

Suzunosuke: I am Suzunosuke. I normally just draw what I want to. I was able to make the cover for the second book.

You: I am You, and I was charged with the cover for this book. I’m really nervous, but I look forward to being able to do this interview with you.

--When did you all first start making illustrations?

Ichika: Since I could first remember. I don’t recall it all that clearly, but by the time I was in first year I was already drawing.

Suzunosuke: I think it was about middleschool. Apparently when I was a kid my parents were consulted by my teachers on the fact that I couldn’t actually draw pictures.

--You couldn’t draw pictures?

Suzunosuke: Even when I was made to stay behind by myself in kindergarten, the only things I drew were like little pictures of flowers on my drawing paper. It wasn’t that I was sick or anything like that, I was just a normal kid who couldn’t draw.

--I see, that’s very unexpected. What about you, You-san?

You: I don’t clearly remember when I first started drawing as a hobby, but my first picture was when I was three years old, and was a portrait of my caregiver in nursery. Back then I always wanted to use every color of crayon I had, and I guess the fact that I’m still always using rainbow colors even now just goes to show that what you learn in the cradle you carry to the grave.

Suzunosuke: I think that’s cool.

--Incidentally, when did you start making pictures related to VOCALOID?

Ichika: I think around 2007…maybe? I remember the first time I drew Miku was after listening to Yuuyu-P’s “White Season”.

Suzunosuke: I don’t remember how many years ago it was, but I feel like the first thing I drew was Kurousa-P’s “Cantarella”.

You: I listened to VOCALOID the first time in the winter of 2007, so I think it was probably around that time.

--So then, when was the first time you encountered AkunoP’s work?

Ichika: It was right after “Daughter of Evil” was posted on Piapro. I had just finished up making a PV, and when I was looking for new content on Piapro I got drawn in by the title and started listening to it.

Suzunosuke: The “Servant of Evil” was on NicoNico Douga’s rankings, and when I opened up the PV it had a tag saying to watch it after “Daughter of Evil”, so I watched them in order of “Daughter of Evil” and “Servant of Evil” for the first time.

You: Like Suzunosuke-san, probably in the autumn of 2008. The “Daughter of Evil” had a lot of buzz when it was first uploaded! I saw it in so many places with Ichika-san’s illustrations~ It feels so strange to see it having taken this form so many years later.

--Suzunosuke-san and You-san, this was the first time you’d seen a song that used Ichika-san’s illustrations, wasn’t it?

Ichika: I’m sorry for being alive…

Suzunosuke: Sorry, haha

You: Hey, hahaha

Ichika: I’m honestly really shaking here, haha

Suzunosuke: Maybe we should reply with “You’re a very wonderful person” ha ha.

-(Laughs) So what was everyone’s thoughts on the work when they saw “Daughter of Evil” and “Servant of Evil”?

Ichika: I think the imagery in it was really easy to get emotional about. I also thought it was a really interesting concept that although “Daughter of Evil” and “Servant of Evil” had a really different feel to them, they still felt like part of the same story.

Suzunosuke: All else aside I thought it was really sad, and I kept getting stuck on the fact that Allen couldn’t be saved. Still, it was because it was such a sad story that I was captivated by it. It also really made me feel the potential of the VOCALOID genre. It’s a derivative work, but also original content.

You: At the time I had thought it was really interesting and unusual to make a work with such dark fantasy elements using VOCALOID. I also really liked how catchy the tune was. It was also really impressive with all the derivative songs and fanart that got uploaded as things went on. I think it’s a work that shouldered a main pillar of the VOCALOID community in its heyday. And it’s really cool that it’s continuing to spread around the world even now.

--What image do you get of its creator, AkunoP?

Suzunosuke: Given he’s got “Akuno” (of evil) in his name, I thought he might be a scary person.

Ichika: Generally the people who do DTM have a kind of science-y image, so there’s that. And when we actually met, I remember he was a lot like that image. Though he was a bit thinner than I had imagined. Maybe if Akuno-san had shown up to our first meeting with his sunglasses look I’d answer that his image was different, haha.

You: Before I met him offline…He made a lot of romantic-type works, so I actually wondered if maybe he was a woman. When we actually met, it was apparently right after he’d changed his look, so I was a little amused to see him wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses.

--Have you all met AkunoP-san wearing sunglasses?

Suzunosuke: I actually just brushed him off because I didn’t know who he was for a second. As a fan the way he is now is probably close to his image as AkunoP, I would think.

Ichika: I also brushed him off.

You: Everybody brushed him off!

--Well that was an unexpected outcome, haha. Next, do you have a favorite AkunoP work?

Ichika: I actually really like “Clockwork Lullaby”. I prefer the quietly compelling melody and lyrics. Aside from that, I remember when I listened to “Daughter of Evil” I was really drawn to it, wondering what other kind of work he’d done, so that left a significant impression.

Suzunosuke: I think that might be “Re_Birthday”. The flow of sin and rebirth is so painfully beautiful, and I always get misty-eyed no matter how many times I listen to it.

You: Like Suzunosuke-san, I like “Re_Birthday”. I really love the music, and as for the story of it I think it’s really great it has that theme of salvation.

--I see. I had thought that Suzunosuke-san might say “Lunacy of Duke Venomania”, so that was surprising.

Suzunosuke: I could also say “Lunacy of Duke Venomania”, but I don’t want people to think I’m someone who likes erotic content, haha. But that’s also another song that I really like.

About the Novel Illustrations

--How did you feel when you heard about the “Daughter of Evil” becoming a novel?

Ichika: I was simply surprised.

Suzunosuke: I thought it was awesome.

You: I thought it was awesome for Akuno-san. I thought there must have been so many fan’s voices there, and that kind of invisible strength was deeply moving.

--Ichika-san, in the first book you did the cover illustration as well as the ones in the book itself—What was something that was hard about that?

Ichika: I’d have to say highlights.

--Highlights…! Certainly you had to do quite the interaction there… Honestly, was there any point where you were like, “I hope these editors step in dog crap”? haha

Ichika: Nah, ‘cause ever since I’ve become able to put in highlights more seriously, so I’d say it was good practice, haha.

--Suzunosuke-san, you were asked to do the cover for the second book; how was it when they approached you for that?

Suzunosuke: I had thought for sure that they were going to have me just do a pinup on the inside of the book, so then I was kind of like, “Now what?” The others who’ve been involved in it are such amazing illustrators, so I wondered if I’d be good enough for it.

--Was there anything you had trouble with?

Suzunosuke: Drawing the two of them to be just adorable was a little hard.

--I understand you had a bit of revision going on…?

Suzunosuke: Oh no, I saw that as being good training in a lot of ways, so even now it’s a good memory for me.

--You-san, you’ve been asked to do a lot of color illustrations each time, and in this guidebook you were entrusted with the cover illustration. How did you feel after finishing your work?

You: I really like doing the pinups, and I’ll generally paint them as I like, but I dealt with the cover with some different feelings in mind. As a fan I thought that Ichika-san would be given preference for sure. And I’ve refined on my composition a bit looking over past work. I wanted to emulate the flow of things up to now, so like Suzunosuke-san’s work I made it very horizontal.

--Who are some characters that were fun for you to draw in this novel series?

Ichika: All the characters are fun to draw, but if you’re gonna make me choose I’d say Elluka…I had this sense of security while drawing her, like it wasn’t an issue if I made her look a little bit like a villain.

Suzunosuke: I’ve only drawn two characters, so that would be the harmonius Clarith and Michaela. That pair so really cute, so I like them a lot.

--Suzunosuke-san, are there any characters that you would like to draw?

Suzunosuke: I love old man figures, so I’m a bit intrigued by Leonhart. Though I know that’s probably not what you were looking for, haha.

Ichika: (after half a second) It is!

Suzunosuke: Yay, haha

--You-san, you’ve probably drawn all of the main characters at this point; are there any that you’re fond of?

You: Everyone’s fun with how cute they are. I think Riliane-chan is really precious with how her hair is done up. And then there’s the princely Kyle-san—for some reason I’m always grinning when I draw him.

--Please tell us the impressions you were left with as the story has developed.

Ichika: I wasn’t expecting the romantic love between Michaela and Clarith, so that surprised me a bit.

Suzunosuke: I was actually really surprised that the base for Michaela and Gumillia’s appearances were those characters in those other songs.

You: I was also surprised at Michaela and Clarith. I felt the books complemented the content that wasn’t expanded on in the songs, which made them have a lot of interesting points. I think it’s also pretty great that I can now listen to the songs with a fresh perspective.

--Conclusively, how do you think the story will develop in the third book?

Ichika: I think Kyle’s mom is gonna be the final boss.

Suzunosuke: Hmm, I think all of the countries might get wrapped up in the fires of war. All the preliminary announcements have a pretty foreboding feeling to them.

You: All will go according to the will of god (AkunoP).

--Please let us know any final thoughts you have.

Ichika: Thanks for having me here. I don’t know yet how the third book is going to go, but I look forward to being able to go through the novels again with you.

Suzunosuke: I’d be really happy if I could be with you on the sidelines. This interview has been great!

You: I’m really happy to be linked to this series and involved in the work in this way. Thank you very much!

--Thank you very much for joining us everyone!

directory

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polaroid15 · 3 years

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New fic :)

Hey everyone! Hope you’re having a great Sunday :) <3 Here’s a short little attempt at humor.. hope you enjoy!

Summary: Movie night ends just as well as anyone would expect: with Peter passed out on the floor and Tony sidestepping a Parker-induced heart attack like clockwork.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054818

“I’m not wearing a Spider-Man band-aid, Mr. Stark. It’s conceded.”

Tony sighs. They’re sitting side by side on the edge of the bathtub, a blood stained cloth forgotten at their feet. Tony is holding a small box of colorful bandages loosely in his hand. “But you’re bleeding-”

“Not for long! Probably.”

“Oh my God.”

“Is there an Iron-Man one?”

