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celestineveil · 2 months

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Painted Skin

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Author's Note: Hello, Hello! It's me again! this is a oneshot that I wrote over on my Wattpad account. Content Warning: This oneshot contains smut. Oneshot Summary: Clara is dating Ricky Olson of Motionless In White. After practice the have sex in the shower. This is Ricky Olson X Original Character ( Clara ) Word Count: 2,796 words

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Clara had been in the midst of tidying up her room, a task made all the more challenging by the aftermath of her earlier attempt at outfit. She had spent what felt like ages rummaging through her closet, trying to settle on the perfect ensemble for her outing with her older sister earlier that day. Eventually, she had managed to settle on an outfit, but the resulting mess in her room was undeniable.

As Clara continued to tidy, she couldn't help but wonder how an hour had slipped away so quickly. "Did me cleaning my room take a whole hour?" she mused aloud, a hint of disbelief in her voice. Yet, as she surveyed the now-spotless space, she couldn't deny the satisfaction of a job well done.

Just as Clara finished straightening up, she heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized it must be Ricky, her boyfriend, arriving as he had texted earlier. Anticipation bubbled within her as she waited for his arrival, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Moments later, Clara's sister Lizzy's voice echoed from downstairs, calling out the exciting news. "Your boyfriend's here!" she exclaimed, her words carrying a sense of excitement and anticipation. Clara's heart raced with excitement as she heard Ricky's footsteps making their way up the stairs, drawing closer to her bedroom door.

Before she could even respond, a gentle knock sounded from the other side of the door, accompanied by Ricky's familiar voice. "Can I come in?" he asked, his tone laced with anticipation and eagerness. Clara's heart swelled with affection at the sound of his voice, and without hesitation, she called out, "Of course, Ricky! Come on in!"

"Hi!" Ricky exclaimed, his smile stretching from ear to ear as he greeted Clara. The sight of her filled him with a warmth that spread from his heart to every corner of his being. Though he was genuinely happy to see his girlfriend, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of nerves, wondering if she could sense his excitement.

Clara returned Ricky's smile with equal fervor, her heart swelling with affection at the sight of him. She cherished these moments with him, each one feeling like a precious gift. Despite any worries or stresses that may linger in the back of her mind, Ricky had a way of melting them all away with just a smile.

"So, how was band practice?" Clara inquired, eager to hear about Ricky's day and the details of his band's rehearsal. She was genuinely interested in his passion for music and always found herself captivated by his enthusiasm. "It went really well," Ricky replied eagerly, his eyes lighting up as he recounted the highlights of the practice session. "We worked on some of the newer songs, including the one you love. It was amazing to play it again, and Chris even gave me some tips on screaming vocals, which was a blast. But, uh, I do need to shower because I am covered in black paint from testing out this new grease paint" he added with a chuckle, gesturing to his neck and arms.

Clara couldn't tear her eyes away as Ricky headed towards the bathroom, the anticipation of his impending shower sending a flutter of excitement through her veins. She lingered in the doorway, watching as he pushed open the bathroom door, leaving it slightly ajar. With bated breath, she tiptoed closer, careful not to make a sound, her curiosity getting the better of her.

As she peered through the crack in the door, Clara's heart skipped a beat at the sight before her. Ricky stood in the bathroom, his silhouette outlined against the soft glow of the overhead light. She couldn't help but admire the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he began to undress, a pang of desire stirring within her.

Her gaze wandered to the white tiles of the bathroom floor, now adorned with splatters of black paint from Ricky's clothes. It was a stark contrast against the pristine surface, a tangible reminder of the creative chaos that often accompanied Ricky's passion for music. Despite the mess, Clara found herself smiling at the sight, knowing that each paint splatter was a testament to Ricky's dedication to his craft.

As Ricky disappeared behind the shower curtain, Clara lingered for a moment longer, the memory of his presence lingering in the air. Ricky now was washing his body. His neck and arms.

Shortly after Ricky had disappeared behind the shower curtain, Clara tiptoed into the bathroom, her movements careful and deliberate. With practiced ease, she began to undress, shedding each garment with a quiet efficiency. Her shirt slipped off her shoulders, followed by her bra, panties, and shorts, each piece falling to the floor in a hushed cascade.

As she stood naked in the dim light of the bathroom, Clara felt a rush of anticipation course through her veins. With a steadying breath, she stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over her skin like a gentle embrace. She moved quietly, careful not to disturb Ricky as he stood beneath the spray, lost in his own thoughts.

Despite her close proximity, Ricky remained unaware of her presence, his focus fixed on the soothing rhythm of the water cascading over him. Clara couldn't help but smile at the sight, feeling a sense of intimacy wash over her as she stood behind him, the space between them filled with the comforting hum of the shower and the gentle patter of water against shower's tiled floor.

Once Ricky finally noticed Clara behind him, a playful smirk danced across his lips. "Well, hello, beautiful. Couldn't resist joining me, huh?" he teased, his voice laced with affection as he turned to face her. Clara playfully rolled her eyes at his remark, feeling a rush of warmth spread through her at his playful banter.

As Ricky's arms enveloped her, Clara couldn't help but lean into his touch, savoring the feeling of his hands against her cheeks. The sensation of the warm water cascading over them added to the intimacy of the moment, enveloping them in a cocoon of comfort and affection. Clara's heart swelled with emotion as she gazed into Ricky's eyes, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her.

With a soft sigh of pleasure, Clara melted into the kiss, her lips moving against Ricky's with a gentle urgency. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them lost in the moment. But as Clara quietly moaned into the kiss, Ricky pulled away with a playful chuckle, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

He gave her a knowing look, his lips curved into a mischievous smile as he read her desires. Clara's cheeks flushed with a mixture of desire and anticipation, her heart pounding in her chest as she met Ricky's gaze. In that moment, with the steamy warmth of the shower surrounding them.

Clara observed as Ricky's gaze lingered on the black grease paint that dropped onto her pale skin, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "Looks like you've got a little paint on you. Need a hand with that?" he quipped teasingly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Clara couldn't help but smile at his playful offer. "Yes, please," she replied with a grin.

With a gentle touch, Ricky leaned in, his hands skillfully massaging away the traces of paint as his lips found their way to her nipple, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her body. Clara's head instinctively tilted back, a soft moan escaping her lips as she surrendered to the sensation.

"Mmm, Ricky," she murmured, her voice laced with desire as she felt his touch ignite a fire within her. Ricky hummed in response, his own desire mirroring hers. Clara's hazel eyes met Ricky's intense blue gaze, both filled with a hunger that burned hotter with each passing moment.

As Ricky withdrew his hands, Clara found herself lost in the depths of his gaze, the intensity of their desire palpable in the air between them. In that moment, with their eyes locked in a silent exchange of passion, Clara knew that there was no place she'd rather be than in Ricky's embrace, lost in the bliss of their shared desire.

Clara adjusted her position slightly as Ricky turned her around, ensuring that her perfectly round ass was facing him. With a cautious awareness of the slippery shower floor, she pressed her hands against the wall for support, determined to avoid any potential mishaps that could result from the slick surface. Ricky, ever attentive to her safety, wrapped an arm around her waist, his touch both reassuring and electrifying as his hand ventured lower to tease her clit.

A soft moan escaped Clara's lips as Ricky's skilled fingers worked their magic, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. "Oh, fuck, Ricky," she sighed, her head tilting forward as she surrendered to the sensation. Ricky chuckled in response, his voice low and husky with desire. "You like that?" he teased, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Clara could only nod in response, her breath hitching with each exquisite touch.

In a bold move, Clara reached behind her, her hand finding Ricky's member and enveloping it in a firm grasp. She began to stroke him with practiced skill, her movements mirroring the rhythm of their shared pleasure. The sound of Ricky's throaty groans and moans mingled with the rush of water from the shower, filling the air with a symphony of desire.

"F-fuck, princess," Ricky murmured, his lips brushing against her ear as he leaned in closer. Clara's heart fluttered at the endearment, a rush of warmth spreading through her at the sound of his voice. "I want you," she whispered, her words filled with longing as she expressed her desire for him. Though initially soft-spoken, Clara found her voice growing stronger as Ricky encouraged her to speak up. In response, she was met with a praise that sent a thrill of satisfaction coursing through her veins. "Good girl," Ricky whispered, his words a tender affirmation of their shared connection and the passion that burned between them.

"Are you ready?" Ricky's voice, tinged with anticipation, broke the silence of the steamy bathroom as he hovered over Clara, his gaze locked on her. Clara's breath caught in her throat at his question, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and raw desire. "Yes, I am," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Ricky positioned himself at Clara's entrance, his movements careful and controlled as he sought to ensure her comfort. Clara's body tensed in anticipation, her senses heightened as she felt the heat of his body radiating against her skin. As Ricky slid himself inside of her, a soft gasp escaped Clara's lips, her eyes fluttering shut as she surrendered to the sensation.

The feeling of Ricky filling her sent waves of pleasure coursing through Clara's body, igniting a fire within her that threatened to consume her completely. She let out soft moans of pleasure as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate as he sought to savor every moment of their shared intimacy. With each movement, Clara felt herself being drawn deeper into the depths of their passion, her body responding eagerly to his touch.

As Ricky pushed himself fully inside of her, Clara felt a surge of pleasure wash over her, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of their connection. With a gentle touch, Ricky gave her a moment to readjust to his size, his gaze filled with tenderness and affection as he sought to ensure her comfort. Then, with a primal instinct driving him forward, he began to thrust in and out of her, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through Clara's body.

In that moment, with the heat of the shower surrounding them and the rush of water cascading over their bodies, Clara felt a sense of euphoria wash over her. She surrendered herself completely to the pleasure, losing herself in the intensity of their shared passion as they moved together in perfect harmony. And as Ricky's thrusts grew more urgent, Clara found herself lost in the bliss of their connection, her cries of ecstasy echoing through the steam-filled bathroom.

Clara felt the tantalizing sensation of Ricky inching closer and closer to her g-spot, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. His hands gripped her hips firmly, providing both balance and leverage as their movements grew more needy. With each thrust, Clara could feel herself losing control, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed her.

"Fuck, Princess, you feel so good," Ricky moaned, his voice thick with desire as he buried himself deeper inside her. Clara's head fell forward, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she surrendered to the ecstasy of their shared passion. "Faster," she begged, her voice laced with desperation as she urged Ricky to push her over the edge.

The rhythmic sound of the water hitting the shower floor tiles provided a soothing backdrop to the symphony of their desire, mingling with the soft, needy moans that escaped both Clara and Ricky's lips. Each thrust brought them closer to the brink of ecstasy, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony as they chased the elusive peak of pleasure.

"Fuckkk," Clara gasped, the word drawn out in a chorus of ecstasy as Ricky's movements pushed her closer to the edge. Ricky chuckled in response, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched Clara succumb to the pleasure he bestowed upon her. "Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he praised her for her submission. His hand moved up to tangle in her wet hair, his touch both possessive and tender as he pulled her gaze to meet his own.

"Just like that, Daddy," Clara whispered, her voice barely above a breath as she surrendered herself completely to Ricky's dominance. In that moment, with their bodies entwined beneath the warm cascade of water, Clara felt a sense of bliss wash over her, her heart overflowing with love and desire for the man who held her in his arms.

As Ricky continued his ministrations, Clara felt herself edging closer and closer to the precipice of pleasure, a familiar sensation building deep within her core. It was a feeling she knew all too well, a delicious anticipation that coiled in the pit of her stomach, sending shivers of excitement coursing through her body. With each expert touch from Ricky, she felt herself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, her senses ablaze with desire.

As the intensity of their passion reached its peak, Clara found herself overcome by a Clara found herself overcome by a desperate need for release. The ache between her legs grew more pronounced with each passing moment, driving her to the brink of madness. "Can I please...?" she begged, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked to Ricky for permission to surrender to the overwhelming tide of pleasure that threatened to consume her.

In that moment, with the steamy heat of the shower surrounding them and the sound of their ragged breaths filling the air, Clara felt a sense of vulnerability wash over her. She longed to give herself over completely to Ricky, to trust him with her most intimate desires and needs. With a trembling hand, she reached out to him, her eyes pleading for the release she so desperately craved.

Ricky met her gaze with a mixture of understanding and desire, his own need mirroring hers as he held her gaze in a silent exchange of longing. Without a word, he gave her a nod of permission, his eyes filled with a primal hunger that sent a shiver of anticipation coursing down Clara's spine. Soon, her orgasm washed over her, her legs trembling uncontrollably as Ricky allowed her ride out her high.

Clara felt Ricky pull out of her, a warm flush spreading across her skin as his words washed over her. "You did amazing," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with admiration. "Now, let's take care of you, okay?" His smile was gentle, reassuring, and Clara couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for him. She nodded slowly, her heart still racing from their intimate moment. "Yes, please," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. She loved these moments of tenderness after their passionate encounters. Ricky always knew just how to make her feel cherished, his touch as gentle as his words. As they moved to clean up together, Clara couldn't help but feel grateful for his presence in her life, his aftercare always leaving her feeling safe and loved.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈• Author's Note: Hello, Hello! It's me again!I would like to thank you for sticking around to read this! I know this exceeds the normal word count for a oneshot chapter. But I could not help but write a lot for thie smut shot/ oneshot chapter. I really do hope that you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this! Please give me feedback on the smut •┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

#ricky olson smut #ricky horror smut #motionless in white #chris motionless #smut #justin morrow #ryan sitkowski #vinny mauro smut

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mooniefics · 3 years

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AFTER CONTEMPLATING FOR SEVERAL MINUTES:

reiner braun 🤪 + “please?? just pretend we’re dating. it’s only for today, i promise!”

this is literally the cutest moonie, i'm proud of you for hitting 250!! ilysm 💖✨💕

oh my gosh i’m so sorry this took me so long,, thank u so much for the request n the congratulations mar !! very happy that my first work for this event can be for my love, our one n only reiner ♡(｡- ω -)

in all your years of knowing reiner, you couldn’t say that you’d ever once heard him sounding so frantic.

“please?? just pretend we’re dating. it’s only for today, i promise!”

those were the exact words he’d used over the phone, imploring for you to come to the official marley high ten-year reunion and pose as his girlfriend. despite how you assured him that you were certain no one would judge him for being single, he seemed adamant that it would be the exact opposite. and after a few apologies for your laughter at his predicament and a brief negotiation over his payment of getting you your favorite drink from the cafe near your workplace for the next few weeks, it was a done deal.

though you admittedly felt a twinge of anxiety upon entering the venue of chattering adults, dressed in the best semi-formal outfit you had in your closet, you could see that he was the more obviously nervous one between the two of you.

“just relax, rei.” you murmured, slipping your hand in his and giggling at the way his arm tensed, “these are your high school friends! i’m sure they’ll be surprised enough that you managed to find a nice girl like me all by yourself—“ he huffed disapprovingly, earning another small laugh, “—and only ask about your work or something.”

you barely finished your brief attempt at a pep talk when a loud voice came from somewhere by the food table. “is that you, braun?!”

reiner’s jaw shifted, a sign you’d come to learn meant him holding back a wince, turning to see a man with slicked back hair and a broad grin on his face approaching. based on his heavy-lidded gaze, paired with the red solo cup tipping dangerously horizontal in his grasp, you assumed he was quite tipsy already.

“considering how late you are, i wasn’t sure you’d even show,” he chuckled, still having to peer up at reiner despite still being taller than you, “but the more i thought about it, the more i remembered you never were the punctual type anyways.”

“great to see you too, porco..” reiner replied half-heartedly, palm already getting clammy in your grasp.

you glanced momentarily between them, deciding to come to your friend’s rescue by clearing your throat, drawing the teasing attention away from him. “actually, he was late because of me.” you flashed a smile, leaning into reiner’s side. “just wanted to look my best since i knew i was gonna be meeting his old friends.”

“holy shit..” porco muttered after a moment of silence, hazel eyes blowing wide as he stared at you like you’d disappear if he blinked even once, only breaking his gaze to turn over his shoulder and call out, “piecky, c’mere! i think reiner’s actually got a fuckin’ girlfriend!!”

you barely stifled a laugh at reiner’s low sigh of discomfort, pointedly ignoring how the people around glanced at porco’s shout. “did you seriously used to hang around with that guy?”