Peter smiles at him with an attitude of mischievousness that Tony has become much too acquainted with. He’s holding his hand between them where a modest cut in his palm still sluggishly bleeds. For the past couple hours they had been working with sheet metal in the lab. Neither had managed to leave unscathed.

Tony hesitates. It’s enough. “There is,” Peter gasps. “I mean, of course there is. You’re Iron-Man.” Taking the box from Tony’s hand he fishes around until he finds one decorated in red and gold and holds it out victoriously. “Ah-hah!”

“You’re an idiot,” Tony says, snatching it away. “Let me do it.”

He peels off the plastic and smoothes the band-aid gently over Peter’s skin. He knows the wound will be gone by morning but seeing the cut covered and cared for calms some distant part of him he refuses to ponder too deeply. When he looks up Peter is holding the discarded Spider-Man bandage Tony had set against the tub. “You’re bleeding too, you know.”

Tony rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother fighting it. Soon enough he has a matching band-aid wrapped around his thumb where the sharp metal had cut into him and another on the skin under his pinky.

Something in his chest warms. It feels like a physical weight.

“There. Happy?”

“Yep,” Peter nods. “All better now.”

“Good Lord.”

They both stand. Tony watches fondly as Peter cleans up after them and they leave the room together, Tony flicking off the light behind them. They wander back to the kitchen, Peter in the lead, and find Happy and May standing closely together with a bag of takeout at their feet. Tony can smell it from where he stands and feels his mouth water. He realizes only now that he and Peter had worked through lunch again.

Peter lights up when he sees May and rushes forward to pull her into a half hug. Tony watches as he flexes his hand in front of her face to show off his new Iron-Man band-aid. She ruffles his hair and cuts a soft look in Tony’s direction. Happy laughs.

“We still on for a movie or what?”

“Yes!” Peter catapults himself over the back of the couch like a gymnast and lands gracefully in his usual spot. He looks back at them expectedly. “Whose turn is it to pick?”

“Happy,” May says.

“Oh no.” Peter drops his head into his hands and moans dramatically into his palms.

Happy crosses his arms, looking mildly offended. “What?”

“Look, Hap. I value our friendship. I really do- but you choose terrible movies,” Tony says.

“The worst,” Peter agrees.

May snorts with laughter but doesn’t disagree. She settles herself down on the couch on Peter’s left and kicks up her feet on the coffee table. Tony follows suit, sitting closely on Peter’s right with the same warmth in his chest from the bathroom.

It’s nice.

“This one will be good,” Happy promises. FRIDAY dims the lights in the room and the glare of the TV bathes them in an artificial glow. It glints off May’s glasses as he scrolls through a list of titles and ends on one called ‘The Deep Blue’. Everyone groans.

“Oh God,” Tony complains. “Is this a shark movie? Please tell me it’s not.”

“What does it look like?”

“Shark movies are always terrible,” Peter says.

“Shut up. It’s starting.”

Tony smiles and feels the couch move as Peter nestles further into the cushions beside him. May passes around the takeout and Tony relaxes as the warmth from his box seeps into his sore fingers. It reminds him of the Spider-Man band-aids on his hands and his smile widens without warning. He savours the feeling and uses his chopsticks to pull out a piece of ginger beef.

“That shark looks so fake,” Peter decides half way through the movie. “Why are they even scared of it?”

Happy just rolls his eyes.

Choking back a laugh for the upteenth time that night, Tony tries his best to refocus on the scene playing out in front of him. The main character, an unwise blond girl in a lifeguard’s uniform, stands on the edge of her boat and braces herself to jump into the shark infested water. Shrill, suspenseful music fills the room and Peter suddenly straightens, placing his takeout box on the table in front of them.

A piece of lemon chicken halfway to her mouth, May pauses, eyes widening with some great realization. “Oh, God Peter. Please don’t. Not again.”

Before Tony can ask what she means, the character on the screen plunges into the water. As soon as the camera shows their head underwater Peter takes in a deep lungful of air and holds it in his chest, looking determinedly towards the screen.

Both Tony and Happy share significant looks of confusion. “What the hell is he doing?”

May crosses her legs and sighs deeply, picking back around at her food. “He’s holding his breath.”

“Well, obviously. But why?”

“He likes to test how accurate the movie is. Or if he can outlast the characters. Who knows.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Tony looks at Peter in exasperation. The boy’s cheeks are bulging with air, eyes strained but nevertheless giving them an enthusiastic thumbs up. On the screen, the character swims furiously down towards the ocean floor, kicking wildly. The shark’s shadow looms in the distance.

With every passing second Tony’s anxiety spikes. Peter’s lips remain pressed together despite the increasingly red flush in his face. “Come on, kid this is dumb. Even for you. Just breathe!”

Shaking his head stubbornly, Peter stares onward. Creases form on his forehead and he slaps a hand against his chest as if to keep it from expanding.

“Just let him do his thing,” May says loosely. “You know how he is.”

Tony looks between them and the screen, lost in the seeming normalcy of the situation. The Chinese food churns in his stomach. “She’s not even close to the surface! This is ridiculous!”

Peter grips onto the edge of the couch with his free hand, looking woozy. Tony’s eyes widen and he brings his hands up cautiously in morbid preparation. “Kid! Okay that’s enough. Tap out. Stop it right now!”

He hates how parental he sounds. He can’t help it.

Peter shakes his head again, his resolve visibly weaker. Tony feels his pulse spike as Peter sways against the pillows, his brown eyes squinting at the screen as if from a great distance.

“Peter Benjamin Parker!”

The kid’s eyes flutter and all of Tony’s nerves drop down into his toes.

“Kid!”

May yells in surprise and Happy drops his takeout as Peter pitches forward. Acting purely out of instinct Tony lunges out and just manages to wrap his arms around Peter’s chest before he knocks his head against the coffee table. The kid is dead weight in his arms and Tony’s own breath is stolen as he slides both of them to the floor, rolling Peter onto his back. His head lolls limply with the movement and Tony’s stomach does a series of Olympic-level backflips.

“Peter!” He feels dizzy as he taps on Peter’s face. The boy’s chest is rising and falling evenly but it does little to relieve the sudden pressure in Tony’s head. “Wake up!”

At first, nothing happens. Tony is distantly aware of Happy and May standing behind him and saying words that don’t quite make it through the static in his head. All he can see is his kid stretched out on the carpet, unresponsive and jaw hanging open. The suspenseful music from the TV still booms around them. It would’ve been funny if he weren’t so goddamn scared.

He’s way too old for this.

And he has heart problems.

“Underoos!”

He taps on Peter’s face again. This time, miraculously, his eyes squint open.

Tony collapses in relief, catching himself with his forearm against the coffee table as the room spins around him. “Thank God.”

“He lives!” Happy declares monotonously.

Peter’s eyes separate further, full of confusion. He tilts his head to look at the floor, the couch, then up to the TV. The character is still underwater and after a moment of delay Peter begins to laugh. It echoes against Tony’s ears and he slowly loses the will to live. “Wow. This movie sucks, Happy.”

Somehow the comment breaks past Tony’s few remaining brain cells and before he can understand it, they’re all laughing. May has tears on her face and Peter clutches at his side, still laying on the floor and bathed in blue light against Tony’s lap.

After a moment Tony finds it within himself to sober up. He ends his laugh in a choke and he pulls Peter up to lean against the couch. The boy struggles to follow Tony’s movement and sags against the cushions, looking tired and dizzy but still smiling like an idiot. “You’re literally going to be the death of me kiddo,” he says seriously. “I mean, you do a lot of dumb things but this has got to take the cake-”

“Don’ worry,” Peter breathes lightly. He holds up a shaky hand for Tony to see. “We got band-aids.”

Tony blinks emptily as Peter’s smile widens. “I need a drink.”

#i should be studying for my finals but here we are #irondad #spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #crack!fic #fluff #peter is an idiot and tony is stressed #marvel #mcu #fanfic #irondad fic #myfic

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sheps-shepherd · 4 years

Text

Title: Perfectly Perfect

Pairing: Mikleo/Sorey; Mikleo & Sorey

Rating: T (for non-explicitly implied sexual content)

Written for @sormikweek 2020 Day 8: New Moon - New beginnings; Blank page / El Nath - Neutrality for good or evil; Symbolically called the Shepherd

A/N: This is by far my favorite piece that I wrote for the entire week. It's also the piece that started the whole idea to use this week to expand this universe that I'm really excited to build on and share. Expect not only the rest of the week's prompts, but many more independent works from this world.

"This world" being a BBC Merlin AU in which magic is illegal, Mikleo is a sorcerer hiding who he is, and Sorey is a prince living his best sunshine life. In case you haven't heard that spiel already.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

---

“What if I changed my name?”

Mikleo turned from the spellbook he was reading with a smile on his lips, sure that Sorey would greet him with a matching one. But Sorey wasn’t even looking at him, let alone smiling. He was standing by the window, arm braced against the stone wall above it, staring out into the courtyard with a shadowed look on his face. Mikleo’s smile faded. He’d been catching Sorey with that kind of look on his face more often these days than he liked.

“Where did that come from?” Sorey offered a half-hearted shrug and stayed silent. Mikleo didn’t buy it for a second. He closed the book and stood from his spot, crossing over to the other side of the window. “Is this about the coronation tomorrow?” Sorey winced like he’d been hit, which was as good as an admission in Mikleo’s eyes. “Sorey, it’s okay to be nervous-”

“That’s not it,” Sorey said, shaking his head insistently. “It’s not nerves.”

“Then why have you been thinking about changing your name?”

Sorey’s jaw worked like he was wrestling with the words inside his mouth. Mikleo waited patiently, leaning against the wall as he watched his prince.

King, Mikleo mentally corrected himself. Today was the last day that Sorey would be a prince. Although, in Mikleo’s opinion, Sorey had been a king for a long while already; it just hadn’t been official until now.

“Because I don’t think I can do it.” Mikleo opened his mouth, ready with another protest. But Sorey finally turned to look at him, and the shadows hiding in the green of his eyes made him pause.