“no..” he grumbled back, “he hung around the people i hung around with and always gave me shit for no reason.”

“wow, rei, feeling a little feisty tonight, are we?”

he scoffed as you reached up to poke at his cheek, able to see the pink flush that had settled over his sharp features despite the dim lighting, dodging your inquiry while he looked ahead. “he’s coming back.”

putting on the smile you’d practiced so many times right back on, you caught sight of a cheerful dark-haired woman sidling over to your small group. “reiner?! you seriously got even taller? who’s this?”

you both exchanged names, offering a hand for her to shake which she eagerly took, turning to reiner for affirmation of your identity, to which he said, “yeah, she's my.. girlfriend...”

“how long have the two of you been together?”

“a couple months—”

“—almost a year.”

you quickly laughed off the sudden nerves of giving conflicting answers, turning back to reiner’s friends and recovering with, “we’re not super big on keeping track of dates. you know how time flies when you love someone.” you turned up to reiner, lips perking into a doting smile, “right?”

his cheeks flushed an even darker red, a sheepish smile brightening his expression. “right.”

“looks like you’re the only single one, pock.” pieck teased, laughing when the man rolled his eyes and huffed.

“you’re still with zeke?” reiner asked, prompting her to extend her left hand, waggling her fingers to show off the large diamond ring on her finger.

“yep, engaged for two years now!”

“apparently still too good to come to anything she invites him to.” porco grumbled in response.

“i already told you he’s on a business trip,” she frowned, taking his cup from his hand and taking a generous sip from it, “i’m sure he would’ve come if he hadn’t had somewhere else to be.”

“whatever you say..” he sighed, letting her finish his drink despite his apparent annoyance.

thankfully, your small slip up had been ignored, allowing both you and reiner to relax when the two finally turned their attention back to you. the night progressed much less turbulently than you’d previously anticipated, reiner allowing you to handle any questions directed at your relationship, not saying anything when you frequently slipped in little white lies to make everything seem more convincing. it didn’t stray terribly far from the truth, you were entirely honest about the way you’d met and the things that had made you “fall in love with him”.

you took a strange amount of joy in posing as his significant other, just as he gave equally genuine reactions when you wrapped his arm around your shoulder or ate something from his plate of food, flustered and smiling all throughout. for a few brief moments, you almost forgot that he was meant to be pretending too. he’d seemed more than happy to see that you were getting along well with all his old friends.

you learned more about reiner in the hour that you’d been milling around the room with him than you probably ever had in the confines of the job environment that you’d met him in—intrigued to hear that he’d been the captain of the football team, feuded with the neighboring high-school’s while being head over heels for the captain of their cheer team, held the title of champion arm-wrestler for all four years he attended marley—little details that you made you would’ve never known had you never agreed to come. the unintentionally intimidating, humble, easy-to-fluster human resources manager that you’d befriended apparently used to be a total jock, always getting himself into trouble.

and, based on how many times you’d been congratulated on managing to stick by his side for longer than a few months, you could only assume that you hadn’t even scratched the surface of discovering the entirety of reiner’s character.

eventually, your small group of four that’d you started out the night with had reconvened, tipsy from constantly sipping on spiked punch, an excited exclamation from pieck made all of you turn. “look! the photo booth finally opened up!!”

she was already rushing away for the corner of the venue before anyone could say a word, everyone following suit with a laugh as she stuffed a five dollar bill into the pay slot.

“uhh, pieck, i think this thing was only meant for two people.. max.” porco said after drawing open the curtain, earning a frown from her.

“but i want us all to take a picture together!” she slid into the booth despite the observation, turning to you, “c’mon, i’m sure we could all squeeze in if you sat on reiner’s lap.”

you felt your face flush, knowing there was no way to work around her request without raising some kind of suspicion and ruining the act you’d both somehow maintained for the entire night. “sounds like a plan..!”

you could feel how tense reiner was behind you as you got settled on his thighs, hesitating to rest his hands on either side of you while pieck and porco struggled to work the screen before them. you were starting to regret not asking if this was okay with him before agreeing, but you were sure he would’ve found some way out of the situation if he was truly uncomfortable. he only seemed to be preoccupied with the thought of making you uncomfortable, something which made a flicker of affection warm your chest.

“alright! we’ve got four pictures,” pieck announced, “starting... now! and make the first a normal one!”

the first three pictures were the standard photo booth antics—one with all of you smiling normally, one with all of you making the most ridiculous face you could think of in five seconds, and one of all of you arguing over what the third photo should’ve been.

“do something cute for the last one to make up for the messed up one!” pieck demanded through her laughter, pointing urgently at the countdown on the screen, “hurry up an’ kiss or something!!”

you turned back to look at reiner, wide golden eyes gazing down at you, obviously unprepared for the steadily escalating circumstance that was only being intensified by the chanting of “kiss, kiss, kiss!” coming from the woman who’d paid for the photos in the first place. and although you knew you had no obligation to do what she asked just because she had been so kind to you despite only meeting you tonight, or because the timer was winding down towards zero all too quickly, you still found yourself reaching out a hand to settle just under his jaw, heart racing impossibly fast when you realized he was already leaning down to meet you halfway.

his lips were still sweet with whatever juice had been mixed with alcohol, skin warm and blushing from your proximity, the hand that had been resting in your lap wandering to lace your fingers with his. the exchange didn't last nearly long enough, the click of the camera drawing you back to the cramped reality, pieck's cheers through giggles and porco's disgusted scoff for you two to get a room.

"i better be invited to your wedding!" pieck joked, reaching across you to draw open the curtains in a silent sign for you to pry yourself away from reiner.

"likewise." you replied with a smile, almost giddy with excitement as you clambered out of the photo booth.

though reiner's expression just barely passed as casual, his cheeks were burning red, even the tips of his ears flushed as the four of you waiting for the machine to dispense your photos. the function was winding down fast, and as soon as your drawn-out goodbyes were finally finished, you and reiner left, hand-in-hand, much to talk over but neither of you willing to speak until you'd reached the privacy of his car.

you turned to him, smiling in the dim glow on the lights of his dash, laughing softly at his sheepish expression, "i know you said we'd only pretend for a day but.. you think i could request a little extension?"

#moonie's shooting star event 1 #reiner braun #snk reiner #snk #aot #reiner x reader #reiner x you #reiner x y/n #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader #snk x y/n #snk x you #aot x y/n #aot x reader #aot x you #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction

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absolute-flaming-trash-archive · 3 years

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Hurt Part 3 - Damaged Goods

This is officially turning into a long fic series. Thank you a million times to @my-child-gaara for beta reading this.

Pairing: Illumi x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2′811

Warnings: Implied abuse/toxic relationship, Yandere behaviour, Manipulation, Graphic description of injury, Mentions of assault/noncon.

Part One, Part Two

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The longer the days went on, the more they began to blur together. That tended to happen when there was a lot of repetition. A constant repeat of routine that you would follow almost mindlessly.

To be fair, the daily regime was only a small part of what made the days fade into one another.

What was mostly the cause of it was the dissociation you were beginning to fall into to cope with the ever increasing visits from Hisoka.

You genuinely didn’t know how to act around the man anymore. What had started off as a relationship of supposed mutual respect had fallen apart over the course of a single evening, which he would remind you of and repeat frequently.

It wouldn’t happen every time he came to you. Sometimes it would be as it used to, where you would patch him up, albeit now with a heavy tension in the air, and he would leave. Other times it would be like that night all over again. You kept fighting him, of course, still unwilling to submit to a man who made it his goal to violently remind you that, in his mind, you belonged to him.

It was seemingly random. The only consistent indication of his possessive behaviour was that when you mentioned a friend or a coworker that you were getting close to, they would mysteriously disappear within several days.

It made you feel alone. Isolated.

Yet you still didn’t hate him… did you?

You’d think you would after all of that time. After what he had done. Everyone had their breaking point.

You honestly didn’t know if you had reached it, but were too numb to notice, or if you were truly that forgiving.

It was an endless cycle you would think about every night as you stared up at the ceiling, body still aching from how Hisoka had treated you.

Every cycle was eventually broken, though.

The clattering of books followed by the sound of something smashing broke you from your thoughts, making you instantly freeze.

Someone was in your house, and it wasn’t who you thought it was.

You had only one weapon in your room, a bat you saved for emergencies .

It would never do against someone like Hisoka, but for a burglar? You’d take your chances.

You threw the covers off of you, grabbing the bat and holding it above your head, approaching the source of the noise with caution; your breathing coming in quiet, shaky breaths the closer you got to your living room.

When you rounded the corner, it was like time froze.

Like you thought, it wasn’t Hisoka.

Instead a man with the darkest eyes you had ever seen stood amongst the remnants of your fallen bookshelf, the shade of his clothes contrasting greatly against the paleness of his skin.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice shockingly casual - as if he hadn’t broken into your home and ruined your bookcase. You adjusted your grip on the bat, narrowing your eyes at the man before you.

“What do you want?”

Your eyes flickered over the dress-like blue outfit he wore. It was in tatters, blood and dirt deeply staining the fabric. The gloves covering his arms were shredded, hanging over his arms like streamers.

“I’m in need of your services, it would seem.” Your eyes snapped back up to his lightning fast, knuckles white from your grip on the bat. The man sighed heavily at your reaction.

“Hisoka did say you were skittish, there’s no reason to be alarmed.”

The bark of dry laughter that left you at his comment surprised you both. “If you’re with Hisoka, that gives you less reason to be here, and if you touch me I’ll more than alarm you.”

“On the contrary, I believe it gives me all the reason.”

Awkward tension hung heavy in the air as the two of you stared at each other, both unwilling to move from your positions. His orb-like eyes shifted over to the now trivial seeming weapon in your hands.

Like hell you’d go down without it though.

“Put down the bat.”

“Will you leave?”

“No, I still need your services.”

“Then I’m not putting down the bat.”

The slightest twitch of his eye was the only indicator of the annoyance that had begun to creep through his system.

“If I offered you my name, would that calm you enough to treat me?”

You paused, mulling the thought over with caution. It would certainly make things a little smoother, in any case.

“I still don’t trust you, but perhaps.”

“Excellent, I’m Illumi Zoldyck.” The robotic cheeriness to his voice was anything but soothing as you watched him seat himself on your couch. “I’d like you to get whatever supplies you have on hand, as I believe you’ll need them all.”

His words went over your head as you processed the name given to you.

Zoldyck. There was an assassin in your house.

“Are you going to kill me?” The words slipping out before you could stop them, making Illumi tilt his head, his eyelids drooping slightly in boredom.

“If I were to kill you, you would be long dead already.”

His tone did nothing to soothe your nerves, despite the implication that the words were meant to be reassuring.

Another few beats of silence passed as you continued to examine each other. It seemed that you were at an impasse, and you had a feeling that between the two of you the assassin was the least likely to back down from his stance.

“Are you going to get your kit?”

You lowered the bat begrudgingly, the discomfort and confliction written heavily across your face.

Just this once, you decided, turning on your heel and walking away briskly.

You hurried into the kitchen, grabbing what you needed with shaking hands, taking deep breaths in order to calm yourself as much as you could. The deja vu you were feeling was horrible, and you’d be damned if you let history repeat itself, but you had been taught harshly and repeatedly that you were not as strong as you had initially thought yourself to be.

That certainly didn’t mean you were willing to give up just yet though.

You returned to Illumi with a bowl of warm water and your kit, kneeling to assess the damage. There were lacerations all up and down his right arm, shards of glass deeply embedded into the cuts along with bits of debris. The bruising that you could see wasn’t horrendous, but it wasn’t good either. You shoved your state of unease into the back of your mind as you tried to focus primarily on the injuries presented.

“What happened?”

“My initial attack missed and my target became aware of my presence. Extremely annoying, really, as my aim was not the issue and it was due to him tripping over an uneven surface. We fought.”

Illumi watched with unblinking eyes as you experimentally touched around his multitude of cuts before you nodded to yourself, standing up and walking back into your kitchen.

“I’m going to remove the glass from your arms before I assess the rest of you.” You returned with a small empty bowl and a chair in hand.

The deja vu was becoming more intense by the minute.

“I do have to ask though, what made you come to me?” - you sat down, grabbing the cloth from the bowl and gesturing for Illumi to give you his arm - “I’d imagine your family has their own collection of doctors due to your profession.”

“We do, however now that I now know about you, you were a closer and more convenient option.”

“Deep breath, this is going to sting.”

Your warning was acknowledged with a slight nod, and you pressed the cloth to his skin as gently as you could. Illumi made no motion to pull away as you carefully cleaned the area as best as you could.

“To be quite honest, I’m a little surprised that Hisoka mentioned me to you.” you murmured, lightly dragging the cloth over the wounds, removing as much of the debris as you could and tossing it to the side once you were finished. A few beats of silence passed while you pulled out a pair of tweezers and began sanitizing them with rubbing alcohol.

“Not hard to believe, Hisoka feels the need to overshare the details of his missions with me for some odd reason.” His voice unwavering even as you had begun to pull the shards of glass from his skin. “Each of them would end with the common theme of him coming to you for assessment of his injuries.”

You huffed, the sound of the glass hitting the aluminum bowl filling the gaps of the conversation. “I'm not surprised at that, just the fact that he gave you permission to see me. At least that's what I meant before.”

“He did not, I found you on my own.”

It felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out at his words, your wide eyes slowly making their way up to his face as adrenaline shot through your veins, mouth instantly going dry.

“What did you say?”

“At any attempt on my part to find out where you lived, should I need to acquire your services, he would become very proprietorial and would not disclose any further information. Quite inconvenient, we’ve always had a give and take relationship, but apparently he does not wish to share you with me.”

You couldn’t help but flinch at his particular choice of words.

“He uhm” -you swallowed thickly, clearing your throat as you gathered your words- “he doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No.”

That knowledge was simultaneously relieving and terrifying. Relieving in the sense that Hisoka wasn’t sending the people who he worked with to you to patch up, or...sharing you with others.

It was terrifying because you had no idea how he would react if he caught you with Illumi in your home when he clearly didn’t want him there.

And he could come through your door at any moment.

You ran your eyes over his arms, weighing your options quietly while trying to steady your breathing. You had nearly removed all the glass, after that you just needed to put on an antibacterial ointment and wrap the wounds in gauze and derma wrap, and he would be set.

Anything that you missed would have to be treated at his home, you couldn’t risk it here.

“This knowledge appears to be disconcerting, is Hisoka an exclusive client?”

An airy, humourless chuckle passed your lips. If only he knew.

“I’m going to do what I can for your arms, however the rest I’m going to have to leave to you since I’m not well equipped for anything worse than this. Hisoka used up the majority of my heavy duty medical gear some time ago, and I haven’t had the time or the funds to go get more.”

Illumi blinked owlishly at you as you continued to work, your movements noticeably faster as you treated him.

Odd, but your reasoning was sound enough.

The minutes flew by as you removed the remaining glass, antibiotic cream covered gauze placed over each wound as you gingerly wrapped the derma wrap around his arms.

“Okay, I think you should be good now.” You breathed, shoulders relaxing as he stood, examining your handiwork blankly while you hurriedly began to pack your supplies up.

“I don’t think you have much to worry about otherwise, and once again I’m sorry for not being able to do-”

Your eyes widened as he began to peel off his clothing, your arms automatically rising in defense; cowering behind the little protection they provided.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, don’t hurt me please!”

The automatic words were barely understandable, leaving you in a fast, jumbled mess. Illumi stared at you in confusion, his tattered shirt still in his hands.

“Is this not your form of payment?”

Your shoulders relaxed slightly as you peeked out, your own confusion knitting across your brow at his statement, “Payment?”

“Yes,” Illumi confirmed, retaking his seat on your couch, “whenever Hisoka comes to you, you treat him, and once you are finished you two engage in sexual activities, from what I have gathered from what has been retold to me.” - the casualness of his tone made you flinch - “So I believed that was your form of payment for your services.”

The way he said it was so… detached. Like what he was saying was simply a matter of business being conducted, and nothing more.

To be frank, it horrified you.

“No,” you responded, fully lowering your arms to your side, shaking your head at his claim. “No, Hisoka and I have no such arrangement. He doesn’t pay me anything.”

“Eh?” Illumi tilted his head, bits of his dark locks falling in front of his face. “Well this will not do at all, how much do you normally charge for your services?”

You didn’t know what it was about that sentence that made you chuckle, but it bloomed into a full bodied laugh; tears springing to your eyes as you clutched your sides. Illumi continued to stare at you through your little fits until your laughter had died down, now only coming in short bursts of giggles.

“Mr. Zoldyck,” -you wiped a stray tear from your eye, giving him a small broken smile- “I don’t charge anything. I never have. I’m not a medically trained professional, my skills are only the result of a few first aid courses I took for my own safety and for previous jobs.”

“Illumi is fine.” He responded, pulling out his phone, beginning to type with one hand, “I shall send you compensation for the inconvenience I have caused you as well as of the damage to your home. What is your number?”

“It’s just a fallen bookshelf, Illumi, it’s fine-”

“I believe 30 million jenny is reasonable, is that sufficient?”

Your jaw hit the floor as you gaped at him.

You were stunned to say the least.

You stuttered out the number to your cell phone, still in a state of shock, “I… I don’t know what to say, sir, thank you.”

“Your gratitude is unnecessary, and once again it’s Illumi,” -he said simply, pocketing the phone in his pants- “you should receive the transfer shortly.”

All you could do was nod as you processed all of what just happened, the rustling of Illumi’s clothing as he redressed himself becoming background noise.

You ran a hand down your face, pausing over your mouth as you tried to figure out just exactly what to do next.

30 million. That was a lot of money, more than what you could properly explain away without finding some kind of excuse. The lottery was always a good go-to, but if you claimed that and word got out, then you’d have “friends” and “family” coming out of the woodwork, and you didn’t need that kind of hassle added to your already complicated life.

You could say that it was inheritance, after all you did have a fairly large extended family…

Only problem with that route was that Hisoka more than likely kept tabs on everyone connected to you.

Panic shot through your system at the reminder of the man, frantic eyes snapping back to reality and searching the living room for Illumi.

He was gone. Shit.

“Illumi?!” you nearly tripped over your own feet as you ran out of the living room, looking up and down the halls of your house desperately before landing on him, his hand hovering over the doorknob to your front door. You stopped a few feet short of him, heart still pounding in your ears from your initial anxiety.

“He can’t know you were here. Hisoka, I mean.” You fidgeted with your hands, unsure how to properly word the thoughts in your head. “If… if you ever need to see me again, you need to warn me you’re coming. No matter how serious your injuries are.”

You laughed nervously, offering the assassin a small hopeful smile.

Illumi blinked, studying you for a moment. Why you would be so worried about his associate was completely unknown to him. Well not entirely true, it was obvious he had mistreated you in some way, but that was no concern of his. Your request of him informing you as to when he would be coming could eventually prove inconvenient, however the subtle invitation that you were willing to treat him in the future would more than make up for it. If necessary, he could use the leverage of Hisoka’s ignorance against you if that were to change.

He hummed lightly, satisfied with his own reasoning as his lips twitching up slightly in a microscopic smile, meeting your own misguided one.

“Of course.”

-----

Please tell me if you find Illumi ooc, as well as your thoughts. Yes there will be more parts in the future. 💛

Tag List: @prettycutebunny, @my-child-gaara, @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes, @shorkbrian, @mynameseri, @trash-writings, @biby-24k, @ao-writes-filth

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janamelie · 3 years

Text

Dimension Jump XXI Report

I suppose I’m a DJ veteran now as this was my fifth consecutive one and the fourth at the Nottingham Crowne Plaza which is an expensive four-star hotel. Sharing with a friend helps keep the cost reasonable and honestly, it’s worth it for the sheer convenience of being right there in the hotel and being able to nip back to your room as required. (To be clear, you don’t have to stay in the hotel to attend the con. There are plenty of other hotels nearby.)

Plus there is always the chance that you’ll see a guest at breakfast as I did Danny once. He picked out a few pieces of fruit and nibbled at them before wandering over late to his photoshoot. What else would you expect from a cat though?

Friday

Myself and @downonthepharm-red-dwarf (Amy) had arrived the previous day so had plenty of time to be near the front of the queue for registration. Which meant we saw Hattie Hayridge arrive in a stunning designer coat and with smart luggage. She really brought her outfit A-game and looked great the whole weekend.

Once we’d presented our respective proofs of full Covid vaccination or a recent negative test, we were given our DJ passes and booklets. The latter has spaces for signatures from guests, an Order Of Events and various handy tips for the weekend.

The con kicks off at 5pm with an hour of gradual build-up in the Main Hall - they show videos from previous events, specially made titbits with various guests past and present such as Mark Dexter doing a mock guide to DJ and Rebecca Blackstone voicing Pree. It all helps with the atmosphere, as do the numerous RD posters dotted around the hotel.

Then it was time for the Opening Ceremony featuring various Fan Club team members and an overcrowded stage full of cardboard boxes - the joke was that they’d had too much time on their hands during lockdowns and bought loads of stuff online. It was obviously also a nod to Lister’s hoarding in “The Promised Land”.

The sketch featured a specially made shot of the AA adverts’ Starbug model landing outside the Crowne Plaza and an 80s computerised version of the lovely convention logo. You could tell a lot of loving effort had gone into the whole thing.

Once the guest line-up had been announced (I’ll get to that not-really-a-surprise-guest shortly), we went straight into the RD Pub Quiz, hosted by Hattie. DOTP and I had been joined at our table by Lapsang and Barbs from our Discord (No Kind Of Atmosphere) plus various other attendees we’d befriended.

Someone in the crowd yelled “I love you, Hattie!” to which she quipped “I’ve pulled already!” Another bloke shouted “Fuck off, she’s mine!” which led to a few shouts of “Fight!” When neither seemed keen to do so, Hattie joked: “Only two? That’s a bit pathetic!” and then we got started.

The quiz is hard, by design, but I’m good at quizzes and my team - No Kind Of Atmosphere after our Discord - came joint third which was gratifying. (I was on the winning team a few DJs ago, to blow my own trumpet for a moment. This is my report, after all.)

And then it was time for the first guest Q&A with - surprise, surprise - Johnny Vegas aka the Crit Cop in “Timewave”. Not a great episode but he more than made up for that with an appearance I can only describe as chaotic. Warning - DO NOT attempt to heckle him unless you want to be singled out and humiliated in front of the entire audience in a “Can’t look away” fashion which was nonetheless entertaining. The man in question tweeted about it afterwards and seems to have taken it in good spirit.

Once we’d moved on from encouraging people to leave unpleasant things in room 429, it turned out Johnny’s a big fan of the show and owned it on VHS (so did I). He thinks of the main characters, Holly would win at “Taskmaster” and had good reasons for that conclusion.

He was dubious about the pink costume he wore in “Timewave” as he thought it might take away from the character but said he eventually decided he needed to get over what he was wearing and just go for it. He also said one of his worst working moments was on “Benidorm” when he had to hold his breath underwater in a freezing swimming pool and his co-star kept forgetting her two lines so they had over 30 takes. Ouch.

Johnny left commenting that he got less love at his 50th birthday party. But we hadn’t seen the last of him by any means as people kept buying him drinks during the Auction, leading to him successfully bidding for one of the items on offer.

And then he was back for the Karaoke. Now if you - as he informed us - had to undergo emergency dental surgery in the morning and had practically lost your voice, would you sing karaoke? And not only that, would you sing a version of “Love On The Rocks” which lasted 11 minutes according to someone on Twitter (I wasn’t timing it, but I can believe it), followed by the full-length version of “American Pie”?

If you answered no, you’re clearly not Johnny Vegas. He went to bed so late that the unfortunate Fan Club team member assigned to look after him got a grand total of 90 minutes’ sleep.

Saturday

DOTP and I had paid for the Photoshoot with Mr Vegas, Danny John-Jules and Ray Fearon. We got in the queue at 9am which was when it was supposed to start. An hour later we were still waiting. Yep, Danny was late.

Once he made it to the hotel, I got my photo in front of a Science Room backdrop. You might think Mr Vegas would be hungover and rushing through it, but on the contrary, he was still enjoying the hell out of proceedings which was refreshing to see. Since he’d been added to the line-up too late to be in the souvenir booklet, he signed extra inserts for the Fan Club which they handed out to everyone at the later Autograph sessions so attendees got his autograph after all even though he’d finally left. That’s what I call throwing yourself into an event.

Next up was a combined Q&A with Danny and Ray (originally separate but Danny’s lateness meant they were teamed up). This wasn’t a problem at all though - on the contrary, it worked really well as the chumminess between them added to the vibe. Also it was Ray’s first convention so he probably preferred to have Danny backing him up, especially since the poor man tripped on his way to the stage and almost fell. I don’t think he was hurt but I cringed with secondhand embarrassment and empathy. He wasn’t the only one to fall foul of the edge of the stage that weekend; I think it was the slightly raised dancefloor in front of it.

As is usual for Danny, we were treated to over half an hour of what you can only really describe as a stream of consciousness as he pontificated about various things. He and Ray did also talk about working together on “Death In Paradise” and Ray described his worst working experience there - he had to play a scene in a club in 45 degree heat with a live snake wrapped around his neck!

Ray is attractive in a “Hollywood hunk” way and Danny was clearly conscious of this, joking that he’d “brought his own security with him” and muttering “I’m better-looking anyway!” But all in a jokey way as they’re clearly friends.

Danny had come from filming and dropped a heavy hint that he’s appearing in a Dickens adaptation which I imagine will be shown at Christmas as they generally are. He also complained that Craig Charles never answers his phone: “You send him a message and he answers it on Twitter a month later!” (Interestingly, Chris Barrie later mentioned a recent phone conversation with Craig so make of that what you will.)

Ray was quieter but happy to talk about the vagaries of showbiz and typecasting - he said that due to his Shakespearean background he gets a lot of serious roles so people were genuinely surprised that he could also do comedy but “I was always funny!” He also gently teased Danny about the age of some of his references before admitting he still finds Tommy Cooper funny.

Danny usually performs “Tongue-tied” with a good grace when inevitably asked to by an audience member but perhaps it’s finally starting to pall as this time he did it in the style of Oliver Reed’s Bill Sykes and included a lot of X-rated references to cunnilingus etc. It was entertaining though.

Next up was a live Q&A (over Zoom) with Chris Barrie. Danny decided to stick around as he wanted to show Chris something he’d ordered online. It took a while to get the cameras in the right position for Chris to be able to see it and Danny needed a knife to open the parcel, leading Chris to quip “Is this a good time for me to step out for some lunch?”

However, it turned out to be worth it as it was a custom-made Ace Rimmer doll which impressed Chris with its quality and he complimented the maker.

Danny and Ray then departed for their lunch and to take part in the Coffee Lounge which this year had reduced its numbers for Covid-related reasons and held a ballot for entry in the interests of fairness. Amy and I didn’t get in but happily stayed for the rest of Chris’s Q&A.

In the “working from home” spirit, Chris was in a hoodie in his living room as opposed to his more usual smart suit. He was suitably relaxed and revealed he got through lockdown by concentrating on the things which make him happy, such as his hobbies, his garden and his family. His favourite episodes are “Marooned”, “Dimension Jump” and - less predictably - “Twentica”. He also referred to a recent “mannerly, as he would call it” phone conversation with Craig. No details but it had clearly been a positive experience.

Amy decided to liven up the ending of his Q&A by asking a vitally important, “TPL”-related question. Whom would Rimmer find more attractive, a female version of Lister or a female version of Cat?

Once the laughter had died down and Chris had bought some time by pointing out that “neither of them are women”, he gave the question appropriate consideration. He pondered whether Rimmer would be more taken by the “simple charms” of Lister or the “feline grace” of Cat. This next bit is courtesy of Amy as my memory isn’t infallible: He said it’d be a choice between a feline form or a rounder, a bit more slovenly woman - he wouldn’t want the perfectly feline woman because she might not like his imperfections, but he also wouldn’t want someone who ate curry three times a day. “Basically, a balance would be ideal.”

That was the last question but Chris provided a little more entertainment as he had a “How do you turn this off then?” moment a la Gordon the computer in “Better Than Life” and made amusing faces as he figured it out. If it was anyone but Chris I’d think it was a deliberate reference to that but I think he was genuinely befuddled.

We then broke for lunch, followed by Autographs with Hattie, Danny, Ray and Norman Lovett. I got the latter three to sign the “TPL” poster I’d brought with me but gave Hattie the booklet instead as it seemed more tactful. She complimented the dress I was wearing and I returned the compliment, telling her how much the fans appreciate the effort she makes with her DJ outfits.

Norman commented how there’s a version of the “TPL” poster he isn’t on, bemusedly. Fortunately mine was the version including him.

I spent the rest of the afternoon chilling in the bar with Amy, Lapsang and Barbs, chatting to other attendees. Graphic Designer Matthew Clark was now in the Merchandise Room with various props from Series XII and “TPL” including the Starbug manual used onscreen. I got his autograph on my poster but it’s an incomprehensible squiggle. Oh well. He was very friendly and easy to talk to.

After a break for dinner, the Main Hall reopened for the Costume Competition. This seems to get better every DJ, with an amazing “Greyscale Rimmer” who was discomfiting to be around due to the corpse-like makeup, a Natalina Pushkin, a Nirvanah Crane who could almost have been Jane Horrocks herself and a Diving Suit Cat from “BTE”. Other entries included Rimmer’s Mum, “Giraffes who were armed and dangerous” and a Confidence And Paranoia who were later pictured at the bar chatting to Paranoia himself, Lee Cornes.

We then had a special video message from Doug Naylor which I won’t go into as I’m sure everyone’s already heard the details. Suffice to say, his tone was positive.

The second Auction was hosted by Ian Boldsworth who made it more entertaining by adding his own commentary to each item. This was followed by a stand-up set from Norman. It was amusing but he misjudged the mood a bit, I feel. When you’re waiting for a disco to start and it’s already hours late due to Danny’s tardiness, you don’t particularly want to contemplate your own mortality. We were here to get away from all that, as much as possible.

Anyway, the Disco was a lot of fun even if Dave Benson Phillips’ presence as host was sorely missed. Hattie danced for the best part of an hour alongside everyone else. The stand-in DJs did their job and I stayed until the end. The final two songs were “Bohemian Rhapsody” and … “Tongue-tied”.

Sunday

Not being in the Sunday Photoshoot, Amy and I had a nice leisurely breakfast and got over last night’s festivities before the first Q&A, live over Zoom with Robert Llewellyn.

This was hosted by Ian Boldsworth who in his capacity as Dave era audience warm-up knows Robert well. Clearly well enough to get away with teasing him relentlessly about not being at the con in person until poor Robert was a mess of Krytenesque guilt.

His protestations that he’d been scheduled to be in Munich this weekend but no longer was (he was at home) only made things worse. Ian: “Oh, so that’s two sets of people you’ve disappointed now! Stop saying yes to things!” It was hilarious and Robert took it in its intended spirit. Also Ian was getting a measure of revenge for Robert - in character as Kryten - dry humping him at recordings. One attendee asked “With the groinal attachment?!”

Robert admitted that he finds Kryten’s various groinal attachments hilarious and if he was writing the show they’d be in every episode. He praised Doug’s restraint.

He also admitted that in “TPL” he had an earpiece to have his lines fed to him. Since it’s controlled by an iPad, certain unscrupulous cast members took great delight in feeding him rude ones.

He still intends to update “The Man In The Rubber Mask” but atm “Fully Charged” is consuming a lot of his time as it’s become much more successful than he anticipated and he’s in charge of several people.

Surprisingly, he would hate appearing in RD without the Kryten makeup, both because it’s become much quicker to apply and because it provides him with a shield and he becomes Kryten and forgets stagefright. He still can’t watch “DNA” for that reason.