Sorey finished, “I don’t think I can take the crown if I still have his name.”

“Sharing his name doesn’t mean anything. You couldn’t be more different than him.”

“I know that. I know that, but….” Sorey squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. “Mikleo, I can’t stop thinking about it. And if I can’t stop thinking about it, then how can I expect anyone else to?”

Mikleo reached out, placing his hand on Sorey’s shoulder as gently as he could. The muscle beneath his palm was taut with what he now understood was several days worth of stress and anxiety - this had been on Sorey’s mind for a while, probably ever since Velvet’s abdication.

No. Probably longer than that.

“You’re not Artorius, Sorey,” Mikleo said. The name tasted vile on his lips, and hearing it made Sorey flinch again. “You could never be. The darkness in him didn’t come from his name. It doesn’t work like that.”

“But that’s what I’m talking about,” Sorey argued weakly, cracking his eyes open and peeking back over at him. “It feels like that, doesn’t it? It’s like it’s a curse now. No one wants to say it. No one wants to hear it, and I’m supposed to accept his crown in front of the entire kingdom like I don’t know that’s what everyone watching will be thinking?” He pushed himself away from the wall, away from Mikleo. His hand went up to tangle in his hair. “I won’t do that, Mikleo. I can’t.”

“Sorey,” Mikleo said, as calmly as he could with his heart racing so frantically in his chest. “This is your destiny. You accepting the crown tomorrow was the only thing in Camlann’s history ever meant to be set in stone. And no, not everyone is going to understand that, but you will. You do.”

“But what does knowing that change? That becoming king of the kingdom Arthur broke should make me feel good? That doing it with his name should make me feel proud? Because I don’t feel anything but afraid.” Sorey raked his fingers the rest of the way through his hair, the strands sticking out wildly in their wake. Mikleo had always poked fun about how Sorey’s hair seemed to constantly look some semblance of messy, but there was nothing charming about seeing it that way now. “Arthur wasn’t even my real father, but I’m still destined to get stuck with all his mistakes? I know destiny means a lot to you, Mikleo, but that doesn’t solve anything.”

Mikleo’s magic stirred in his chest. It trembled in the anxious atmosphere that had filled the room like it understood it had become a topic of their conversation. No one knew the burdens that came with destiny as much as Mikleo did. Not even Sorey.

His magic strained against his fingertips. He knew what it wanted to do. He let it.

“You aren’t destined to be stuck with any of Artorius’ mistakes.” Mikleo looked back to the window and felt his magic rush out of him. The latch clicked and the window pane creaked open on purposely rusty hinges. A gust of wind flew into the room, buoyed by the sweep of his magic as Mikleo focused back on his king.

As he expected, Sorey’s eyes were wide; he still got starstruck every time he saw Mikleo’s eyes flash amethyst, even though he’d seen it plenty of times at this point. The breeze blew through Sorey’s hair, righting the strands that had been tousled in his frustrated pulling, circling around his head like a halo until it deemed every piece in its place. It sent his earrings fluttering across his cheeks as it swept down towards his shoulders and dispersed with a flutter of his sleeves. Sorey still stared at him, wonder replacing the shadows that had haunted his eyes. Mikleo stared back.

“You’re destined to fix them.”

Sorey - who was Mikleo’s destiny, and always would be - blinked slowly. Mikleo watched the anxiety bleed out of him, watched as his shoulders dropped and his fingers uncurled and his face softened. He suddenly looked exhausted, but it was better than seeing him look so hopeless.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, okay, that was what I needed to hear. Thanks, Mikleo.” He brought a hand back to his face and rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

That sounded more like the Sorey he knew. “Don’t apologize. If anything, I wish you had dumped this on me sooner.” He crossed the room again, and this time Sorey was there to greet him with a hand at his waist and a sheepish smile. “But I should have realized this wasn’t as easy on you as you were making it seem, so I’m sorry.”

Sorey opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again, like he had changed his mind about what it was he wanted to say. “It’s not easy,” he admitted finally, and Mikleo was sure he’d scrapped some kind of I’m fine, don’t worry about me speech. “It’s… been a lot to process. And sometimes it feels like I don’t have enough time to go through it all.”

“You don’t have to go through it all right now,” Mikleo said. “And you don’t have to go through it by yourself, either.” He placed his hand on Sorey’s arm, squeezing carefully. “I know Velvet’s leaving, and I’m not her, but-”

“I don’t want you to be like Velvet.” Sorey reached up to press his other hand against Mikleo’s cheek. “I want you to be you. Who else is going to tell me when I’m in over my head or being too dumb?”

“Velvet, but I see your point.” And his Sorey really was here again, because he threw his head back and laughed. A full, rich sound that made Mikleo think of sunshine - or maybe there were just things about Sorey that still left him starstruck, regardless of how many times he’d seen them. “As long as you’re okay with me taking up that mantle,” he continued once the other’s laughter died down, “I suppose that settles that.”

“I’m more than okay with it.” Sorey cocked his head then, staring at Mikleo with a fond grin on his face. “Sometimes thinking about all the destiny stuff makes my head spin, but I know it’s not all bad. After all, destiny brought me you….” His green eyes sparkled with mischief as he snuck his thumb beneath Mikleo’s fringe of hair, tracing across the skin of his forehead right beneath where his circlet rested. “...Luzrov Rulay.”

Like clockwork, Mikleo’s magic rose to the call. It swirled wildly in his chest, an involuntary spark that shot through his bones. The feeling wasn’t as alarming to him now as it had been when he was young with no idea of where it was coming from, which had resulted in his mother gifting him the circlet in the first place. Mikleo hadn’t felt that terrifying slipping feeling again until he met Sorey, although he eventually realized it wasn’t a rebelling of his magic, but instead an answer. The tampering enchantment he wore did nothing to block Sorey’s voice if he called, and Mikleo’s magic would never ignore their king. It pulsed in his palms, spiked aches in his knuckles on its way down to his fingertips, and then Mikleo felt the tell-tale rush that came with the beginning of a spell.

The window pane swung back and closed itself. The latch clicked. The drapes drew themselves shut with just enough of an opening for a sliver of light to keep the room dimly lit. But Mikleo still saw the stars that twinkled to life in Sorey’s eyes, also like clockwork as his own eyes flickered back to amethyst.

Sorey’s thumb moved again, now tracing a gentle path below his eye, watching intently for the moment the amethyst faded back to his natural blue. “There we go,” he murmured, and his magic sang from the praise as it settled back into his blood where it belonged.

Which then shot up to Mikleo’s face and burned his cheeks. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“You know that I hate it when you use magic around me when I can’t fully appreciate it. It was only fair.”

“I was just trying to remind you.” He cleared his throat. “Which it seems I did.”

“You did.” Sorey’s other hand came up, and he tipped Mikleo’s head back as he properly cupped his face. “You definitely did.”

Sorey kissed him, and his magic simmered happily. It was all Mikleo could do to hold onto Sorey’s arms as he leaned into him, all warmth and comfort as Sorey thanked him in his own way.

Mikleo let him take his fill, felt his head begin to get that floaty feeling that came with Sorey’s more intense kisses; the kind of kisses they shared when they were alone that often built into something more, which were finally becoming more common between them, much to Mikleo’s delight. But when he felt one of Sorey’s hands leave his cheek in favor of moving down to press against the small of his back, Mikleo reluctantly twisted his face away, and brought his own hand up to keep the other at bay when he tried to follow.

“Wait,” he said, and Sorey’s pout was immediate. Mikleo pointedly ignored how cute it made him look. “The name thing. You need to tell me more about that first, before we get distracted.”

Sorey blinked. “Oh. That.” His brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that wasn’t supposed to spiral into what it did. I really did just want your opinion.” His fingers flexed nervously at the small of Mikleo’s back. “So, what do you think? About maybe changing my name?”

“I think the question you should be asking me,” Mikleo answered, “is what I think of whatever name you’ve already picked out.”

Sorey was surprised enough to take a step back, and Mikleo rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Sorey, I’m not stupid. You wouldn’t have brought it up to me at all if you hadn’t gotten that far with it.” The pout returned. Mikleo ran his hands up Sorey’s arms, settling on his shoulders where he gave him a light shake. “Come on, tell me.”

“I really can’t get anything past you, can I?” Sorey sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I thought about just taking Velvet’s name. I mean, it would have made sense. The Crowe family is technically the one that should be on the throne. But.... I didn’t like the way that made me feel either. I’m not really Velvet’s brother any more than I was Arthur’s son.”

Mikleo opened his mouth, but the hand on his cheek shifted to cover it before he could speak. “And I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Sorey hurried on. “I just mean I think I’m finally ready to make my own name. I don’t want to be defined by Velvet any more than I do Arthur. I think it’s time I finally start just being Sorey, don’t you think?”

He took his hand away, dropping it awkwardly onto the bend of Mikleo’s elbow. Sorey stared at him with the most hopeful look Mikleo had ever seen on his face, and he didn’t know if it was possible to fall in love with someone twice, but their relationship had braved greater unknowns than that.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I do.”

The smile that split across Sorey’s face put the sun itself to shame.

“I like Shepherd,” he said, voice quiet like it was taking everything he had not to burst with excitement. “I thought it fit nice. I came from something simple, just like all the people I’ll be leading. I want them to know that.”

Mikleo nodded as his eyes stung with pride. Hearing that made him prouder than any ancient script of destiny ever could. His destiny was to make sure Sorey took the crown tomorrow, but Sorey made himself worthy of it all on his own.

“Sorey Shepherd.” It was like magic, sizzling on his tongue. “I like it, too. It’s perfect.”

You’re perfect, Mikleo didn’t say. Sorey looked happy enough to cry without hearing that part.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re right; it suits you.”

The pressure that suddenly appeared at the small of his back told him what Sorey’s next move was going to be, and he held up his hand again before Sorey could swoop back in. “But,” he chimed, maybe just a little teasingly as he watched impatience paint Sorey’s face, “to answer your original question, I think the whole thing’s a great idea. You of all people deserve a new beginning.”