Lapsang, who played Kryten in “Into The Gloop”, asked Robert if he’d seen it. He hadn’t but said he was now very curious and would find a way to.

Next up was Lee Cornes aka Paranoia who said he originally auditioned for the lead roles and like the other unsuccessful actors got the consolation prize of a guest appearance. Upon being asked if he’d gone out for a drink with Craig Ferguson’s Confidence, he said no because at the time they had a frosty relationship due to rumours that Craig was plagiarising other comics’ jokes. Lee said it was all very silly and he’s since apologised.

Interestingly, Lee is a qualified science teacher and carried on with that career alongside his media one, leading to surreal situations where his pupils would ask: “Sir? Were you on the telly last night?” “Yes.” “Are we on the telly now, sir?”

Someone asked a good question - what would Lister’s Paranoia be like now 33 years later? Lee would be willing to reprise the role but isn’t sure it would work as the original had a childish quality whereas he feels now the character would be a lot darker and less funny. Lee was both thoughtful and entertaining in his responses.

He was followed onstage by Hattie and Norman, who resolutely refused to rise to the bait of an audience member attempting to stir up a rivalry between them. That only works when one isn’t the nicest person you could meet.

A tactless audience member asked both if they’d watched “TPL” instead of directing the question at Norman. Luckily Hattie had seen it and particularly enjoyed the cat flap joke although she felt there was a little too much focus on the guest cast.

Norman didn’t really watch RD after he left but Hattie has seen Norman’s early episodes as he lent them to her back when she was originally cast as Hilly for research purposes. Bear in mind this was 1988 when they weren’t even available on VHS so presumably he recorded them off the TV.

Hattie confirmed with a sigh that she’s simply never been asked to return in any capacity: “That’s the short answer.” What the hell, I’ll say it one more time - Bring Back Hattie! One episode, that’s all I ask. As it stands, it’s starting to look like a pointed and deliberate snub which mystifies me.

We then broke for lunch, followed by Rob Grant and Paul Jackson. For obvious reasons they didn’t go into the current legal mess, opting instead to entertain the fans with the story of how they met and their early pre-RD work (Rob and Doug as freelance writers for Paul’s producer).

We saw some clips from their early shows including “Three Of A Kind” with Lenny Henry, Tracy Ullman and … later magician David Copperfield; apparently they all had the same agent and Paul took on David as a favour. For a 40 year old show it held up pretty well and was in much better sound and picture quality than older shows often are. “Carrott’s Lib” was just as funny.

It’s a bit hard to summarise but this session was entertaining and gripping. Rob still wants to write another RD novel and I believe there’s nothing actually stopping him as both he and Doug had an option to write a second solo novel. So we’ll see.

The final Q&A was Matthew Clark who was very informative and interesting, showing us numerous production stills from Series XII and “TPL” and talking us through them. There was a groan when time was called before he was finished.

By now time was running short and Amy and I went back to the room to pack and leave our luggage with reception before watching the start of “Dibbley Family Fortunes”. Since I knew I wouldn’t have time to watch it all, I instead nipped upstairs to Autographs with Lee and Ian, timing it perfectly as the queue had almost vanished.

Ian was still performing, drawing scornful attention to the fact that Lee had a longer queue: “Can you imagine all these people queueing to see Lee Cornes?!” It sounds rude out of context but he was clearly joking.

I decided to ask Lee what flavour the yogurt Paranoia eats was. He said it didn’t really taste of anything as it was the cheapest, nastiest canteen yogurt available and was also starting to curdle under the studio lights so eating it can’t have been much fun.

Since I now had about 15 minutes before I had to go, I caught a bit of Dibbley Family Fortunes, said goodbye to Amy, Lapsang and Barbs and then dashed off to catch the tram to the train station. Another great DJ.

#red dwarf

33 notes · View notes

thatslikely · 3 years

Text

Seeker Pt. 2 - D.M.

Seeker Part 2- Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (unspecified house but not Slytherin)

Warnings: None! Just a fluffy sequel :)

Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: You can find part 1 here if you haven’t read it already! Sorry this took so long, I’ve just been trying to make sure its a worthy sequel. I wanna thank everyone for over 150 notes on Part 1, I never expected such astounding support! Also keep your eye out for the mini surprise at the end ;) Also I would really love feedback since this is my first sequel, especially to my first ever fic.

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name and Y/L/N is Your Last Name

----

Meet me at our spot tonight at 11. I’ve missed you.

D.M.

You slid the perfectly-written crisp parchment back into the expensive black envelope it arrived in, to hide it from your nosy dorm-mates. Draco’s owl perched patiently at the open window of your dorm, barely making a chirp. You handed the well-trained bird a small piece of chocolate, which was previously stowed away in your nightstand, before sitting down at your desk to pen Draco a response.

The holiday break had been relaxing, especially since you got a long break from Quidditch practices. You loved Quidditch, you dare say almost as much as Oliver Wood did, but your muscles were perpetually sore, much to your displeasure.

You hadn’t seen the Slytherin Seeker, who you now affectionately call your friend, since the day before break began, and you were desperate to see his handsome smile again. You missed the glow of his hair in the moonlight, the ambitious and determined look in his eyes before a match, the soft touch of his hands as he held your shoulder or less frequently, your hand.

The line between friend and lover had always been blurred with him; often people accused him of being your boyfriend. Some days he reluctantly denied it, but some he just gave you a charming wink as he grasped your hand firmly.

It would be idiotic to deny your abundant feelings for him. At first, it was the subtle ways you’d pick up the little habits about him: how he fiddled with his rings when he was nervous, or how he always polished his broom every afternoon before a game or even the way he swiftly brushed his hand through his platinum blonde hair the moment he saw you walk towards him.

The blush that crept up on his alluring face every time you were near signalled that the feelings were thankfully mutual. He was painfully obvious, as you were sure you were too, so it was only a matter of time before he’d ask you out on a date to Hogsmeade. Hopefully, it will even be tonight.

The blonde’s owl had flown away by the time you realized that you had yet to jot him down an answer. You could always send him an acknowledging wink at dinner since you always purposefully made sure to position yourself for a picture-perfect view of him in all his glory.

Dinner came and went. The food was delicious per usual, you were constantly glancing at Draco from across the Great Hall, you chatted with your friends about the upcoming Potions test, which Draco would surely insist on helping you study for. And of course, you sent him a playful wink as promised.

His silver eyes weren’t off you either. He loved to admire the way your face morphed into a lively laugh or the soft, warm glow that bounced off your face, courtesy of thousands of floating candles overhead. He loved everything about you, inside and out, and he was ready to show it.

By the time eleven rolled around, you were thoroughly prepared. You ensured your hair was perfect and your outfit was warm but eye-catching. You clasped a delicate hand-wrapped forest green box, which’s lid was held on with a beautiful piece of starlight-silver twine.

It was a tradition to get your friends presents upon returning from the snow-speckled break, and Draco would be no exception. You were certain you would receive no gift in return, but you didn’t care. Draco, for lack of a closer term, was your friend, so he was no exception to your tradition.

----

Draco had definitely gone soft on you, and his fellow Slytherins didn’t fail to notice. Every time he snuck out even a second past curfew to see you at the Owlery, or Astronomy Tower, or anywhere really, they’d crack some sort of joke at both his and yours’ expense.

He had not only gone soft on you but perhaps the whole school, in a way. He was less prone to impulsively hexing first years, instead opting for slightly rude remarks. He was even a tad bit nicer to the Golden Trio.

He was still smart and sharp as ever though, maybe even paying a little bit more attention in class, in case you needed help studying.

One thing didn’t change about him though, and that was his attitude regarding Quidditch. He was fierce and strong as ever, and there was no way he’d back down during a game, even for you. Even when he wasn’t playing against you, he’d play extra competitively, in an attempt to both intimidate and impress you.

And whenever it was you on the broom and him in the stands, he always cheered for you as loud as his lungs allowed. You always wondered why his voice was hoarse after you won a match the night before, not thinking that it was his yells that rang the loudest through the pitch.

----

The steps up to the Owlery were icy, just as you were afraid of. Your knuckle was white from gripping the freezing stone rail up the endless steps. Finally, though, you reached the top, unsurprised to see that Draco had beaten you up here. He was always one step ahead, after all.

“It’s felt like ages since I’ve seen you, Y/N. How was your holidays?” His face lightened at the sight of you peeking elegantly through the cracks of moonlight. You looked as gorgeous as ever.

“It was wonderful! I got a brand new Quidditch broom, so be prepared to eat my dust, Malfoy,” you said with a smirk. Your hands rested suspiciously behind your back, carefully concealing Draco’s present.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Y/L/N. Remember, I won’t hesitate to push you off your broom, even if it kills you.” Draco’s words, even the taunting ones, sounded like the most eloquent poetry to your love-struck heart.

“Right back at you. I actually practiced my shoving techniques every morning back home. I bet I could push you off your broom 23 different ways if I really wanted to.”

Draco chuckled at your comment and you let your sarcastic expression fade into a genuine smile. The blonde slowly inches even closer to you; your face is eventually so close to Draco’s that you can see every detail imprinted on his pale skin. He accidentally brushes his ring ornamented hand against yours, causing your cheeks to become pink and warm, imitating the effects of sipping some freshly-steeped tea.

“Well anyway, I have something for you. For the holidays, you know.” Draco pulls out a small black box from his matching black trousers with a charming smile. His rings reflect the pale moonlight magnificently, and you catch yourself staring at the back of his hands.

You slowly accept the box from his hand, your hand half holding his as you take it. You say quietly, “You didn’t have to get me a gift, Draco.”

“I didn’t have to. I wanted to, love. I care about you, more than you’ll ever know.” You felt the corners of your eyes prick with tears at his kind words. Everything he said somehow managed to hit you directly in the heart.

You carefully opened the inky-black box. Draco looked down at you anticipatedly, a hopeful grin painting his face.

Laying perfectly inside of the box was a beautiful, ornate, and expensive silver serpent necklace, identical to the rings that he wore daily. The glimmering eyes of the snake were magnificent, crystalline emeralds, which precisely matched the bold hue of Slytherin’s Quidditch robes.

Your eyes continued to grow misty; your hand that wasn’t admiring every microscopic detail of the necklace was covering your mouth in awe. Draco’s lips quirked into a cocky smile at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself.

Without hesitation, you clasped the necklace around your neck. You couldn’t stop fiddling with it until Draco grabbed your hand, using the connection to pull your chest into his slowly. He softly muttered, “I like you, more than you’ll ever know” before leaning in for a kiss.

Draco’s lips on yours were like nothing you’ve ever felt. He felt magnetic. You would never be able to let go of this moment, the way his hand cupped your cheek gently, the way your hand glided from his chest to his shoulder, pulling him impossibly closer. You felt whole.

When you finally pulled away, your electrified lips yearned to touch his’ again. Instead of kissing him again though, you barely managed to squeak, “I like you, too.”

----

The next Quidditch match came by faster than you expected, and you were scrambling to prepare for your battle against the Slytherins once again. Draco had been gloating all day about how much he and the team had improved since your previous game.

“You may have gotten lucky last match, Y/L/N, but this time you’ll like a first-year learning how to fly next to me. Do you think the gold of the Snitch will compliment my hair?” Draco swept his hand through his perfectly-styled platinum blonde locks, a cocky expression unsurprisingly on his face.

“You won’t even have to worry about whether it matches your stupidly gorgeous head of hair or not since it’ll be me who gets it in the first place!” You retorted, rolling your eyes at him instinctively.

“Oh, really?” he asked flirtatiously, before giving you a small peck. The sudden kiss caused you to become so flustered, that you couldn’t do anything but shut up; he grinned triumphantly at your reaction.

The game started not long after yet again another boastful interaction with Draco. You hovered high above the ground on your new, polished broom, ready to beat your Slytherin ‘rival’ once more.

Draco could be seen across the field, cracking his knuckles in an attempt to look intimidating. While his Quidditch record would ordinarily frighten a Seeker such as yourself, you knew the real Draco, and he didn’t scare you one bit.

A booming “brooms up!” echoed through the pitch, and immediately you flew directly to the top of the pitch, looking down at the whizzing flashes of green like a cat peering attentively through a fishbowl.

Draco soon joined you up at the top of the pitch, following your exact movements just as he had done before. He spat, “Scared, Y/N?” almost identically to the last match.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you said with a knowing smile. He playfully rolled his eyes at you, and the corners of his mouth raised to an adorable and goofy smile.

“Remember, I won’t be going easy on you, even if things are different. Just because I fancy you doesn’t-” he was quickly cut off by the shimmer of gold seen out of the corner of his eye. His expensive and sleek black broom immediately flew him to the well-manicured grass that lined the ground of the pitch.

By the time you had caught up with the cocky Seeker, he was mere feet from the Snitch. You quickly flew to his side so you two were parallel, both of your hands, which had been intertwined so many times before, now opposing each other in the battle for the elusive winged sphere.

It seemed the game that you and Draco had played against each other last time, which results you wished so desperately would repeat, was doomed to change. He clashed his torso into yours harshly, in an attempt to throw you off.

Instead of toppling off your broom, you tried to give him a taste of his own medicine; you felt your bones shake after jerking your body weight into him, but he looked as if he had only been hit with the force of a leaf languidly fluttering in the wind.

Draco emitted a snarl after you rammed into his side, but he was undaunted in his pursuit of the Snitch. His pupils were practically glued to the medal-colored blur, which was darting rapidly in any direction it could.

You knew you couldn’t beat Draco this time. At least, not like how you had been playing so far. Your arm was too short, your broom too slow, so you used the last of what little energy you had within yourself to pelt all of yourself, including your heart, at him.

Instead of colliding into your green-glad admirer as you intended, you were only met with the cold and terrifying emptiness of oxygen.

The ground felt so close, your tongue could almost taste the metallic copper bite of blood. You could vividly see the way your side would slam into the spiky grass like a ragdoll, your bloodied nostrils filling with the smells of grass and the morning sun. You could envision players draped in uniforms of clashing hues dashing to your pain-ridden body, ready to carry you to Madame Pomfrey.

But due to Draco Malfoy, that horrifying situation remained trapped only within the confines of your mind.

You never thought you could love Draco as much as you did right now.

His arms were outstretched and strong as you landed into them, light as a feather. The blonde strands of hair that clung to his forehead in sweat and the unwavering confident look in his eyes drew you closer to him unconsciously. His biceps, which were nicely toned due to his years of Quidditch, set you gently in front of him on his broom.

He wrapped one of his arms securely around your chest, which soothed your increasingly rapid racing heart exponentially. His other arm was held high above his head, valiantly boasting the Snitch that resided within his glove-covered hands.

The crowd that resided in the green and grey towers of the pitch were erupting with joy. You were almost too shocked from your near-fall to roll your eyes at his huge display of cockiness and pride, keyword being almost. You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the ego-boosted beating of his heart, a stark contrast from your own.

The final moments before the two of you drifted to the ground were spent with him cheering in pride, and you taking comfort from his compassionate embrace. And maybe you were wafting in a bit of his pleasant-smelling cologne, too.

----

Your house’s common room looked dreary and deflated, comparable only to that of a seven-year-old’s birthday party- where nobody bothered to show up. While everyone was sympathetic for you, you couldn’t help but sense a slight tinge of resentment hidden beneath every soft pat on the back or obligatory smile.

The Slytherin common room, however, was filled to the brim with its cunning house-members. Firewhiskey was flowing through the crowd like pouring rain after centuries of drought. The music was pounding so loud that the intricate chandeliers hanging from the top of the dungeon were shaking violently along with the beat.

Draco and his posse stood at the corner of the alcohol-drenched room, leaning against the signature green walls, away from the large mob of partiers that had accumulated in the center.

While the Firewhiskey normally would have clouded the blonde’s head by now, tonight his mind was crystal-clear.

He couldn’t get Y/N out of his head, and frankly, he didn’t want to. He should be focused on how utterly heroic he was during the Quidditch match or his huge victory for Slytherin. But instead, he thought about how you felt under his arm, how your head softly rested on his chest. It felt like the final puzzle piece had been placed, his love and need for you cemented.

He wouldn’t be able to live without your embrace again, he was sure of that, but maybe he wouldn’t even be able to last five more minutes.

He muttered a quick, “I’ll be back,” to his surrounding house-mates before shoving his green half-full cup of Firewhiskey into one of their hands. He walked confidently through the mob of intoxicated partiers towards the enchanted stone wall exit.

His eyes darted around the corridor as he paced towards your common room. You wouldn’t be found in your common room, however, for the sulking of your house-mates was too much to bear.

You instead could be found seated at a desk in the library, channeling your pent-up guilt from your performance at the Quidditch match into vigorously studying for a Potions exam on Monday.

Your beat-up textbook was littered with dog-eared pages and bookmarks scribbled with helpful messages; it lay open on the page for Amortentia. Your hand gripped your quill tightly, carving notes onto your piece of parchment. Your eyes were briskly darting from one word to the next.

You were so wrapped up in your work that you didn’t notice that Draco had taken a seat next to you, enraptured in your presence. His elbow lay pressed on the desk, head in his hand. Your concentration was broken with a clear of his throat, followed by, “Hey darling, what’re you doing?”

“I’m studying,” you said, before adding meekly, “for Potions.”

“Oh love, you know I could’ve helped you,” he said with a disappointed smile. His eyebrows furrowed as he flipped through your notes, noticing you were writing about the infamous love potion. You let the quill in your hand go, letting your hand melt under Draco’s large palm.

In an attempt to cheer you up, he said, “You know, I have a hunch on what I would smell in Amortentia, want to know what it is?” you nodded, “tea, warm autumn’s breeze, and maybe the faint smell of sweaty Quidditch robes.”

You let out a small laugh, adorning your now-pink face with a genuine smile. “You know what I would smell? Expensive cologne, green apples, and maybe a bit of sweetness under a cold exterior.”

“I’m not sweet, but if I was it’d only be for you,” Draco said with a sarcastic grumble.

You looked up at Draco, who simply let his eyes take in all of you, adoring every single angle of your body. The loving look in his eyes was enough to make your heart explode; your legs felt like jelly and your heart was beating out of your chest so loudly, you were sure he could hear it.

And soon he could, as his body grew slowly closer and closer to yours. You pressed your forehead against his’, his molten silver eyes piercing through your own.

Finally, after moments of staring longingly at each other, you tugged his green and grey pin-striped tie in for a kiss.

----

(Bonus) Epilogue:

The Three Broomsticks was filled to the brim with students from the Wizarding School across the bend. Tables were littered with half-drank glasses of butterbeer; a few students could be seen snogging in the back booths of the tavern.

You sat across from Draco Malfoy, your amazing boyfriend, as he rambled endlessly about Potter. You weren’t listening to a word about the famous Gryffindor, instead, you were watching the way his lips articulated every word that spilled from his mouth.

“Right, darling?” Draco asked expectantly.

You nodded supportively. Draco, instead of looking satisfied, quizzically asked, “so you think I should poor my butterbeer all over your head? I’d be happy to.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening. You just look so good when you talk, I got distracted.”

“It’s fine, love. Well, I’m glad we finally got to go to Hogsmeade together.”

“After three months too! Why couldn’t you have taken me sooner?” you asked overdramatically, tugging on your bag full of sweets from Honeydukes.

“I’m sorry, but I seem to recall it’s your fault. Study, Quidditch, study, Quidditch, study, Quiddit-”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m just not as naturally smart as you, Mister Potions Master.” You rolled your eyes as he grinned at his title.

“Do you only flatter me so I do your essays for you? Because if so, I hate to admit it’s working.” He tucked a loose piece of your hair out of your face and behind your ear tenderly.

“Oh, Draco. You don’t need to know.” You fiddled with the silver serpent necklace that hangs around your neck that had been kissed so many times.

You were head over heels for Draco. Luckily, you were all his, and you would be forever.

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whitherliliesbloom · 3 years

Photo

You follow the scent trail of sweet flowers...until you bump into a mysterious bijou girl with starspun hair and lustrous lavender eyes. Mysterious girl far from home: “O-oh- I’m sorry... The way you’re looking at me as if you want to d-duel... W-well, i-if you in-insist..”

@windupnamazu‘s Pokemon!AU Illya headcanons under the cut! It’s very long, so hang tight! Note the headcanons may be subject to change or updates in the future ;w; Drawings and designs of Illya’s outfits by @rosepinkwol.

Illya’s personality is about similar with her ffxiv canon verse. Shy, reserved, very sweet and gentle. But she’s considerably more cheerful in her pokemon au form and less emotionally volatile / depressed. She still does have some lingering emotional and mental health issues though, which will be covered later.

She became a pokemon trainer primarily to explore the world and meet more pokemon. Dueling and beating others isn’t a real priority for her, though she still does it to earn money.

While Illya bets pokemon dollars in normal battles with trainers she is unfamiliar with or in official tournaments, she doesn’t like gambling real money when battling with friends. Instead, she’d often suggest that the loser has to treat the winner to a meal.

Extremely good cook. You’ll never go hungry or be unsatisfied in the tummy if you go camping with her. Just don’t mention that you like spicy foods or she’ll almost always assume that you’d be able to handle the same level of spice as she does (pro-tip: you probably can’t).

She smells like the most gorgeous mix of flowers - no thanks to her Comfey often playing with her hair and wrapping flowers around her.

She takes pokemon welfare very seriously due to her upbringing and background. She thus has a habit of releasing pokemon she captured that she feels would either be happier out in the wild or are showing signs of stress in her care. That seldom happens though, due to how loving and caring she is towards all her pokemon - most of them end up becoming very attached and even protective of her.

In the same way, she never forces a pokemon to battle, evolve or do anything they don’t want to, even if they are strong.

Illya knows a lot about pokemon care and the likes / dislikes / proper way to take care of different types of pokemon. Thus, she makes friends with pokemon a lot easier than she does humans.

The very definition of ‘gotta catch em all!’..... but only if the pokemon wants to be with her. She loves all pokemon, regardless of her personal tastes and will treat any pokemon she comes across with respect and care as long as they mean no harm to her.

Knows basic first aid for both humans and pokemon. And much like in canon, her pain tolerance is incredibly high.

She’s very particular about money. Short-change her, and she’ll be very very cross. After all, less money means less treats she can buy for her pokemon.

In general, she’s dainty and graceful... however she is a tad more clumsy in her pokemon au form compared to canon.

Illya is the definition of gap moe: her sweet, cute and angelic demeanor causes a lot of people to underestimate her. When they challenge her to a battle, they are later shocked by just how ferocious and skilled she is as a trainer.

Illya has become quite famous everywhere she travels - owing to her infectiously sweet, genuine and kind nature contrasting her ferocity and skill in pokemon battles.

She’s extremely intelligent, observant and intuitive. She often stays on the defensive for long periods of time before she works out a strategy or her opponent pokemon’s weak points before going in for the (metaphorical) kill. Reckless trainers who don’t plan accordingly are the quickest to lose to her.

She WILL order her pokemon to use stun debuffs on your pokemon (sleep, charm etc). And she won’t apologize for it.... until the battle is over.

As stated, since Illya doesn’t especially care about dueling or becoming known as the best pokemon trainer, she often doesn’t see the need to challenge gym leaders to duels unless her friends urge her to, or if beating a gym leader is required for her to be able to advance in her journey.

Illya’s an extremely good sport. She’ll congratulate you wholeheartedly if you defeat her, and will also wish you ‘good fight!’ if she beats you.

Gives the best hugs - especially to her pokemon. It’s not uncommon for people to see her giving group hugs to her pokemon after a particularly tough or difficult duel.

Illya actually has a lot of pokemon, many captured but also many that she befriended and didn’t officially ‘catch’ until they decided to follow her home. She carries a fair bunch around with her, but also left a good number of her pokemon at home to live peacefull with her father. Of course, she only enters battle with 6 pokemon at maximum, as per usual pokemon battle rules. Relationships with her main pokemon team and other notable pokemon detailed below!

While Illya is generally not one to fuss too much about her appearance or fashion, she does care about making presentable. As such, she has a more colorful and varied self-made wardrobe in her pokemon au form than she does in canon. She does however, have a favorite outfit that has become trademark to her:

A loose cloak that is fastened either with a pin or buckle, and a long flowing scarf that sways freely in the wind as she walks. Underneath her cloak, she wears a knee-length dress with a sailor collar and elbow-length sleeves and black fingerless gloves. She often switches between various hair accessories such as flower corsages, ribbons and pins. However, her brightly colored hairbands are perhaps the most well remembered to those who meet her.

Some people speculate that her scarves were sewn from the fur that was shed from her Cinccino, hence how warm and fluffy that look. Her hip length pure white hair is wrapped against her neck when she wears her scarf.

Illya’s trademark outfit in the pokemon au has two different versions: one that she wears in the spring and summer, while the other is worn in autumn and winter.

Her spring / summer attire is lighter- both in color and fabric. Her baby pink cloak is fastened with a flower pin atop her pink and purple dress. Intricate flower patterns adorns her skirt, and she wears ankle-length socks and purple flats. She also wears flower earrings

Her autumn / winter attire is made of thicker, warmer material - specifically her purple cloak which has a star print and is fastened with a buckle. Her dress is a darker blue in color, with constellation and star patterning around the edge of her skirt. There are rumors that the underside of her skirt shimmers like a starry night sky... but you’d have to be out of your mind to want to look up it to confirm said rumor. Instead of socks, she wears white tights and dark blue shoes. She also wears a star hairclip and earrings to go with her blue hairband.

Illya does not like feeling cold, and thus usually travels around wearing her cloak and scarf... however, she will on occasion take them off indoors out of respect - such as when she’s eating a meal at somebody’s house as a guest.

Illya was born to two loving parents - Cocona, a lalafellin woman who worked as a nurse at the nearest pokemon center to their home in a small, quaint town and Lachlan, an ex-pokemon trainer who retired shortly after having his name entered into the hall of fame, now settled down to live with his wife and daughter.

Cocona’s job as a nurse gave her a lot of knowledge on how to take care of pokemon, and together with her husband set up a daycare / nursery for both young and old pokemon alike, where they spent their days taking care of many different species of pokemom.

Born under those circumstances, Illya was exposed to pokemon since a very young age, and began playing with and interacting with pokemon as a toddler. She also quickly learned to help around the daycare, learning more about each different type of pokemon and how to best take care of each of their needs.

At age 9, her mother fell ill with a life-threatening disease, and in order to allow his wife to see the world before she passed on, Lachlan took Cocona away on a one year journey outside their hometown, leaving Illya alone with her aunt (Cocona’s younger sister) to take care of the pokemon daycare in their absence. Unfortunately, Illya’s aunt had a somewhat sour relationship with her sister, and was neglectful towards Illya, often leaving her unattended for extended periods of time.

Illya sought refuge and comfort from the pokemon she was tasked to take of, and for a long time, they were the only ones Illya talked to. She’d take the pokemon out flower picking, stargazing. She ate with them, slept with them and vowed to take care of them to the best of her abilities for the sake of her parents.

On a particularly terrible stormy night, the land surrounding her home became flooded with rainwater and seeped into her house. While Illya scrambled to keep the water out, her pokemon were thrown into a panic, and eventually one of the baby pidoves flew out and away from her home. Illya chased after the pidove into the woods despite the rain, the wind so strong that it caused her umbrella to be carried away into the wind.

As she ran after the pidove, she slipped and tumbled down a hill, breaking her leg. Now injured, scared and alone in the middle of the forest, the young Illya cried for help, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of the pouring rain and thunder. With nothing but the darkness of the night staring back at her and fearing that a wild animal or hostile pokemon may be lurking about and attack her, Illya attempted to crawl her way back home, but the pain from attempting to stand up only causes her to collapse once more.

It felt like the entire world had abandoned her, and just as she heard a strange noise from the shadows and feared the worse, a mimikyu approaches her from the dark and sat by her, watching over her and shielding her with its appendages, as if to reassure her that it won’t let any harm come to her.

She was found later in the morning by the people from the nearest town, who had gone over to her house to check on her only to find she wasn’t in, her pokemon panicking and gesturing towards the forest for the townspeople to look for her. The pidove was hold safely afterwards too, trembling as it took shelter in a tree.

The incident left Illya well traumatized, and stemmed her own growing self-hatred and anxiety which would only grow worse as she grew to become a teenager.

She doesn’t like talking much about what happened to her as a child, and she only ever mentions the incident to people she truly cares about and trusts. And if anybody were to ever upset her by being pushy and asking her about it when she doesn’t want to share, her Mimikyu would be the first to smack the offender in the head.

Her main pokemon team underwent a few changes over the years, but for the most part now, it’s fixed and she rarely switches members of her party out for another pokemon unless she thinks it’s really necessary.

One of the first and oldest member of her current pokemon party. Illya and her Mimikyu are inseparable.

Mimikyu had in truth been watching her since she was but a child, enviously admiring how happy her family and her pokemon in their daycare had been together. He had, on multiple occasions, attempted to show himself in order to be part of their family, but was always too cowardly to do so. He would always scurry away whenever Illya or her parents would approach, hiding in the shadows and only ever watching from a distance. He watched her even as she was left alone, and on the fateful night of that storm where Illya would find herself lost and injured in the forest, Mimikyu folllowed her.

Watching Illya cry alone in the rain, he felt a surge of protectiveness and compelled him to finally step out of the shadow to comfort and protect her through the night. Perhaps in that instance, he saw himself in Illya, someone who was scared, alone and just wanted to be loved. He could relate to Illya’s loneliness, and loved her for the way she would love and accept any pokemon, regardless of their appearance or strength.

Since that day, Mimikyu hasn’t left Illya’s side and is one of the most protective pokemon of her.

Mimikyu can often be found sitting on Illya’s head when he’s out of his pokeball and traveling around with her. He will extend his appendage out to grab any food that she offers him, or even to swat away anyone who gets too close to Illya.

Compared to other Mimikyu, Illya’s Mimikyu isn’t at all aggressive towards Pikachu. It is however, very shy and embarrassed and will attempt to hide if it spots one.

As Mimikyu only really cares about what Illya thinks, he won’t attack anyone who catches a glimpse of him under his disguise. But he will be very, very grouchy.

He gets along decently well with all her other pokemon, though it is sometimes jealous of how big and strong Corviknight is.

From a distance or as a shadow, Illya’s scarf often resembles the appendage Mimikyu extends out. Once, while the pair were out in the woods and Mimikyu was sitting on Illya’s head, it extended its appendage to grab hold of a treat Illya was offering it. A distant passerby who could not see clearly in the dark of the night mistook their silhouetted figure as being a monster - or a near and frightening mythical pokemon. The myth is still circulating to this day, and Illya has no idea that it had been caused by her and her Mimikyu.

Mimikyu doesn’t like going inside his pokeball - not that Illya would force him to. He’d of course, prefer to spend time outside with Illya. He especially never leaves her sight while she sleeps, often snuggling up to her beneath the covers or otherwise making himself comfortable in her scarf that she set aside.

He’s surprisingly, and scarily very physically strong - able to grab hold of other pokemon and even other people several hundred times larger than itself. He uses this to his advantage by grabbing people who get too close to Illya and shoving them away - and he’s not at all gentle about it.

Comfey shares Illya’s love and passion for flowers and it’s not uncommon to see her Comfey drifting around her, weaving flowers into her hair as she walked. The scent of the flower crowns Comfey weaves makes people who wear them feel relaxed, so she often wraps Illya in flowers whenever the girl is feeling particularly stressed or uncomfortable.

Comfey loves decorating hotel rooms and campsites with flowers she picks from the wild, and she seems to be particularly generous when it comes to giving out her flowers to others. Friendly, sweet and kind - it’s almost as if Comfey was an extension of Illya herself sometimes.

Comfey is the resident healer of Illya’s pokemon roster, able to not only heal the ailments of humans but also the other pokemon. She is especially active when Illya is helping out at pokemon centers or giving first aid to others. When Illya is in pain, Comfey often goes into a tearful panic.