Sorey smiled at him, something softer and more tender but just as warm. It matched the way he cradled Mikleo’s face. “You’re my new beginning,” he murmured. “You always were. You always will be.”

And while Mikleo would normally shove him for saying something so horribly cheesy, he let Sorey have that one. He wouldn’t have been able to stop the stupid smile that spread across his own face anyway.

Sorey’s fingers twitched against his cheek. “If there’s anything else from that spiel you want to talk about, you should say it now. Because once I kiss you again, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

Mikleo shook his head with absolutely nothing but fondness. He glanced over Sorey’s shoulder, eyeing the lock on his bedroom door, and his magic rushed to do his bidding. He heard the heavy click a moment later. The drapes were next with a glance over Sorey’s other shoulder, the sliver of light vanishing and shrouding them in darkness - but only for as long as it took Mikleo to light the candles on the walls.

The flickering flames sent shadows dancing across Sorey’s face, and Mikleo took a moment to appreciate the way he looked, just like he knew Sorey was doing as he felt his magic curl within him once more.

“No,” he answered, belatedly. “You can kiss me again.”

And Sorey, his sweet and shining king, was true to his word.

The next morning, His Majesty Sorey Shepherd of Camlann was formally sworn to the throne. The crown glittered where it nestled in his brown hair, caught by the sunlight streaming in through the windows as he stood on the dais, surrounded by his people. Rose and Zaveid were the ones who started the chant, passing it along to Velvet and Alisha and soon to everyone in the room. But Mikleo whispered his piece to himself, and his magic glowed with understanding. They would do everything they could with every bit of power they had to make sure the wish was fulfilled.

Long live the king.

#talesoffanfic #sormikweek2020 #sormik #sorey #mikleo #merlin au #tales of zestiria

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ladyherenya · 4 years

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Books read in April

I probably spent more time reading but I also read a handful of novellas and a couple of children’s novels, which means I read more books than usual.

Many of these were, if not outright retellings, than heading close to that sort of territory: faeries and fairytales, Sherlock Holmes, Jane Austen, and Norse gods...

Favourite cover: Masque, maybe.

Reread: Nothing, too busy reading new things...

Still reading: Cinder by Marissa Meyer.

Next up: There’s a new Murderbot novel out in early May!!!

(Longer reviews and ratings are on LibraryThing and Dreamwidth.)

The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams (narrated by the author): Adams’ descriptions are clever and unexpected, and he strings together a series of events even more bizarre and unexpected than his descriptions. Sometimes I felt exhausted on behalf of his poor protagonists, bounced from one mishap to another, but I was impressed by Adams’ ability to turn this madness into such a coherent story.

Flamebringer by Elle Katharine White: A solid, tense conclusion to Heartstone and Dragonshadow. However, I suspect it would have made more of an impact had I read the first two books recently. It assumes that the reader remembers more worldbuilding details -- about history and family connections and magical folk -- than I did. And because I found such details confusing, I didn’t pay close attention to some of the history and politics revealed in this book, and those things turned out to be unexpectedly important. A trilogy in much need of a glossary.

Hamster Princess: Harriet the Invincible by Ursula Vernon (aka T. Kingfisher): A very amusing take on ‘Sleeping Beauty’. Upon learning of her curse, Harriet accurately concludes that she must be invincible until it strikes -- and when the time arrives, she’s determined to avoid falling into an enchanted sleep. This is heavily-illustrated. The pictures are great, but were often awkwardly displayed in the Libby e-book.

The Art of Theft by Sherry Thomas: More of a heist story than a murder mystery, which may explain why I found it less compelling than The Hollow of Fear, although admittedly, it has its suspenseful sequences. Thomas does some interesting things in expanding her portrayal of the era as well as Mrs Watson’s story, taking Charlotte Holmes and her trusted associates to France on a mission along with someone from Mrs Watson’s past. I liked that Livia gets to play a more active role in those adventures. But I expected to like this more.

Love Lettering by Kate Clayborn: Meg is desperate for inspiration and company. She comes up with a project, looking for hand-lettered signs around New York, and invites along a former client -- who has turned up to question Meg about the hidden message in the wedding program she designed for him and his ex. A story about signs, secrets and the importance of having difficult conversations. I liked how those themes are explored in different areas of Meg’s life: making an effort to get to know Reid, setting boundaries with a new client, and trying to stop her best friend from drifting away.

Once Upon a Marigold by Jean Ferris (narrated by Carrington MacDuffie): Christian was brought up in a cave by Edric the troll, who discovered Chris hiding in the forest. Now Chris is in love with the princess Marigold, with whom he has exchanged letters carried by pigeon but has never met. If I had discovered this in 2002 when it was first published, I suspect I’d have been delighted by its gentle, whimsical, almost-fairytale-ness. These days I tend to want more complexity and more emotion and, often, more critical engagement with the genre’s tropes. But this was still pleasant company while I did a few hours of housework.

The Shards of a Broken Sword novella trilogy by W.R. Gingell:

Twelve Days of Faery: King Markon’s son appears to be afflicted by a strange curse, because accidents and misadventure befalls any girl the prince flirts with. When an enchantress offers to deal with the curse in exchange for the expected reward of the prince’s hand in marriage, Markon gets swept up in her investigation. This is so much fun. I liked the way it focuses on a middle-aged father, rather than any of the more usual candidates for this sort of story, like his son or any of the young women affected by the curse. And I enjoyed Althea’s confidence and practical competence.

Fire in the Blood: Another story interested in twisting fairytale tropes. A prince sets out to rescue a princess from a tower, but neither of them are the protagonist -- that’s Rafiq, the prince’s enslaved dragon, forced into human-form. Rafiq has been dragged along on this quest and quietly hopes that his vicious master will fail to unravel the tower keep’s protections. I enjoyed this. The tower keep, with its magical puzzles, was an intriguing setting, and it was rather satisfying to see Rafiq and the princess’s serving girl subtly undermine the prince’s efforts without drawing his ire.

The First Chill of Autumn: The first two standalone and take place over a few days. This does not. It begins with Princess Dion’s childhood. At seventeen, Dion is sent on a tour of her country and discovers the truth about the Fae’s influence. She ends up joining forces with characters from the previous books. I liked each of these sections. However, this could easily have been expanded into something novel-length and been stronger for it. If more time had been given to Dion’s relationships -- with her sister, Barric and Padraig, and maybe her parents -- the ending would have made more of an emotional impact.

“A Tale of Carmine and Fancy”: This short story takes place during The First Chill of Autumn. I didn’t care about Carmine one way or another when he turned up in the trilogy, so I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this.

A Posse of Princesses by Sherwood Smith (narrated by Emma Galvin): Sixteen year old Rhis is one of many princesses invited to attend festivities held in honour of a crown prince. My first impression -- a nice-but-unremarkable story with an irritating audiobook narrator -- quickly changed. I got used to the narrator’s voice. I really appreciate Smith’s portrayal of social interactions and of group dynamics from the perspective of someone who is trying to understand why others are competing for attention. And once the plot took off, I was hooked. I have mixed feelings about the very end but that didn’t change how much I liked the rest of the story.

The Two Monarchies sequence by W.R. Gingell:

Clockwork Magician: Several years after Blackfoot, Peter starts at university. Because Peter ends up messing around with time-travel, there are scenes from his future in the previous books. It’s interesting getting those moments from Peter’s perspective and fitting the puzzle pieces of his story together. I also felt invested in Peter’s journey even though he spends a lot of time being arrogant and oblivious, because I knew that there must be a significant change up ahead. The way his dawning realisation is handled was unexpectedly satisfying. I also enjoyed seeing more of Poly and Luck, and getting to know Glenna.

Masque: A murder mystery which turns into a Beauty and the Beast retelling. Lady Isabella Farrah is determined to investigate after a friend is killed at the Ambassador’s Grand Ball, even if doing so annoys the official investigator, the masked Lord Pecus. Isabella is excellent company. She’s quick-witted, resourceful and uncowed. I really enjoyed watching her banter and meddle. The Beauty and the Beast elements are cleverly woven into the story, and even without the murder investigation, there’s enough to make it a unique take on an old tale. A delightful standalone companion to this series.

Frankly in Love by David Yoon: Frank Li has watched his parents react to his older sister’s choices and he knows they will never accept him dating anyone who isn’t Korean. So he and a family friend, Joy Song, pretend to date. Fake-dating is one of my most favourite romance tropes but I’m not a fan when it’s a cover for actually dating someone else -- I don’t like others getting hurt by the deception. Despite that, I found this YA novel engaging and unexpectedly moving. And an absolutely fascinating look at being the child of immigrants.

The Night Country by Melissa Albert: The Hazel Wood was excellent, sharp and compelling, but I didn’t enjoy the sequel much at all. In the first book there’s a much stronger thread of hope running through the darkness.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone: The letters exchanged between Red and Blue, two agents on opposing sides of a time war, are vibrant and memorable, playful and poignant. I particularly enjoyed their different names for each other. (“Dearest Blue-da-ba-dee”, “My Dear Mood Indigo”, “Dearest 0000FF” -- that one made me laugh, “Dear Red Sky at Morning”...) The scenes in between leave many questions unanswered about the war being fought. I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that if I actually understood what was going on, I wouldn’t like the characters. Nevertheless the letters are brilliant, and I can deal with uncertainty for the space of a novella.

A Dead Djinn in Cairo by P. Djèlí Clark (narrated by Suehyla El-Attar): This novelette is too brief to involve what I enjoy most about murder mysteries, like carefully prying into people’s motives or characters forming supportive relationships in the face of an atmosphere of suspicion and unease. It is possible I’d like this worldbuilding in a different story, and that I would care more about Special Investigator Fatma el-Sha'arawi if I spent more time with her.

The Jane Austen Project by Kathleen A. Flynn: Rachel and Liam, a doctor and an actor-turned-academic, are sent back to 1815 to befriend Jane Austen and uncover an unpublished novel. Time travel allows for portraying Austen’s world with historical accuracy from the perspective of a woman with contemporary attitudes, and creates interesting challenges and anxieties. There’s a high degree of wish fulfilment in meeting Austen, but also realistic complications and consequences. This book impressed me even though -- or perhaps because -- it wasn’t always comfortable or to my taste. I’d have adored it, had things been slightly different, yet it’s nevertheless gripping and thought-provoking storytelling. I respect that.

#Herenya reviews books #W.R. Gingell #Ursula Vernon #Sherwood Smith #Kate Clayborn #Elle Katharine White #Sherry Thomas #Douglas Adams #Jean Ferris #David Yoon #Melissa Albert #Amal El Mohtar #Max Gladstone #P. Djèlí Clark #Kathleen A. Flynn

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bazzybelle · 4 years

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Carry On Countdown - Day Five

Notes: I wanted to write a Natasha inspired fic. I wanted to write a sweet fic involving her since her life was so intense and sadly cut way too short. Title inspired by “A Million Dreams” from The Greatest Showman soundtrack.

Thank you @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for the beta-read. Also, so many thanks for the people who have been commenting and reblogging my work. I’m still a newbie here, and the love that everyone has been showing me is so wonderful.

Day 5 Prompt: Carry On Prequel

Title: A Million Dreams

________________________________________________________________

Every night I lie in bed, the brightest colours fill my head. A million dreams are keeping me awake.

NATASHA

June 14th, 1996

Positive.

Those two little blue lines, so simple, so plain. Yet they hold such a profound weight that I feel the need to take a moment to collect my thoughts. It does not do well for Natasha Pitch to come undone on account of two little blue lines. Still, I find myself sitting at my desk in my grand Watford Headmistress’ office, in absolute disbelief as I hold onto the pregnancy test in my hands.

Positive.

I had taken the test as soon as I suspected that something was off. I am like clockwork in every single aspect of my life. Never tardy, never irregular, never out of balance. So, when my monthly cycle skipped, I knew. I took the test (in between several Coven meetings at Watford - I am a very busy woman), and kept myself concealed in my ensuite lavatory (being Headmistress has its perks) as I waited for the results.

Positive.

I am pregnant.

Alright. That was easy to admit.

If I had to guess, I could not be more than a few weeks along, a month at best. I should probably go see a doctor at some point, to verify that I am indeed with child. But honestly there were never any truly good doctors for magicians. There was Charles Wellbelove, who was making quite a name for himself amongst the Coven. I was considering it. He would have to be extremely discreet about the nature of my visits. I could not afford the good news getting out until I was ready to announce it. While the birth of a potential heir to the Pitch estate was a happy occasion, there would be others who would try to use my pregnancy (as well as my new maternal role) as a means to steal influence and discredit me.

It was bloody nonsense.

Still, it would be prudent to keep the news a secret, for as long as possible. I shall obviously tell Malcolm as soon as possible. I had thought to maybe tell him that night. I am not the romantic sort, I honestly do not have time to be romantic. I will tell him in private, in our bedroom. Possibly in front of our fireplace, while holding his hands.

Fine, I suppose I am a little romantic.

I imagine Malcolm will be very happy with the news. We have been trying for a child for the last year, so Malcolm would be very much pleased with the good news. Personally, a part of me would have liked to wait a little bit more. I have been in the middle of several research projects, as well as revamping some of the programs offered at Watford. I had wanted to look into more classes involving music and poetry. I was hoping that the future generations of magicians could find a way to make musical magic more stable. I was also looking into offering more linguistics classes at Watford. There was still so much about the nature of our magic that we still did not know nor did we understand. Besides, deep down I, Natasha Pitch, am a scholar. I have always been that way. I can be the head of a dozen organizations and run everything and anything that the Coven needs me to, but at the end of the day, I live for reading and researching topics that deeply speak to me.

Maybe this little one will follow my passions as well. That would be nice, to have another scholar in the family.

I should probably tell Fiona, but my sister can barely keep a secret to save her life. I am starting to worry about my younger, more carefree sister. Fiona is not keeping the right sort of company and it worries me to no end. It is highly improper to trapeze about amongst the Normals, causing mayhem and anarchy wherever she goes. She will be graduating from Watford this year, and she needs to figure out what she wants to do with her life. She cannot spend the rest of her days living off the family’s money.

But, Fiona is a worry for another day. I will most likely tell her. She is my baby sister after all, and despite my worries and apprehension, it will be better if I share my news with her. I can already hear Fiona’s snarky comments and her suggestions that I name the child Bowie or Cyndi.

My sister is absurd.

My hand moves tentatively to my stomach. I am pregnant. It is still a little bit of a shock to me. I will never admit this to anybody, but the idea of carrying a tiny life is terrifying. Are Malcolm and I ready to bring this child into the world? Neither one of us has had very warm childhoods. That life is not something I want for my child. Will I know how to provide the comfort and security of a safe family life? I truly do not know.

I shake my head to rid myself of these negative thoughts. Pitches do not hide and second guess themselves. Pitches dive headfirst into adversity and fight. They fight until they cannot fight anymore. That was how I led my life thus far and it has done wonders for me. I will have no choice but to dive into motherhood in the same way and to trust my instincts with raising this little one.

I become startled as my office door bursts open. I grab my wand, but I already know who has come to disturb me. There is only one person who would stride inside my office so fearlessly.

“There are so many stuffy old men hanging around your office, Tasha! Honestly, it would do you some good to get a few nice young lads around here!”

“What do you want, Fiona? Shouldn’t you be in the dining hall? Or at your drama lessons?”

“Drama lessons are cancelled dear sister. It’s the end of term! Which is also why I’m here! I am saving you from your stuffy meetings with the stuffy old men!” Fiona waves her hands over her head and attempts a small dramatic spin.

I roll my eyes at her. Fiona is not one for propriety, but she is one for theatrics. Merlin help this child if Fiona will be allowed to influence it. I have plenty of difficulty handling one overly dramatic Pitch, let alone two.

Fiona stalks over to where I am sitting. She is about to grab my hands when she notices the small stick on the desk. Before I can grab and hide it, Fiona jumps on it.

Her grey eyes widen as she stares at the double lines. A full smile slowly spreads across her lips. I sigh. So much for Malcolm being the first to know.

“Tasha. Have you got a bun in the oven?”

I yank the stick from Fiona’s hands and throw it back into the desk. I then grab Fiona by the arm and start to lead her out of my office. “Fiona, I swear to Merlin if you tell ANYONE about this, I will personally see to it that you spend the remainder of your days eating your meals through a straw!”

“Oh come off it, Tasha! Who would I tell?” Fiona tears her arm away from me as I raise an eyebrow.

“Your delinquent friends for one!” Fiona rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. I am not amused by my sister’s laissez-faire attitude regarding my pregnancy. And of course she is not as worried as I am. Fiona never has anything to lose, being the second born and all. Fiona can afford to blabber about, and ignore common sense, so long as I am there to clean up her messes. Well, I cannot risk Fiona making yet another mess.

“I mean it, Fiona. Give me your hand and swear that you will not tell anyone about this. I cannot afford to let this news reach the rest of the Coven until I am ready to announce it.”

Fiona shakes her head and grabs her own wand from the inside of her shirt sleeve. She takes my hand and offers her wand to me. I am the stronger magician out of the two of us. I tap the wand to our joined hands. “An Englishwoman’s word is her bond!” Fiona pulls her hand away and rubs it.

“Christ Tasha! That spell? The last time you used that spell, I couldn’t feel my hand for a month!”

I smirk at my troublesome sister: “First of all, it wasn’t my fault you chose to sneak into my bedroom after promising me you wouldn’t. Second of all, I always did love that spell. Now, please leave. I am very busy.” I head towards the door. I am about to open it, when Fiona blocks it with her foot, slamming it shut again.

“Just tell me one thing, sister. You are going to call the kid Bowie if it’s a boy, right? I’ll be burnt at the bloody stake before I let my favourite niece or nephew get one of those pompous ancient names that our family loves so much!” I force open the door and roughly shove my sister outside. I can hear Fiona laughing as I slam the door in her face.

A deep sigh escapes my lips. I rub my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I had not planned on Fiona knowing so soon, but I suppose it is better this way. It does feel good to have someone else know about the baby. And the spell I cast should give me plenty of assurance that Fiona will not spill the beans. Fiona hated not being able to use her hand for a month, she will not risk that punishment again.

I still have a few more meetings scheduled for the rest of the day. They are to discuss funding for the next year, as well as contract negotiations and potential additions to the Watford library. All important and interesting topics to discuss and ponder over for hours on end. Discussions that would probably be better left for a different time. Maybe, for this one time, I can afford to take an evening to myself and my husband. An evening to tell him that our lives have changed for the better. That we will soon be expanding our family (in fact, we will be starting our new family).

I hear another knock on her door. One of the younger magicians, a man named David, is waiting for me, with furrowed eyebrows, and an angry scowl on his face.

“Headmistress Pitch. The other Coven members are waiting for you.”

“Thank you David. I won’t be much longer.”

I gather myself and head towards the room that is used for Coven gatherings. It is a small room, with a long oval-shaped table, and twenty seats (one for each member of the Coven). I take my place at the head of the table and look at each Coven member’s bored, exhausted face. It has been a long day. No one will fault me for cancelling the rest of the meetings. I inhale a deep breath and address the stuffy old men.

“Gentlemen. I thank you for joining me. I know that we have all had a very long and trying day. I think it would be in everyone’s best interest that we take the remainder of the evening off and reconvene tomorrow. We can all benefit from a good night’s rest before beginning discussions about literature and budgets. Yes?”

I let out a small sigh of relief when the other Coven members agree with me. They all quickly rise from their seats and begin to file out of the room. I follow behind them and walk back to my office. I sit at my desk once more and pull the pregnancy test out.