Corviknight’s appearance almost always gives other people a heart attack. Nobody ever expects someone as small, cute and demure as Illya to have such an intimidating looking pokemon. But she does, and she is just as affectionate to him as she is with her other pokemon. Strangely, Corviknight seems to be very uncooperative to everyone except her.

Once lacking a flying type pokemon, Illya almost fell to her death after being pushed off a cliff. Corviknight caught her in midair and hid her under his wings after he landed, guarding her with a ferocious glare even as other humans attempted to check on her. Ever since, he’s ever a watchful guardian to her, glaring from behind her back even as she smiles sweetly at others.

Corviknight also serves as Illya’s main mode of transportation when she isn’t able to walk herself. As Illya loves taking her time to explore on her own two feet, she tries to not overly rely on Corviknight... sometimes, it can’t be helped however - such as when she needs to cross large bodies of water.

Interestingly, Corviknight bears a striking resemblance in both his aesthetic and personality to a hyuran pokemon trainer of dark skin and black hair who has secret romantic feelings for Illya.

Bellossom met Illya while the girl was traveling through a tropical area that has been haunted by rain clouds and dark skies for the past several days. Illya was first attracted to bellossom because of the flowers on her head, and had watched as the Bellossom danced and chanted, mesmerized when the rainclouds pulled apart and sunlight began to shine through.

The two quickly bonded, with Bellossom teaching Illya her sun summoning dance before finally, she decided to join Illya together on her journey.

She wasn’t exactly meant to be a part of Illya’s team, and for a while, she was but a mere travel companion. However, Illya noticed just how active and enthusiastic Bellossom was to battle - or perhaps she saw it as an opportunity to show off her dance to more people. Regardless, bellossom hence became a new member of Illya’s pokemon team replacing Cincinno.

If it wasn’t obvious enough, Bellossom loves to dance. She is rarely ever seen not at least swaying to its own beat while she’s outside her pokeball, and she becomes very eager when other pokemon or humans show an interest in learning her dance.

Evolved from an eevee that Illya had taken care of since she was a child, it alongside Mimikyu are the two most senior members of her current pokemon team and also the longest to have known her.

Sylveon is a free spirit, much like he had been when he was still a baby eevee. He enjoys roaming about a fair bit, though he takes care to not stray too far from Illya.

He’s very attached to Illya and much like other sylveons, understands his trainer’s emotional state well by wrapping his feelers around her hand while walking with her. Whenever Illya gets sad or upset, he often likes sitting in her lap, purring and nuzzling himself against her in an attempt to make her feel better. He also wraps his feelers around her in an attempt to soothe and calm her down whenever she cries.

Despite his adorable appearance, he’s actually very daring and fearless, never once backing down from a confrontation or fight with other pokemon even if they are multiple times his size or even if they are a type that holds an advantage against him.

Illya’s Sylveon is also very attached to Alphinaud’s Espeon, nuzzling himself to espeon whenever Alphinaud has it out.

Gardevoir was one of the latest pokemon to have joined Illya’s team. She is an extremely elegant, regal but also stoic member of the party.

Like other Gardevoir, she is able to read the future - and it was through her prediction that she foresaw her meeting with Illya and prematurely approached her. She is also able to distort dimensions and create black holes, though she rarely ever does the latter.

Much like Mimikyu and Corviknight, Gardevoir is extremely protective of Illya despite not having known her for as long as the others have and would not hesitate to expand her own psychic powers to her fullest if she feels like Illya may be in any sort of danger.

Though powerful, she doesn’t tend to like roaming about much and mostly stays within her pokeball unless Illya calls her out for food or battle.

Gardevoir’s demeanor and headstrong personality reminds Illya a lot of her late mother, and perhaps there is some deeper reason for why Gardevoir herself feels such a strong need to protect Illya as if she were her own kin.

Some of her pokemon are carried around with her as travel companions, only occasionally taking part in battles, while others are left at home to be cared for by her father.

TRAVEL COMPANIONS [to be updated as au is expanded on]

Vulpix: A male vulpix that Illya carries around and cuddles with during the winter or when she’s traveling through locations with colder climates. Out of all her pokemon who are not part of her main party of 6, vulpix is probably one of the most active and frequently called forth in battles that aren’t official tournament leagues or competitions. Illya also calls her vulpix out whenever fire is needed. He is brave and enthusiastic and hopes to one day evolve himself into Ninetales.

Dragonair: A gentle male dragonair that Illya caught near a lake one day during clear skies. It had dragged her into the sky and allowed her to ride on his back, soaring high into the clouds before dipping back down towards the waters. However, Illya lost her balance and fell into the water. He still feels bad about it to this day. He likes to curl around her to sleep.

Cinccino: A playful female cinccino who evolved from one of Illya’s minccino that she has been caring for as a child. She was once an active member of Illya’s party, but now is more of a travel companion who rarely ever battles now. Some people believe that Illya used the fur shed from Cinccino’s scarf to sew her own trademark scarf that she’s seen traveling around with now.

Rowlet: Though Illya gets along with many pokemon in general, birds in particular seem to be very fond of her. This male rowlet followed Illya as she was traveling through the woods and eventually became a part of travel party. He doesn’t see very many fights but he does love to cuddle and is very affectionate towards not just Illya but other pokemon and trainers.

Alcremie: A shy female Alcremie who offers sweets to new friends she meets. Illya often has reservations about eating the cream and berries secreted from her, but after being assured that it doesn’t at all hurt her Alcremie and that it’s offering of sweets is a sign of affection, Illya has started learning to indulge more in sweet foods more and more. Illya doesn’t have the heart to tell Alcremie she prefers spicy food, though.

Trevenant: A female trevenant that attacked a woodcutter that Illya saved while traversing through the forest. Convinced at first that Illya intended on harming the forest, it proceeded to trap her in a cage of trees until she was finally convinced to release Illya after witnessing the way Illya refused to let her vulpix burn the trees down just to escape. She follows Illya around and holds a lot of respect for the way Illya cared for nature and the environment.

Hatterene: A reclusive Hatterene Illya met during her travel. She once hated Illya, chasing her by emiting a strong psychic aura much like she does with other strangers. Upon sensing Illya’s lack of hostility and own gentle soul however, she eventually calmed down enough to allow Illya to approach. She is very moody and temperamental.

NOTABLE POKEMONS AT HOME [not including pokemon that belong to Lachlan or pokemon that belong to other people being taken care of]. List is NOT exhaustive!

Cleffa: A female cleffa born from Cocona’s retired Clefairy. As Cocona passed away shortly before cleffa was hatched, Illya became her owner / trainer instead. Though cleffa wishes to someday be a part of Illya’s team, grow stronger and evolve herself, Illya hasn’t quite allowed herself to let go of her mother’s death, and hence prefers to keep cleffa safe at home. It’s one of the rare instances where Illya has explicitly gone against a pokemon’s wishes, even if out of a genuine love and protectiveness of it.

Musharna: A female Musharna that eats the nightmares of Lachlan and any guests who come to stay over at their house. She sleeps a lot and frankly cannot care any less about battling.

Chimecho: A male Chimecho that Illya caught and took along with her on her journey for a while, before leaving him at home with Lachlan. He likes hanging himself to the roof of the house and swinging in the breeze. Not hearing chimecho’s wind chimes tells Lachlan and Illya that something is wrong.

Azurill: A male baby Azurill that Illya rescued. He is very timid and lacks a lot of confidence. He wants to get better at doing battle, but still has a lot of training to do before it can get to that point.

Beedrill: A male beedrill that was evolved from a weedle - the very first pokemon Illya ever caught in the wild on her own. She’s trained him personally as she grew up, and he saw many of her clumsy behavior and less experienced days. He’s sort of retired now, spending his days keeping the more rowdy pokemon in the daycare in check.

Theme songs

If pokemon au illya were to have a theme / ost track, it’d be this lovely re-orchestrated track of the Lacunosa Town Theme! It’s soft, peaceful and has a touch of melancholy which suits her perfectly. This, this and this remix also fits her and may double as her battle theme?

Illyanaud track mayyyybe?

Legendaries / Mythicals??

I didn’t include any legendaries or mythical pokemons into her roster because lore regarding those are that they’re very very rare BUT if Illya were allowed to have a legendary and a mythical pokemon, she’d probably own a Cresselia and a Celebi!

Cresselia, the Lunar Pokémon. Shiny particles are released from its wings like a veil. It is said to represent the crescent moon. On nights around the quarter moon, the aurora from its tail extends and undulates beautifully.

Celebi, the Time Travel Pokémon. This Pokémon wanders across time. Grass and trees flourish in the forests in which it has appeared. When Celebi disappears deep in a forest, it is said to leave behind an egg it brought from the future.

Shout out to Diancie, who is a close second choice solely based on the fact it’s design looks like what Illya would be if she herself were a pokemon.

Relationships with other OCs / NPCs

To be added!

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #illya skawi #headcanons #mine #the greatest treasures #pokemon au #ffxiv art #i looked over this post maybe more than fifty times now and #one half of my brain says this is long enough and nobody's gonna care to read it all #the other half is saying i should write more #THANK YOU SO MUCH KAI FOR THE ILLYA DRAWINGS #HONESTLY YOU'RE SUCH A SWEETHEART FOR MAKING MY IFFY DESIGN REQUESTS INTO A REALITY #i already have alphinaud's team planned out and what some of the extra pokemon he owns will be but #i don't have the strength...to edit graphics for him....

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beauregardlionett · 3 years

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between the flashes

AO3 Link

Beau was always restless.

In elementary school, her teachers gave her one of those rubber wiggle cushions to sit on, just to keep her in her seat. Her parents let her partake in multiple after-school sports because it meant she would come home already worn out. They wouldn’t have to deal with her energy, and it looked good on college applications later down the line. She had a borderline obscene collection of fidget toys to her name and too many hobbies that she picked up and abandoned when they bored her.

Her friend Caleb from college often commented that he thought her natural state of existence was pure movement.

So how she ended up working part time as a model was beyond Beau. The journey from point A to B became muddled, but it likely began with Beau picking it up as a hobby and then forgetting to put it down again.

Granted, modeling was not a static thing. It involved constantly changing poses, making minute adjustments according to direction or impulse, and sometimes even changing or manipulating outfits. Sitting for hair and makeup was a torturous experience, so Beau had of course learned how to do it on her own. At least it kept her hands in motion.

Whenever she got to do dynamic shoots, Beau remembered why she stuck with modeling this long. They included everything she loved about the gig. Sometimes she got to travel, most of them were outside, and they often involved skills she had picked up from all of those sports she used to partake in.

“Beau,” Yasha called from behind the camera, sounding fondly exasperated. “I know you want to get outside, but you have to hold still for this photo.”

Yasha was an up-and-coming photographer that The Rexxentrum Times had described as “a photographer with a stunningly robust portfolio capturing everything from the playful mundane to the shockingly vulnerable”. She was also, more importantly, Beau’s girlfriend.

To most everyone’s surprise, it was Yasha who had approached Beau first, asking with her trademark quiet hesitance if Beau would model for a shoot. At the time Yasha asked, she was fresh out of college and Beau was two years in and changing her major. She had volunteered to model for an art class that Yasha had been in before her graduation. Apparently she’d made an impression.

The impulsive part of Beau told Yasha yes simply because she found Yasha attractive. The intelligent part of Beau bolstered the continuation of their business partnership after seeing the products of that first shoot.

Falling in love between the flashes had been an inevitable and welcome consequence.

“But babe,” Beau whined, adjusting her pose per Yasha’s patient direction. “I need to run around.”

“We’re almost done, Beau,” Yasha chuckled as she adjusted the light off to the side. “Then I’ll set you loose in a field in an outfit you can get as dirty as you’d like.”

“Fuck yes!” Beau cheered, settling into the nuances of her pose when Yasha stepped back behind the camera. A few snaps and quiet instructions later, Yasha straightened up, clicking through the photos on her display and smiling. It was that tiny, secret and pleased little spread of Yasha’s lips accompanied by an uptick at the corner of her mouth. Beau learned it was an unconscious reaction to her own work when she analyzed the satisfying, finer details.

Eager to see the raw photos, Beau bounded over and draped herself over Yasha’s back, arms flopping over her shoulders.

The concept for Yasha’s latest round of photos centered on flowers - their meaning, depiction, stereotypes and misconceptions. There was some implication among the stills about the flowers being the person, but art had always been beyond Beau. She could appreciate it, sure; all that deeper meaning stuff she would rather listen to Yasha wax poetic about than figure it out herself.

But this photo, this last pose, Beau needed no explanation. Despite being the one in the photo, she hardly recognized herself, feeling breathless.

Beau was in dark red cigarette pants and a deep crimson top. The sleeveless illusion neckline that fastened with a high collar around Beau’s neck offset the fitted sweetheart bodice. There were fake rubies in her ears, her features accentuated by the red eyeshadow on her lids, and the deepest red matte lipstick Beau owned. Yasha had her barefoot and sprawled sideways on an antique chaise lounge, leaning against the raised end with her cheek against her arm. Her hair hung loose, barely styled more than brushing out the waves and crimps from having her hair up in a bun most of the day. It hung over the arm of the lounge, long and dark.

In one hand, dangling toward the floor, Beau held a fistful of red rose petals, more scattered over the floor and the chaise. Between her teeth, she bit down on the blunt stem of a red rose in bloom, making it seem as if the flower was growing from her tongue.

Yasha had told her to go for something like desire with her expression. Everything about the setup of this photo seemed to expect some derivative of sexual interpretation. But Yasha wanted to take that capitalistic view point and have Beau model love - unadulterated affection.

The pose and staging were not what took Beau’s breath away, not the make-up or the flowers, the clothes or the composure. It was her own godsdamned eyes.

She looked right at the camera, but her focus seemed fixated past the lense. The skin around the corners of her eyes was smooth, her brow relaxed. There was a light in her irises, deep and yet affectionate. It softened the rough edges of how Beau presented herself as a model, as a person, and transformed her into love.

Without a doubt, she was looking at Yasha.

“This is beautiful, Beau,” Yasha said, sounding awed. “You look perfect.”

“All thanks to you,” Beau replied, both genuine and attempting to duck praise she still struggled to accept.

Yasha, ever attuned to each of Beau’s fluctuating frequencies, beamed at her. They leaned in together to observe the display, shoulder to shoulder.

“I assume you’re ready to go run in a field now, right?” Yasha was clearly trying to sound cheeky. Her tone, however, was a little too breathy, eyes far too distracted by Beau’s dark red lips to succeed.

“Absolutely,” Beau murmured. It was hard to miss how close their noses were to brushing.

Yasha hummed in response, leaning a little further toward Beau.

Suddenly, this all seemed like a lot.

Beau loved Yasha - in a whole and all-encompassing way. But it wasn’t something she just said every day. It was a gentle, ever present simmer of a thing. Love lived in her chest and made itself known in minuscule ways. She felt it like a tingle in her fingertips when she and Yasha traded coffee creamer and jam jars as they made breakfast. Love shaped her smile in a million different degrees whenever Yasha did something extremely...Yasha. It released her most honest form of laughter late at night when it was just the two of them and a bottle of wine.

Love appeared as wildflowers picked on a whim - not intentional roses. It lingered like Yasha’s favorite band t-shirt from high school Beau now had as part of her own wardrobe - not slimming pants and sexy shirts.

And while their first kiss had been the product of a dramatic build-up of emotion and pining, this was not them now. She trusted Yasha, but this unexpected snapshot of vulnerability destabilized Beau and found her unprepared for the aftershocks.

Beau was impulsive when overwhelmed.

Yasha leaned in for a kiss, lips parted just so, eyes closed, a breath away. Beau puckered her lips and blew a quick burst of air right against Yasha’s mouth.

Yasha pulled back sharply, blinking in surprise as she stared down at Beau. Unable to help it, Beau laughed at the expression on Yasha’s face, who was quick to recover, more than used to Beau’s antics. Grinning, she made a grab for Beau, who danced out of Yasha’s reach, laughing louder as she squealed and darted around the studio.