I am going to be a mother. I think to myself. I rub my stomach and smile. I turn to the phone on my desk and dial the number to the Hampshire Manor. Malcolm should have been working from home today. A smile spreads on my lips as I hear the voice of my husband on the end of the line.

“Malcolm, darling? I am coming home early tonight. I have something to tell you. It’s important.”

#carry on countdown #coc 2019 #natasha pitch #fiona pitch #pre-carry on #fluffy fic #my writing #fan fic #tyrannus basilton pitch #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #sweet natasha pitch story #we all need some sweetness

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

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Make It Right [BTS Mafia!AU]

Pairings: Jin x OC | Taehyung/Hoseok x OC | Yoongi/Jungkook x OC Genre: BTS Mafia!AU Warnings: Graphic Violence, Heavy Language, Angst, Smut, Slow Burn

“It’s always darkest before the dawn…” It’s a dog-eat-dog world in Seoul, South Korea. One has to dwell in the shadows in order to reach for the light. What are you willing to sacrifice in order to feel the sunlight on your face? What will it take to drag you back into darkness? How long will the journey be to make it right?

AO3 | WP

Chapter 05: Boyz With Fun

"The fun boys go until the dawn moon sets, This is so fun, all fakeness has gone home."

Seoul - Cheongdam; Gangnam District South Korea

Taehyung leaned against the side of the building, the stick of his lollipop poking out from between his lips. After all these years, he still possessed an almost insatiable sweet tooth. It was one of the few things in life that he just couldn’t seem to give up and could also maintain his interest. As much of a flirt that he was, women came and went from his bed. Or he from theirs. The rough and tumble life they led in the earlier days of their beginnings had seemingly lost its attraction. But sweets? Well, those just never got old.

However, there were some people that could keep his attention. It was a feat, yes, but not impossible. One such individual worked in the very building he was leaning against. In fact, he’d been shadowing them for the better part of a few months. They were stubborn and liked to appear that they weren’t interested or even a bit curious as to why he was shadowing them. But that was fine. Taehyung didn’t mind.

It made the chase all the more delicious.

As he spied the time on his watch, he knew that this person was going to be clocking out soon. Their routine in this place was like clockwork; predictable and consistent. There were times when a wrench got thrown in, ultimately ruining the schedule, but those moments were rare. Unable to hide the growing excitement on his face, he pushed himself off the concrete surface and made his way through the automatic sliding doors of the hospital.

Not even a handful of steps into the lobby, he saw the person he was looking for. Or, rather, waiting for. She was dressed in her scrubs – a soft, periwinkle blue – clutching her bag while her coat draped over one of her arms. Tall with brown skin and curling dark hair, her glasses were situated on her face in a way that made her seem almost adorable. She was talking with one of her co-workers, probably about the patients they had for the day and what their plans were for the coming weekend. Would they trade off shifts? God, he hoped not.

She let out a laugh and Taehyung crunched into the hard candy, chewing methodically as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He was mentally counting down how long it would take for her to notice him.

Three…two…one…bingo!

When the countdown finished in his head, she looked up and their eyes met. Her smile fell a fraction and she slowed her pace down a measure. Her co-worker seemed confused by the action until the other nurse caught sight of Taehyung. She gave a small wave and he returned the gesture just as she smirked playfully toward the woman whom he couldn’t take his eyes from. The other woman gently nudged her and told her she would see her tomorrow. Taehyung closed the distance between them, standing just a foot in front of her.

“Hey there, Gorgeous,” he said, the candy’s stick clamped between his teeth as he flashed her his trademark boxy smile, “long day?”

The woman, Raelyn Briggs, rolled her eyes as she side-stepped him so she could walk around him. “What is it now?” She asked him the question, but continued walking – as if she really didn’t care one way or the other if he answered or not.

Pivoting on his heels, he jogged up beside her while spitting the stick into the garbage. “Was it a bad day?”

“It was fine until you showed up.”

She refused to look at him, but this didn’t stop him from smiling or from being persistent.

“Aw, c’mon. That’s not a nice thing to say.” He dramatically placed a hand on his chest, palm resting over the spot where his heart was beating steadily beneath. “I need you to give me a check-up.”

Raelyn scoffed. “Then schedule an appointment.”

Taehyung clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Don’t be like that, Rae Noona.”

"Like what?”

He pouted. “You’re such a meanie.”

“And you’re a menace.”

He tried to maintain his pouty expression, but he soon dissolved into a small fit of laughter. He didn’t know why but annoying her was so fun. Maybe it was because she made it so easy or because she didn’t immediately tell him to go fly a kite in downtown traffic. He couldn’t help his curiosity when it came to Raelyn.

She wasn’t the first transplant to come to South Korea. In this day and age, it was pretty common for foreigners to immigrate to other countries for work. There were all kinds of programs for teaching as well as through vocational or technical skills. Trade skills existed all over the world and like Koreans often went to other countries to learn, the same could be said for others wanting to expand their knowledge in a variety of fields.

From what he was able to glean, Raelyn was one such individual. Even though he’d known her for the better part of three years, she’d lived in South Korea for four. The more scandalous side of it all was that Raelyn used to date Hoseok. Things ended on her terms, though the reason for it was a bit hazy. At least what he was able to learn from the other Hyungs. No one really wanted to talk about it and so Taehyung didn’t pry.

He couldn’t remember why, exactly, the topic had been broached, but he did recall that Hoseok said he was over the relationship. That things ended for the best. Not that Taehyung was in the business of taking someone’s second serving of a dish, but if she was a girl interesting enough to turn Hoseok’s head then he had to know what she was all about.

Imagine his surprise when he discovered that she was a nurse, darker skinned and a foreigner.

Taehyung ran a few paces in front of Raelyn and stopped, forcing her to come to a halt. She had a clear look of irritation painted over her face, but this made his smile widen. He knew that she was just taking off from work and probably wanted to have nothing to do with him, yet he just wasn’t selfless enough to leave her alone. Maybe she was playing hard to get. Who knew? But she kept his interest and that made him even more determined to get her to give him a chance.

“Look, Noona,” he said, brushing his fingers through his silvery blue and black hair, “I know you’ve probably had a long day and that’s why I wanna take you out. Nothing fancy or uncomfortable, I promise.” He held his hands up in a show of playful surrender. “Just dinner and a drink. You think you’d be up for something like that?”

Raelyn gave him the once over, canting her head slightly in a way that made the lens of her glasses shine off from the many streetlights along the corner. There really wasn’t a reason for her to accept his offer. Then again, there really wasn’t a reason for her to decline it either. It was a win-win situation for both. He had a few days of down time before Jimin and he would have to hit the streets again to collect on some things. Normally Taehyung made an effort to get ahead of the game, but he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to get a chance to really get to know Raelyn for who she was. Not just the professional nurse mask she wore, but the real face that hid behind it.

After a few more grueling minutes of silence, Raelyn sighed slowly and Taehyung had to contain his excitement. He knew that he’d won. As he was mentally giving himself a pat on the back, he watched Raelyn setting her purse down on the ground so she could slip into her coat. Taehyung moved so that he was behind her, helping her arms slide into the sleeves. He leaned down and picked up her purse and she set it on her shoulder.

With a wide gesture of her arm, she cocked her head to the side. “After you.”

Taehyung grinned, holding out his arm for her and she shook her head while rolling her eyes. He gently elbowed her persistently and when her arm finally slid through his, he beamed proudly. For whatever reason, he felt like he was suddenly on top of the world.

Like he promised, they walked and talked amicably. It was no secret what circles he ran with and there was no sense hiding it from her. It wasn’t like she was ignorant to his world. He was curious about her day-to-day activities and quickly ascertained that he admired her drive to help people. But she wasn’t above taking care of herself. Self-care was important. People tend to forget that.

He most certainly did not .

It didn’t take them long to arrive to their destination. It was a quiet café with a nice atmosphere that also served modest entrees. He remembered her saying once that after a long shift, the last thing she wanted to do was gorge on food and pass out. It normally gave her indigestion in the morning and she wasn’t about that life. Taehyung could eat enough for three people, but that was just his metabolism and active lifestyle talking.

She ordered a deli sandwich, soup and coffee while he ordered a plate of pasta with tea. Their conversation continued on the tamer side and he ignored the looks that a few patrons gave them. He knew that he was good looking and there were people who also knew that he was part of the underground circuit. He didn’t care for their judgmental eyes or thoughts, keeping his attention on Raelyn as she ate politely while indulging him in conversation. Also politely.

Then the anvil fell.

“So,” she said, raising the mug up to her lips, “do you think it’s a good idea to be gettin’ fresh with your boss’s ex-girl?”

Taehyung was in mid-sip of his tea when he inhaled suddenly, racked with a coughing fit that he thought would never end. People were looking at him for a different reason now. He stared at her, unblinking, wondering just where the hell that even came from.

In fact, he was going to ask.

“Where the hell did that come from?”

She scoffed, sipping from the mug and then setting it down. “Oh come on , Taehyung- ssi ,” she said, putting extra emphasis to the polite way of addressing him, “I don’t know what game you’re playing but I know that you’ve been poking around me because you want to know something, don’t you?” Raelyn pushed her glasses up along the bridge of her nose. “‘What could my boss, Jung Hoseok, possibly have seen in a woman like this?’ That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

His mouth opened to protest, but he soon closed it when he realized that she wasn’t completely wrong.

But she wasn’t completely right, either.

However, instead of answering, all he could do was remain silent – his lips pressing together in a thin line.

Raelyn chuckled because she knew she’d gotten the upper hand. It wasn’t in his nature to not throw something back at her in rebuttal. But he knew he couldn’t regain the advantage. Not in this conversation.

“I’m pretty sure you already know that I was the one to end things. You’re wondering why that is, aren’t you? Why a woman like me would walk away from the benefits and opportunities that come with being the boss’s girlfriend?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Anger flared behind his eyes, but he couldn’t pinpoint just what he was angry for . If it was because he’d been outsmarted, or if it was because Raelyn was taking Hoseok lightly.