Beau moved fast, but Yasha was right on her heels and had strength and impressive reach working for her. It didn’t take long for her to catch Beau by the waist, twirling her around in a back hug. She used their position to her advantage, peppering quick, tickling kisses over Beau’s shoulders and neck. Beau squirmed and giggled, trying to either wriggle to freedom or twist around in Yasha’s arms so that she could fight back with kisses of her own. Eventually, breathless, Beau gave up and let Yasha hold her, both drunk off of laughter as Yasha put her down.

Twisting around once her feet met the floor, Beau looked up at Yasha, cheeks aching with her grin. There was nothing but absolute adoration shaping Yasha’s expression as she brushed Beau’s hair back from her face. Something vulnerable gave a mild twist beneath Beau’s ribs, but she didn’t pull away or stop smiling.

She trusted Yasha. Now that Beau had her balance, her feet stable beneath her, it became easier to face everything.

Yasha leaned in and kissed Beau’s brow with gentle attention. Beau clung to Yasha’s wrist where she cradled Beau’s cheek.

“Thank you,” Beau whispered - for what, even she didn’t know. But Yasha seemed to understand.

“Now,” Yasha said, pulling back with a grin. “Ready to go outside?”

“Hell yeah!” Beau cheered, darting off to gather her next outfit and make-up wipes.

She might not always have the wherewithal to put her emotions into words, but she had Yasha. That was more than enough.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha #writing #my writing #please accept this small modern au photographer and model au chapter #blah blah something about the night yorb

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creativeskull95 · 3 years

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Powerpuff Girls gritty sequel, but it’s actually good

So this might be a bit late, but here’s how I would do a gritty and dark sequel to the Powerpuff Girls, but it would actually be good.

THE PLOT

Way back when they were children, the girls gave up their powers in order to trap Him, who had snapped and was trying to bring about the end of the world. The Utoniums moved away(one of the few people left in Townsville able to do so), and the girls lived normal human lives up until their thirties, when their dad has finally died. That’s when the Rowdyruffs show up, with a way to return the girls’ powers. While Bubbles and Buttercup refuse initially, Blossom jumps at the chance to become a hero again, and they are eventually forced to follow suit as old and new enemies return. However almost 20 years without powers have left them kinda rusty, and the Rowdyruffs have to train them back up if they want to beat Him again, once and for all.

CHARACTERS

Powerpuffs as a whole

All live in the same house with their late father. Still have a good relationship with each other after all these years, and even still hold weekly family game and movie nights. As this is a continuation, they would be played by white actresses, though I’d personally like Buttercup to be played by an Asian one to match Utonium(who I always saw as Asian, tbh).

Blossom

Started strong, but over time became depressed. Started college, but never finished, and currently works part time in retail. Spent the most time taking care of Utonium, and when not doing that could often be found playing video-games in her spare time. Jumps at the chance to be a hero again, though as time goes on she doesn’t find it as fulfilling as she thought she would. Her arc would deal with finding fulfillment and her place in the world, and not clinging to the past.

Bubbles

Works as a stripper, and finds it incredibly fun. She often incorporates animal motifs into her outfits, favoring squirrels and never using bunnies if she can help it. Is way too generous and forgiving, but has the worst temper out of all the girls. Her arc would be tied up in Boomer’s, and allowing herself to fall in love.

Buttercup

Owns an auto shop, and is scary good at what she does. Has a league of boys and men who work under her that see her as a scary godmother. Also has a habit of giving candy to kids whose parents come into the shop. Her arc... idk actually she’s the most well adjusted out of all the girls. Maybe she doesn’t get an arc, or it’s something about being the youngest child. Smokes weed to curb her more violent tendencies, and shares with Butch.

Bunny

Gets resurrected by Him to act as his lackey/spy on the PPG for him. Has a normal form, where she looks like a regular teenager, but when her powers activate turns into a Hulk-like brute of a monster that, while looking neater than her original form, is still monstrous and scary. Her subplot involves being incredibly unstable, and the PPG and RRB trying to figure out how to stabilize her before she explodes again.

Rowdyruffs as a whole

Stayed with Mojo Jojo in the Ruins of Townsville to keep an eye on Him’s “grave”. The time was spent training and preparing in case he ever returned. When he did, and the RRB were defeated, Jojo sent them off to restore the girls’ powers and prepare them to fight Him.

Mojo Jojo

Helped the PPG take down Him, and the stayed behind of his own free will to keep an eye on things when they left. When the Boys showed up he did his best to be a good father, and turn them to the side of good. He had mixed results, but at least they stayed with him. When Him tried to break out he made a last ditch effort to contain Him, sacrificing himself but letting the RRB flee with the girls’ powers.

Brick

A stern and powerful leader, he just barely keeps his brothers under control. Gets exasperated easily. Is insanely jealous that the girls got to have normal lives while he never got a chance at that, and thus gets pissed at Blossom for taking it for granted. Gets better later on.

Boomer

Incredibly promiscuous, which just gets worse when he gets around people. One of his first actions is to grope Bubles, and then immediately get knocked out in response(before she gets her powers back). Makes it his goal to win her heart, becoming a genuinely better person in the process.

Butch

Completely fucking wild, but surprisingly becomes normal when he smokes weed. Gets “tamed” by Buttercup, in a sense, by which I mean he realizes he’s a complete ass and tries to do better. Also loves kids, once he figures out they’re tiny chaos machines.

EXTRA DETAILS

Princess still exists, and is kinda like evil Batman. She still gets her ass beat every time, though. Also she tries to flirt with Brick to piss Blossom off, but neither of them care.

Professor Utonium might have been hiding something about the PPGs creation.

Blossom starts out being very unkempt and then gets better, and then goes right back to being unkempt again as her arc goes.

Would 100% like this to be animated, but also live action is good if needed.

Jojo is still a monkey in this.

The original cartoon is NOT a show in this. This would be a continuation of the cartoon.

Idealy this would be a two season show. Season one ends with an attempt at killing Him that fails, thus having him show up in season two(along with Bunny and Princess).

I want this song in the show at some point.

Anyways feel free to ask me more about this cause I have many ideas.

#powerpuff girls #skully speaks #I can do so much better than cw #I could keep it light while still adding in the more adult stuff without it becoming stupid #ppg #powerpuff girls reboot

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honeytea8 · 4 years

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Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

#JJBA #jojo’s bizarre adventure #Dio Brando #Dio x Reader #Dio Brando x Reader #Masquerade AU #jojo #Dio #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #3D Renders

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liitlesunshiine · 4 years

Text

Little Sidekick

(Bakugo x Reader)

Warnings: Cursing, sfw

Prompt: Y/N takes up an internship at the Ground Zero agency. With her luck, she ends up a sidekick to the Pro hero himself- Bakugo.

Prelude: While this chapter is smutty free I can guarantee you the future ones wont be ;) Now I haven’t written anything in a FAT minute so forgive ya girl for the grammar errors you see. I’m a marketing major not a literature one. Just horny and motivated enough to write a full-blown fic on a fictional character, that I am currently obsessing over. Hope ya sluts enjoy :*

Y/LN= Your Last Name

| Chapter 1

In a desperate last-minute attempt to leave your toxic home, you took up a hero exchange program in Japan that you found online. While this wasn’t exactly the smartest thing you’ve done, it definitely didn’t stop you from applying to a sidekick position in an agency called “Ground Zero,” not aware that you’re getting more than what you had originally bargained for; you secretly packed a bag with a few necessities and slipped out of the prison you called home.

“Good morning Ms. Y/LN, to start you off we’re going to be putting you in a training simulation to better analyze your quirk and combat skills. This is to see which hero you’d be most compatible with as a sidekick.”

It was your second day at the agency. You spent a week settling in the apartment that the agency offered you for the internship program. It was a humble setting, nothing flashy which you had preferred anyways. You finally step foot in the agency yesterday mainly going over the basics and signing paperwork, today you assumed was going to be a bit more hands on.

You were used to this type of routine, being top class in your high school years meant a lot of colleges were constantly throwing themselves at you. Which in turn led to a lot of situations with you in training and battling on other heroes. Especially with your father owning and running multiple agencies, you were constantly being forced to get stronger, it was practically expected of you to become a high-ranking hero in America and take over his business. Something you honestly didn’t care much for. Maybe it was the constant pressure being put on your shoulders to become a hero but after so many years of being subjected to that, you’ve come to secretly dislike the hero industry in your own twisted way. You only took this internship program because you were unknown here, there were no expectations of you, no one constantly breathing down your shoulder; here you were nothing but a nameless sidekick and that thought alone brought you some peace.

You stepped into the training simulation. It was an all-white room but seemed endless. On one wall there was a glass window where you supposed they watched you from but couldn’t see through from your side. You were wearing a one-piece track suit with lines running all throughout the outfit. The suit was ingrained with tech that would monitor your breathing and usage of your quirk.

“Hello Y/LN” you heard through the speaker phone “if the training gets too intense for you or if you want to take a break just yell out STOP and we will immediately halt everything. I also forgot to ask since I didn’t see it on your application: what is your hero name?”

That question lingered in your head for a minute or so. In America you were forced into living a persona behind the title of a false name. Everything in the hero industry was so theatrical, from the costumes, to even the name you represented yourself with. It was all so scripted and fake. You refused to take any part in that this time, here in Japan you’re starting with a clean slate. So, with that in mind you sternly responded:

‘Y/N. it’s just Y/N.” and thus the training began.

About 15 minutes went by with no trouble or fuss. Your air quirk allowed you to move fast and efficiently. You’ve dodged every attack thrown at you by the fake automated dummies and even destroyed a handful with such ease and precision. You were taught a variety of attack and defense forms, all with and without the use of your quirk. You also knew how to dual sword fight; but since the training has been so pathetically easy you haven’t even found the need to use your swords yet. Picking up on this attitude, the speaker came on once again.

“It seems like the simulation is a bit too easy on you Y/N, were going to be skipping up a few levels and see how you do on level 7: which is where most of the pro heroes train at.

You only responded with a nod. A smirk slowly creeping in your face. About time they got serious. You were hoping for a challenge, you couldn’t deny the bit of pride you felt effortlessly blowing through this training. With that, more mindless dummies appeared, all in different shapes and sizes this time, some even carrying weapons and shields. There was one dummy in particular that caught your attention. It had four arms all holding a sword. You immediately drew your swords out and instantly ran over to it; all while you smoothly cut and sliced through all the others in your way.

Once you reached the four handed dummy, it instantly became a dance among swords hashing and daggering at one other. Even though you were outnumbered by two swords you kept the upper hand by being faster. But with every given slice the dummy was beginning to match your pace and speed, it was becoming slightly more difficult to stop every single hit; so, you cartwheeled back to give yourself some space.

You jumped to one of the corners of the walls staying off the ground to think of plan. You figured if you kept going back and forth with the dummy it would get you nowhere and eventually just tire you out. Frustrated by how the dummy was able to match your speed you prioritized cutting off two of its arms. That way it be more manageable than trying to defend yourself against four swords attacking you simultaneously. You instantly retreated back once you had given your failed plan an attempt. Back on the corner of the wall, you were losing more patience.

Maybe I should wait for an opening and cut its head off, maybe with my quirk I can push it back and have it fall, you thought to yourself. Maybe I’m just overthinking this, it’s a fucking lifeless dummy.

With that you activated your quirk and blew air towards the dummy with such force it rolled back. You took this opportunity to jump on it, but it immediately drew out one of its swords to defend itself; it forced you to quickly rotate midair and land it behind it. This gave you about 3 seconds to rack your sword across its neck before it was able to even register you were behind it. Its lifeless head fell onto to the floor and about a minute or so its body just disappeared altogether. The room was slowly returning to its white appearance and all the evidence of a battle scene was replaced shiny tiles. The lady walked through the door “wow Y/N that was great! You don’t even seem to be worn out. I’m sure you could’ve even reached level 8 easily but we gathered enough data already. Why don’t you come into my office so we can go over the details of who you’ll be paired up with”

You’ve trained tirelessly for years on end, of course this simulation was going to be a breeze. At least compared to what you’ve faced in the past. You shuttered at the thought, quickly trying to think of something else. You thoughtlessly followed her as she led the way, you looked around the impressive building with curiosity; it wasn’t the fanciest one you’ve seen but it must have been one of the biggest. After heading up in an elevator and making a few more turns you ended up in the speaker’s office taking a seat across her. A bit of guilt creeping up since you had completely forgotten her name.

She pulled out some papers giving you more things to sign and fill out. She briefly reminded you of the benefits that the agency was going to be offering you: an apartment complex 5 minutes away from here, a flexible schedule and fixed meet up times, and a small allowance for food and necessities.

“Do remember this program is for a year, while we can’t guarantee you a permanent position after that, if you do show promising resolve, we can offer you a contract making you an official member of the agency. This program is highly competitive though, we have about 8 other exchange heroes that we will be working with this year. And out of the 8 only one or possibly two, candidates will be accepted.”

“yeah that’s fine,” you casually responded.

You weren’t planning on staying here forever, regardless you were hoping by the end of the year you would land a spot in Shoto’s agency. You’ve always secretly admired the half and half hero after watching an interview of him speaking about his father. You couldn’t help but relate to him and what he felt; on top of it he seemed like a genuine and down to earth person. The opposite of what you’ve usually seen among heroes. You were absolutely intrigued and fascinated by the icyhot hero-

You were pulled away from your thoughts when the door behind you was slammed open. You jumped slightly from the noise and sharply turned with an irritated look on your face to see which asshole would just barge in like that. When you did, your eyes met with a pair of red curious ones. The man who barged in had spiky blonde hair protruding out in every angle, that would’ve been his most noticeable feature if it weren’t for the fact that he was fucking huge. His presence alone held such intimidation and power and that tight black shirt with a red X on it did little to no job in hiding every curve and muscle from his body. From the sharp V line on his lower abdomen, to his biceps which made your head look small in comparison, you were certainly caught off guard but pulled back into reality when the woman broke the silence.

“Y/N, this is Bakugo, Katsuki, also known as Ground Zero. You will be his sidekick from this moment forth.”

There was a moment or so of awkward silence that made the air around you feel heavy.

“tsk. Like hell I need a sidekick. I don’t need dead weight on my fucking shoulders, set her up with shitty hair, or dunce face.”

“Now, now Bakugo. We discussed this with the PR team already, don’t be difficult. We need to bring up your ratings. Having a pretty sidekick can distract the audience from that explosive personality of yours. We’re already in a rough spot from your last meltdown.” Speaker lady said with the calmest tone you’ve heard her use since you’ve met her.

“I was in the middle of a fucking battle how else would you have liked for me to get the public out of the way eh?”

“threating them with an explosion and cursing them off definitely wouldn’t have been my first choice.”

“tsk. Whatever. I’ll have to train her then. Wouldn’t want a liability on my hands now.” He looked over to you “Ya heard me freakshow?”

You bit your inner lip, drawing a tiny ounce of blood. There was a lot of information to digest here but fuck this, you thought. You ignored him for a few seconds, unraveling everything you’ve just heard. The balls on this guy. Who the hell did he think he was? Last thing you needed was to deal with some asshole trying to down talk you. You stood up and pushed your chair back. You looked up at him with unsettling coldness. You weren’t having any of this shit today.

“My name is fucking Y/N.”

His mouth slightly gaped, it almost looked like he wanted to respond but couldn’t form any words. You assumed he wasn’t used to people talking back? You could careless at the moment, you took his delayed reaction to walk out and slam the door closed. You felt offended and belittled. So, they partnered me up with that punk not based off of my skill or anything but because I’m simply a pretty face that can distract the crowd from his unhinged personality? The fuck. A wind whirl of emotions went through you. Wasn’t this in some way demeaning, maybe even sexist? I’m being reduced to my looks now; this was definitely a first for you. His words rang in your head “dead weight” “liability,” “shitty hair,” “dunce face;” he not only spat on you but on his coworkers as well? Man, if that’s how he talks about his peers you could only imagine what he had in store for you, seems like “freakshow” was your new nickname already. A chill ran down your spine, maybe coming here was a bad idea.