No , he thought, his grip tightening around his cup of tea, she knows exactly what he is capable of.

“I’ll tell you why, Taehyung-ssi, so that you’ll finally get an idea of who I am and maybe, just maybe, you’ll leave well enough alone.” Raelyn finished up her coffee and began digging through her purse. She pulled out a black and silver clutch, removing a few bills from within. “As glamorous as your world is in movies and in books, it’s ugly on the inside. Turf wars were happening constantly and, if I’m not mistaken, they still are. Hoseok was good to me. In fact, he was great. But that charm and goodness wasn’t enough to keep me away from the one thing I treasure most in this world.”

She paused and Taehyung let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Once again, their eyes met and the deep purple glint that shined behind her glasses caused his lips to part slightly.

“My freedom.”

Raelyn stood up from her chair, laying the bills on the table. Taehyung jumped from his seat, almost knocking the chair over.

“Rae Noona, wait—”

“You’re cute, Taehyung-ssi.” She smiled at him; a genuine one. The same smile he’d seen her giving to her co-workers after they clocked out for the evening, time and time again. “But not cute enough to give up my freedom for.”

Without another word, Raelyn left him in the café alone. There was nothing he could say that would stop her in her tracks. In fact, everything she’d just said stunned him. After a while, he slowly sank back into his chair – staring at the seat she’d once occupied.

And then a slow smile crept over his face.

This just got a lot more interesting, Raelyn Noona…

#bangtanarmynet #kmultiverse #bts #bts fanfiction #bts mafia #bts mafia au #bts crime au #bts imagines #bts fanfic #biasrekkers #bts biasrekkers

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mybiasisexo · 5 years

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Show You 🎙

@erin78 asks: I’m requesting 6 with chanyeol too 😊

a/n: so... this is way longer than a drabble should be, but I thought, what the heck, its what Chanyeol deserves!!! hope you like itttt~!

MASTERLIST

gif credit

Your school’s local radio’s best program was Leoy Radio at 6pm. It was undoubtedly the only thing keeping the station running at this point. The DJ, Loey, had a very deep calming voice that many of the girls on campus couldn’t help but fall for and he played the best most diverse music. There was always something for everyone and he made it a point to try to expand everyone’s music catalogues. The way he interacted with other students was precious. He gave the most insightful advice and even if he didn’t agree with the caller, he gave them their platform and was always polite and understanding. He sometimes would go on long winded talks about relatable topics, shining his thoughts about issues that were relatable, deep, and intellectual.

He was like the perfect guy.

You, just like most of the campus, were enamored by him. Making a point to never miss his show, going as far as playing it through the speakers at the café you worked at if it was during a shift. There was something so intoxicating about him, something so alluring, and you couldn’t help but wonder who the mysterious Leoy was. He obviously went to your school, but he made a point to never reveal anything too personal about himself, other than his voice, liking the veil of secrecy he possessed.

It first happened on a Thursday. It was during your shift when the song Spf by Magic City Hippies played. You were pleasantly surprised, because you had listened to it earlier that day.

It happened the next day.

UN Villiage was the song of the day for you, and what did you know, Loey ended up playing it that day.

This happened every day for two weeks.

Whenever you so happened to listen to a certain song, like clockwork, Loey would magically play it later that day.

It was eerie. You didn’t know if you held a psychic connection or if he was somehow stalking you. You didn’t have the slightest idea and it was lowkey freaking you out.

You shared your concern to your best friend, Chanyeol, but he simply laughed at your accusation.

“You must really like this Loey guy if you think he’s somehow stalking you.”

“But isn’t it a bit bizarre?”

“I mean,” Chanyeol scratched the back of his head. “It does sound kind of creepy now that you put it that way. But maybe it’s just coincidence.”

You gave him a look before sighing. “Fine, call me crazy. You want your usual?”

“Please and thank you!”

The following day, you were in the passenger seat of Chanyeol’s massive SUV as he took you both to a local diner for a late lunch. Chanyeol was the best friend anyone could ask for. He was patient and talented and sweet. Funny and handsome. You both just got on really well and you were happy to call the goofball your friend.

He handed you the aux cord. “Play something for me. Something different.”

You do as he asked. One thing that bonded you both was your love for music. You both loved to share new artists and songs with each other, analyzing every chord, string, and lyric it had to offer.

There was one song that you had been listening to for a while and didn’t think Chanyeol knew the artist, so you picked it.

“Holy….” He was almost in a daze within the first few seconds. “This is sick! What is this?”

“It’s called Show You by Baby Rose. It’s about really liking someone and wanting to show that person how much they do without using words.”

He grew quiet at the explanation, getting lost in the song.

Even throughout lunch, he wasn’t as talkative as usual. You ended up being the one to push conversation as you both stuffed overly greasy burgers down your throats.

After lunch, he dropped you off. He worked late shifts on campus during the weekdays, so you waved him goodbye before doing some housework while you waited for 6pm to come, wondering what familiar song Loey would play today.

You were in the middle of doing the dishes when Loey’s smooth voice graced your ears. “I know I don’t tend to dive into my personal life on here often, because I like to keep that stuff private, but lately I’ve been having the urge to talk to you all about something that’s been on my mind.”

Your ears perked up at that. Loey revealing something about himself? He had your undivided attention.

He laughed nervously before talking again. “I have a crush on someone close to me. They are easily, the best thing to ever happen to me. They mirror me perfectly. It’s crazy, it’s as if we’re in sync. I’m addicted to every word, every thought, and I find myself up at ungodly hours wondering if they feel the same way as I do, because, god, I really want them to. A friend of mine showed me this song and it just hit me. The singer is saying everything I’ve been thinking when it comes to this person. It’s funny, because I know they are listening, and as much as I want them to, I also don’t. What if they realize who I actually am? What if they find out how I feel about them, but don’t reciprocate? Ah…. Anyways, here’s Show You by Baby Rose.”

And as the distorted guitar rift floated through your apartment, you found yourself completely frozen besides your mind, which was running at a million miles an hour. Loey’s words, which was spoken from a voice now too familiar, felt like puzzle pieces that you were now trying to put together, so that you could see the big picture. It wasn’t until the song was nearly over that you got the final piece in and you gasped, dropping the plate in your hand. The sound of it breaking brought you back and you nearly cried from being so stunned.

You cleaned up the mess before turning off the radio, not wanting to hear anything else Loey had to say.

You zoned out for a while. You weren’t sure for how long, but the urgent knocks at your door brought you back.

When you checked the time, it was close to ten. You wondered briefly who would be here at this time, but don’t bother asking as you yanked the door open, being met face to face with Chanyeol.

“I’ve been texting and calling for twenty minutes, but you haven’t answered! I got worried so I came to check on you.” He could probably tell something was off. Your eyes were glazed over, as if you weren’t really looking at him. Sheepishly, he stuffed his hands in his pant pockets. “Can I come in? I have something to tell you.”

You mutely allowed him in and now he was really concerned. You hadn’t said a word as you sat on the couch, him taking the chair beside it.

“So, um, I have something to confess,” he revealed, scanning every inch of the room but you. “I know you’ll probably be mad at me, for keeping it to myself for so long. Truth is, I’m actually L—”

“Loey?” You finally uttered. He blinked at you, ears red as your haze seemed to clear up. “You’re Loey, aren’t you?”

He hesitated before giving you an affirmative nod.

“Chanyeol…. The songs…. You were leaving me clues, huh?”

“Well,” he scratched the back of his head. “I wanted to tell you who I was from the beginning, but was too nervous to admit it. Especially when you told me you had a crush on Loey. I thought you would be disappointed, finding out it was me all along, so I decided to keep it to myself. I admit, I got a bit careless, a bit carried away. I guess, deep down, I wanted you to know. I wanted you to see that it was actually me that you liked, so…yeah.”

“You just needed to show me, right?” You chuckled at that and he relaxed a bit. If you were making jokes than maybe…? “I can’t believe I walked right into your trap.”

“So, what do you think?” He asked, biting his lip nervously. “Can you like Chanyeol as much as you like Loey? Or are you mad and never want to speak to me again?”

“I’ll admit that once I figured it out, I was shocked. You really lied to me and made me out to be crazy about the song thing! But then I felt dumb. I mean, who else has a voice that deep? Also Yeol...Loey.... Was I really that blind? But, Chanyeol, I’m not mad at you for not telling me, although I am a bit upset you didn’t confess earlier, because I’ve liked you for a while also.”

His face brightened. “You have?”

“I have, Chanyeol. I like you very much.”

“Oh, thank god!” His big frame was engulfing you immediately. His large sweater soft and warm as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, bringing you in close. You both rocked for a bit before pulling away just far enough to look at each other’s faces.

“I need to show you one last thing,” he admitted quietly.

“What is that?” You asked.

He answered by leaning in, kissing you gently, and you fell into it easily. You found yourself on cloud nine, not only did you find out Loey’s true identity, but now you had him all to yourself.

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justmenoworries · 5 years

Text

If Ben’s Aliens Were Their Own Characters (Part 2: Alien Force + Ultimate Alien)

Part 2: The Electric Boogaloo.

Sometime in his teens, Ben decides that it’s unfair to only set some of his aliens free and with the help of Azmuth, re-creates the glitch from part 1 in order to bring out the rest of them too.

The compound the alines have lived in until now needs to get expanded again to make room fro 24 new family members.

With the help of Grandpa Max, some plumbers (and a very reluctant Azmuth) they eventually manage.

Swampfire: Haughty and arrogant. He suffers from a major inferiority-superiority complex due to the fact that he feels being one of the aliens who did not manage to get out of the Omnitrix by themselves makes him weaker somehow. Thus he has an intense, but often one-sided rivalry with all off his “older” siblings, especially Heatblast since their powers are the most alike. Ironically, the two of them make a really great team in battle, if Swampfire manages to keep his ribbing in check for five seconds and Heatblast in turn manages to not rise to the bait for once.

Jetray: A tough, no-nonsense hero. He takes his job as a plumber very seriously and has no patience for his siblings’ childish antics, though he gets caught up in them fairly frequently. He’s more of a scout than a fighter but that doesn’t mean you can afford to underestimate him.

Echo Echo: A music lover through and through, but also a little anti-social. He spends most of his time in his room listening to music from every corner of the galaxy and even composing some of his own sometimes. It’s usually dubstep. You’d best have some earplugs ready when stepping through his door, because he often forgets that not every species has eardrums of steel like he does. It’s a miracle the house hasn’t come down yet.

Goop: Perky, friendly and just downright adorable. Nothing really gets him down (except maybe snatching his anti-gravity device, but why would you? Why would you??? You Monster.). Actually getting on his case is ill-advised, though. He will mess you up if you insist on keeping up whatever bad thing it is you’re doing right now. All while chattering and giggling excitedly.

Humungousaur: The strong silent type. It’s not that nothing gets to him, it’s just that he doesn’t think he has much to say. Which makes it all the more baffling when someone happens to reach his breaking point (hurting his family) and he just goes ballistic, roaring and throwing punches, kicks and tail-swipes left and right. He’s the literal definition of calm before a storm.

Big Chill: He somehow manages to be the Mom Friend and super chill at the same time. He’s a good listener and great at giving life advice, but he also won’t hesitate to use his snark to call someone out on their bullshit. He’s sassy, enjoys quiet places, cool nights and meditation.

Brainstorm: Extremely snooty and thinks he’s the smartest of them all. He is not. That would be Grey Matter, but good luck trying to tell him that, you’ll either be ignored or called an inferior being in some way. Secretly, he just wants Grey Matter to acknowledge him as an equal and prove his worth as a great mind.

Alien X: Like in the show, Alien X doesn’t really talk or do much, because Serena and Bellicus won’t let him most of the time. Occasionally they release him from their on-going debate so he can at least spend a little time with his family. When he’s himself, he’s a composed, intelligent, charming individual. As a result of being essentially a prisoner ins his own body 90 % of the time he’s terrified of waking up one day and finding himself being alone, because the world moved on while he was forced to play referee to his split personalities. In order to help him at least a little bit, Grey Matter and Brainstorm (with a little help from Upgrade) in a rare act of cooperation, modified his room to notify either of them when he’s about to wake up, so they can inform the rest of the family and they can all welcome him together. He appreciates it immensely.

Chromastone: Sophisticated and responsible. He tries not to let it show, but he feels really pressured by his role as Sugilite’s successor and doubts he can actually live up to his role as a guardian of Petropia. He’s especially nervous and awkward around Diamondhead, since both of them don’t really know how they should treat each other. Diamondhead hesitates giving Chromastone orders in battle, despite being the leader, because shouldn’t Chromastone take that role? He’s the guardian after all. Chromastone on the other hand struggles with actually taking command. Diamondhead is older and has been the leader far longer than him, so should he really be handing him the reigns? As you can see, it’s complicated with these two.

Nanomech: Did somebody say Napoleon complex? He’s smaller than even Grey Matter, yet if you listen to him boast, you’d think he was the galaxy’s mightiest fighter. To be completely honest, his arrogance isn’t that unfounded: If he actually gets over himself and fights smart not hard by using his height to act as a saboteur or spy he’s crazy dangerous. He’s always eager to help whack some bad guys and apart from the above mentioned ego problem, he’s a nice little guy. (Tho if you want to stay on his good side, don’t mention the “little” part where he might hear.) His origin of having been part of a malevolent hive mind once is something that bothers him immensely and a huge part of the reason for him acting like he does. He wants to stand out and for everyone to think he’s a mighty hero, because he doesn’t want to be seen by others (or himself) as still part of the Swarm or even just less of an individual because he technically used to be part of it. Mentioning the queen is a sure-fire way to make him uncomfortable, because it’s a nagging fear of his that she’s still out there and that he’ll fall under her control one day. He has rather graphic nightmares about that, which he of course keeps to himself.

Spidermonkey: Energetic, upbeat and very talkative. Your typical hyper-active monkey-character, with a fair amount of mischief on the side. He, Ripjaws and Ditto hit it off right away. Beware, for together they are the ultimate (pun intended) prank trio. For Spidermonkey, everything is essentially one big joke. Even fights he takes more as an opportunity to have fun than an actual job. When you hear him stop laughing it’s usually a sign just how serious a situation is.

Lodestar: Competent, but really emotional and clumsy. He’s the ‘New Guy’ in every way. Really wants to prove himself, tends to lose control of his powers and as a result often pummels himself or his teammates with all kinds of metal stuff and/or literally loses his head, also can’t help acting overly hammy. His magnet powers are tied to his emotions, causing all kinds of crazy things to happen whenever he’s upset. Which, considering how much of a klutz he can be, is often. He never means to cause as much ruckus and chaos as he does, but the universe in general just seems to have it out for him in that regard. He often spends time with Big Chill, since the latter is often the only one with enough patience to properly train him and is always there to hear him out.

Rath: LEMME TELL YOU SOMETHING, PERSON READING THIS ENTRY ON A TUMBLR POST!! RATH DOESN’T NEED SOME FANCY-PANTS TUMBLRITE TO WRITE HIM A PERSONALITY! RATH ALREADY GOT A PERSONALITY! IN FACT, RATH’S GOT SO MUCH PERSONALITY, I COULD RIP SOME OUT OF MYSELF, THROW IT AT YOUR FACE AND STILL HAVE SO MUCH LEFT I COULD WRITE THIS WHOLE ENTRY MYSELF!! (He’s also got a huge soft-spot for children and his family, but don’t expect him to admit that.)

Armodrillo: He’s not very smart and, despite being really big and really strong, he gets scared very easily. Essentially a big friendly child. His siblings don’t like taking him on missions because even though he can be destructive as heck when in action (or maybe exactly because of that) he doesn’t even like fighting. He just does it to defend himself and others, but his drilling powers and invincibility is often crucial. They always make sure at least one of them stays by his side throughout the whole thing to act as a sort of guardian, though.

AmpFibian: Extremely shy and introverted. Talking to strangers is not his thing. His first instinct when meeting or seeing someone new is usually to book it into the nearest electronic device and stay there until he’s sure they’re safe to be around. He probably had the hardest time out of all the aliens to adapt to his new life out of the watch. Even in present day the only one of his siblings he’ll occasionally hang around with is Echo Echo and even then they don’t really talk much. They just both share a liking for electronic music, so they’ll mostly just listen to that whenever AmpFibian feels brave enough to leave his room.

ChamAlien: The definition of Creepy/Chaotic Good (yes, even more than Big Chill and Ghost Freak). He’s....hard to read. He has this grin on his face 24/7, as if he knows something that nobody else does and the fact that he really seems to like appearing where no one expected him to be doesn’t help. He also doesn’t talk much, only when he thinks the person he’s addressing needs to hear what he has to say.

Clockwork: He’s the detective of the family. Mainly because of his ability to recreate past events, but he also has some rather impressive deductive skills. He and Grey Matter often act as mission control, though Clockwork works in the field as well more often than not. He’s not much of a fighter, but his time powers give him an advantage or two.

Fasttrack: You’d think he’d be a loud bundle of uncontrollable energy like his older brother XLR8, but you’d be wrong. Yes, he’s fast but that’s about the only thing he and XLR8 have in common. Fasttrack is serious, confident, mature and focused, never slacking off on a mission even for a moment. Honestly, he could be considered Diamondhead’s right hand if it weren’t for Frankenstrike. He also utterly despises being mistaken for his moronic speedster sibling and saying or even hinting that the two are alike will get you on his bad side. He has a rather dry sense of humor that often comes out when he’s partnered up with one of his less mission-focused family members.

Jury Rigg: For the love of all that is holy, keep him away from machines! He is an absolute menace around them, either because he doesn’t know how they work, yet still fells the need to mess with them or precisely because he knows how they work and just wants to try and “fix them up” to reach their “full potential” as he calls it. Said potential is often explosive, of course. He and Grey Matter are basically at war because he won’t stop touching Grey’s stuff without permission or stop trying to get into his workshop. He doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s just so naturally hard-wired to be a maniac around technology that he can’t help it. If you manage to pry him away from that, he’s actually pretty low-key, sensible, even. Currently, he acts as the familys’ armorer. It’s his passion. Anything he built is sure to give the bad guys (and sometimes the good guys) a run for their money.

Shocksquatch: Looks scary, but he’s a really big softie. That doesn’t mean he won’t pummel bad guys into the ground, though. Ironically he gets along the best with Wrath of all people. Mostly because they’re both huge wrestling fans and enjoy fighting as a sport. The both of them often spar with Four Arms and Cannonbolt. The record is currently tied, but they’re working on that.

Terraspin: Good-natured and slow movement-wise. He’s friendly to the point of being a doormat, which often leads to some of his siblings, like Upchuck, taking advantage of him. Unsurprisingly, he gets along the best with Upgrade, Wildmutt and Goop. Goop sort of looks out for him and keeps the whole “Do my chores” thing that Upchuck has going with him in check. A very harmless and completely hypothetical joke about tongue-burning acid is all it takes to put a stop to it most of the time. Terraspin is grateful for it.

Water Hazard: The rugged, charming rogue of the group. He does his own thing and doesn’t exactly play by the rules. He can be reasonable, but where’s the fun in that? He and Heatblast do not get along, possibly even less than Swampfire and Heatblast. It may be due to them being opposite elements, it may be because Heatblast secretly fears Water Hazard may take his place as the ‘Cool Big Brother’ or it may just be the fact that Water Hazard won’t stop dousing him in water for no good reason. Who knows?

NRG: Loud, dramatic and really big on physical affection. He’s an enthusiastic hugger, which, combined with the fact that he wears his containment suit at all times, often results in tremendous pain for the hugged. You could say it’s compensation for the fact that he can so rarely actually touch things/people because, y’know...they’d literally die. He enjoys every moment out of his suit, flying around giddily and shouting even more than usual.

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