No. no. no. You quickly stopped your train of thought. I’m not going to have this wannabe scare me off on the first day. I left America for a reason, I can deal with this, I can deal with him-

Your thoughts were interrupted once again.

“Oi, I wasn’t finished talking!” he stomped his way behind you and pulled your arm back, forcing you to face him.

“well I am.” You responded sharply with an attitude rolling off your tongue.

“Like hell you are.” He growled, gripping your arm tighter this time, tugging you closer to him. The muscles on his biceps becoming veiny from how tight his grip was. The air stiffened and everyone outside the office walked slowly pretending not to notice you both. This time with more courage and vigor you pushed his shoulder, which to your embarrassment did little to nothing considering he didn’t even move an inch.

“What’s your problem?” you asked genuinely confused from why he was acting out, the pain on your arm becoming harder to ignore. He held an intense gaze with you, it was now registering how small you were in comparison to him. With his free hand he pushed the hair on your shoulder to the side gently, throwing you off completely. He leaned into you, insanely and uncomfortably close with his hot breath hitting your ear. Chills were running all throughout your body and you couldn’t bring yourself to move way this time. It was if you were completely frozen.

“Don’t go thinking you’re hot shit just cause you reached level 7. I’d hate to put you in your place so soon on your first week here little sidekick.” The pet name rolling off his tongue. You practically choked on air, not sure with what to respond with, still frozen. Slightly terrified, now slightly turned on; you made a feeble attempt in creating some space only to be pulled in closer. Now he had both of your arms pinned to the side.

“Not so brave now eh?” He pushed his body onto you, you practically felt like you were sinking into him. A light unintentional blush crept in on your face and he smirked at the sight. He pulled your chin up forcing you to meet his eyes, glaring down at you with a smug look on his face. He was taunting you.

“Our training sessions will be every Thursday and Friday after 4. Make sure you’re on time little sidekick, I’d hate to have to go look for you and trust me, the last thing you’d want is to play a game of hide and seek with me.”

With that he let go of you and shoved you off to the side. You regained your balance by grabbing on to the table near you, trying to register what the fuck just happened. Everyone was looking at you. While Bakugo walked out of the room, you stood there absolutely floored. It was until a tap on the shoulder brought you back to your senses.

“You good? I wouldn’t worry much about Bakubro, he’s just like that.” A rather handsome red head stood in front of you. He was slightly bigger than Bakugo but around the same height. There was this energy radiating off of him that felt really comforting and soothing. He smiled at you and you caught sight of his sharp teeth, but gentle look on his eyes.

“I’m Kirishima. Welcome to the agency.”

#bakugo smut #bakugou katsuki #bakugou smut #bakugo x reader #bnha #bakugo #my hero academia #bnha boys #bnha smut #pro hero bakugou #ground zero #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #mha bakugou #mha boys #mha kirishima #mha bakusquad #kirishima

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jetsetlife138 · 4 years

Text

Imaginary - Chapter 8

Rating: Mature for this chapter, but Explicit in future chapters

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: A mysterious device throws you into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel. Once an average human living in a three-dimensional world, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. Pentagram City’s residents are curious and most harbor ill-will towards you. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Abuse, Kidnapping Attempt, Non-Consensual Touching Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

The walk to Valentino’s office… or… headquarters… or lair… or whatever you wanted to call it was uncomfortable at best. Angel guided you through the streets of Pentagram City, making sure to deviate from the main roads by taking back alleys and seedy shortcuts to ensure that you remained unnoticed by Hell’s residents. You were afraid to ask how he knew about the obscure alternate routes, but considering his profession, which you had learned was an adult film star who alternated as a hooker, you supposed that he would be well-versed in that sort of thing.

“Listen, toots. If anyone asks, I didn’t set this up. Got it?” the spider demon urged, hustling down the alley.

“Why would that matter?”

“Because!” he snapped, slowing down so that you could keep up with his long legs. “I don’t wanna be the one who catches shit when the little princess realizes you snuck out right from under her nose. And I especially don’t wanna take the blame when Smiles discovers you’re gone.”

“What difference does it make if Alastor finds out?” you asked, perplexed. “I mean, I can understand Charlie. She’s giving you free housing, and you’re already on thin ice with Vaggie, but Alastor doesn’t have anything to do with you being there.”

He cackled maliciously. “Babe, you really are too much. Whether you wanna admit it or not, Smiles is obsessed with you. If he finds out that I took you to Big Vee, someone he’s not too fond of, I might add, he’ll probably eat me - and not in the way I’d like him to,” he added, grinning salaciously.

Much to your horror, you then began approaching a building with the words Porn Studios plastered on the front in bright red letters.

“Val… works in the porn industry?” you inquired, a hint of contempt in your voice.

“It’s a thriving business, baby. If you were looking for a ‘respectable’ establishment, you ain’t gonna find one a those in Hell. Get used to it.”

The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Valentino ran Hell’s gritty underbelly, and if he was in charge of the porn and prostitution industries, surely he was in a place of power.

When you reached the empty lobby inside, Angel motioned for you to sit in one of the chairs. “I’ll go an’ let him know you’re here. Sit tight.”

The moment he disappeared through one of the doors, a slight sense of dread fell over you, causing you to stir uncomfortably in your seat. Wringing your hands nervously, your thoughts began to wander. Did you just make a huge mistake? Should you have put your trust in Angel? Why didn’t anyone else mention Valentino as a trusted source before?

It was too much. You shouldn’t have gone there. A feeling in your gut was telling you to run and avoid this place at all costs.

Just as you had gotten up to leave, Angel came back through the doors. “He’s ready for you, toots. Come on back.”

“Angel… I--” you started to protest before he cut you off.

“You wanted answers, didn’t chya? He’s not known for his patience, babe. Come on, let’s go.”

Against your better judgement, you followed him back, swallowing thickly and trying to keep your nerves steady.

As you approached a large wooden door, Angel knocked twice before holding the door open for you. Hesitantly, you walked past him into a large office with tacky decor. Risque pictures lined the dark purple walls and a giant furry pink couch sat in the corner. Beneath your feet was a zebra-skin rug, which you were sure had been an inhabitant of Hell at one point.

At the very end of the room was a large and intimidating desk with a tall chair behind it that was faced away from you. Once you were just a few feet away, the chair swiveled, revealing a red-eyed demon adorned with a fancy flush coat and heart-shaped glasses. His outfit made him seem much less sinister than you were sure he probably was.

“Well, what do we have here?” he hissed, cracking a fanged smile. “Angie, when you told me that you were bringing me a living human, you didn’t say that she’d be so… delicious.”

Angel chuckled awkwardly, brushing past you to stand closer to Valentino.

“Don’t be shy, sugar. Come a little closer to Daddy and let me get a good look at you.”

Struggling to hide your grimace, you took a few more steps forward. Feeling his eyes scanning your form, you crossed your arms defensively, as if trying to physically hold yourself together.

The demon hummed thoughtfully before he stood up from his chair, gliding smoothly around his desk before he stopped directly in front of you.

Holy shit. He was tall. Even taller than Angel.

Pursing his lips, he circled you, inspecting you like a vulture honing in on its prey. Eventually, he stopped in front of you before demanding, “Sit still for me, sugar.”

He then placed a large hand over your chest, not in a sexual way, but as if he was trying to feel your heartbeat. Closing his eyes for a moment, you felt a strange tingling sensation where his hand was only briefly before he pulled it away with a smile plastered on his face.

Stepping away from you, he leaned back on his desk in a casual position before addressing you. “So, my little worker bee here tells me that you’re looking for some insight. That right?”

Unable to speak, you nodded your head.

“Walk me through what happened. Give Daddy all the intricate little details, baby. Don’t leave anything out.”

You wrinkled your nose as his use of the word daddy. It was incredibly off putting and didn’t at all appeal to you, but you went along with it anyway.

Clearing your throat, you started to speak, your voice shaking. “W-well… I-I was out shopping with my friends, and I saw a television that was a few decades old… probably from the seventies, at least. The remote control was next to the t.v. I picked it up, turned it on, and suddenly I was thrust into this place. That’s all I can remember.”

“Hmm,” he hummed aloud, tapping his index finger on his chin. “How very peculiar.”

“Whadya thinkin’, Val?” Angel Dust pressed, just as intrigued.

“Angie, baby… why don’t you run and get Vox. I’m sure he’d be interested to hear this little human’s story.”

“Y-you sure, boss?” Angel asked, hesitating.

Valentino narrowed his eyes at the spider. “Are you really going to waste my time with stupid questions?”

“But… you said this would be discreet-”

SLAP

You winced as Valentino backhanded Angel Dust, causing the spider to stumble back, holding his now tender cheek with a shocked expression on his face.

“Remember your place and do as you’re fucking told,” the demon snarled, baring his teeth at his inferior. “Now.”

Frowning, Angel Dust gave you a subtly apologetic glance before sauntering out of the room, leaving you alone with the pimp.

Even though you were genuinely upset at how Valentino treated Angel, you couldn’t bring yourself to act on your anger. When you had lost your cool with Lucifer, it was different because you were surrounded by Charlie and Alastor and you had the luxury of voicing your outrage, as foolish as it may have been. In your current predicament, however, you were utterly alone and at the mercy of Valentino. Clearly, you were out of your league.

“Um,” you stammered, practically trembling where you stood and wanting to ease the quiet tension. “Wh-who is Vox?”

“He’s an associate of mine,” the demon purred. “Something tells me that he’ll be able to enlighten us to your little predicament.”

“Really?” you pressed, partially intrigued, partially terrified. “Why do you say that?”

Before he could respond, another voice could be heard approaching. “Seriously, Val? You’re gonna send your whore to fetch me like I’m some kind of bitch who’s at your beck and call? You can’t just-- oh.”

The new demon froze as he entered the room and laid eyes on you. The sight of him was just as alarming to you as you had been to him. Rather than a zoomorphic creature, it was like he was a cross between a human and a television set. He was about as tall as Alastor, sporting a striped tuxedo with a black and red striped shirt underneath. His red bowtie prominently stood out in comparison to grey undershirt.

On top of his flat-screen t.v. head, he had a black top hat with sound waves etched into it. His eyes were red with one of them containing black rings around the pupil. His entire appearance was unsettling to say the least.

“And who do we have here?” Vox asked, his tone immediately changing from irritated to seductive.

You hadn’t realized that Valentino had moved next to you while you were distracted by Vox’s entrance. He entangled one of his fingers into a strand of your hair, twirling it around his lengthy digit, causing you to flinch. “This is the human that we’ve been hearing about all over the Seven Rings,” Val whispered close to your ear. “She has quite an interesting story. Why don’t you be a doll and tell my associate here what happened to you, sugar?”

Inhaling a shaky breath, you repeated your story about the television set. As you spoke, Vox’s eyes widened in shock as he exchanged glances with Valentino who had a menacing smirk on his face. As you finished your story, Vox had a similar expression to Val as he eyed you hungrily.

“Excuse us for a moment, won’t you, baby? Daddy’s gotta have a little chat,” Val snickered as he pulled Vox aside and stepped into the room adjacent to the one you were in.

You briefly wondered what had happened to Angel Dust until their whispers brought your attention back to them. Unable to stop yourself, you stepped closer to the doorway, listening in on their conversation. It was difficult to make out anything that they were saying, but you caught certain things here and there.

“...didn’t think that it would actually work! By the time I heard that there was a human…”

“...exactly what we wanted. What’s even better is that she came to us…”

“...not going to go quietly. Her little friends at that rancid hotel…”

“...just do it. We’ve waited too long for this…”

From what you had heard, you weren’t at all liking where this was going. Everything inside of you was telling you to run.

Just as you were looking for an escape, the demons came back into the room with venomous grins on their faces. “Going somewhere?” Vox asked, interpreting your actions.

“I-I need to get back. The others will be looking for me soon, and I--”

“Now, now,” Valentino cooed as he towered over you, running a finger down your arm. “You just got here. It would be rude to leave so soon.”

All of the courage that you had gathered over your time in hell had immediately dissipated. There was no way that you could overpower two demons. It was clear that you were at their mercy. “Please…” you begged, still looking for an exit. “I was just looking for a way home. I didn’t mean--”

“Don’t worry, fleshling,” Vox soothed with false sweetness as he also caressed your face, giving you unwanted chills. “We’re going to get you home. But first… we’re going to have a little fun with you.”

“W-what do you mean by fun ?” you asked, not really wanting to hear the answer, but trying to buy time until you could come up with a crafty escape.

“Oh, don’t you worry, sugar. We’re going to take good care of you,” the moth demon purred as he continued to fondle your clothes. “You’re ours now.”

“You know, I do really hate those who can’t show a little more respect to those of fairer means,” a familiar voice interrupted.

Relief washed over you like a tidal wave. Never did you think that you would be so relieved to hear that eerie static-filled voice.

Valentino and Vox immediately went rigid, but kept their hands where they were on your body. “It’s rather distasteful,” the Radio Demon continued, emerging from the shadows. His eyes were radiating a crimson glow and his smile was even more malevolent than you had seen it in the past. “Like bad meat.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Alastor’s antlers seemed to lengthen in height and width. The dark circles under his eyes appeared once more and his pupils turned to dials as his teeth elongated to emphasize his already terrifying grin. “If you would, kindly remove your hands from her.”

“No one asked you to intervene, Bullwinkle,” Vox snapped, tightening his grip on your arm.

“What?” Valentino asked, suddenly distracting and quirking a brow at his cohort. “Bullwinkle is a fucking moose.”

“So what? They both have antlers,” Vox countered, shrugging. “Who fucking cares?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure would be a fascinating lover’s quarrel,” Alastor teased, earning a growl from the other demons, “But I really must be on my way.”

“No one’s stopping you!” Vox pointed out, baring his electric blue teeth. “But you’re not taking the fleshling with you.”

“If you refuse to relinquish the human to me, I’m afraid I’ll have to take a more aggressive approach. I’m sure no one wants that,” Alastor remarked, tilting his head mockingly, his frightening appearance still in place.

“You really want to threaten us?” Valentino questioned with a chuckle, his eyes flashing from behind his heart-shaped glasses. “We’ll annihilate you.”

“Oh, ho, ho,” Alastor laughed, straightening his monocle. “As much as I would enjoy proving you wrong, I’m afraid you’re confused. You see, I’m here to ensure that the human remains safe before she is claimed by Lucifer. He has very specific plans for her, and, as I’m sure you can imagine, he won’t be thrilled if he finds out his prized possession is being held hostage in this… fine establishment,” he sneered at the last part of his statement.

The two demons exchanged worried glances with one another, hesitating before speaking. “Lucifer wants her?” Vox pressed, eyes darting between you and his partner-in-crime.

“That’s correct,” Alastor replied, not bothering to mask the smug undertone. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell the King of Hell that his shiny new toy is being soiled by two clueless brutes. Would you?”

“Fuck,” Valentino grumbled before gripping your shoulders and thrusting you back into Alastor, where you landed harshly aganst his chest. His arms immediately wrapped around you, his clawed fingers digging into your shoulders posessively.

Vox glared at Val with disbelief as he stammered, “You’re just handing her over?! She’s the key--”

“Shut the fuck up, Vox,” Valentino snarled, narrowing his eyes and giving him a subtle, unspoken warning. “It’s not the last we’ll see of her.”

Fuming, Vox remained silent as his eyes flashed at Alastor. Valentino then bent down, his eyes boring into yours as he whispered, “We’ll see you soon, sugar.” Sitting up, his lip curled as he addressed Alastor once more. “Now get out.”

With a flick of one of his ears and no other words exchanged, Alastor relinquished his hold on you and escorted you out, moving so quickly that you had to practically run in order to keep up with him.

“Alastor,” you addressed him breathlessly, “Just… wait a minute--”

“Not here, darling,” he urged, still moving with urgent haste.

After nearly fifteen minutes of power walking, you had reached the hotel. The moment the door shut behind you in the lobby, you glared at the Radio Demon while struggling to catch your breath. After a few moments of tension, you asked, “Is that really what you think of me? A ‘shiny new toy’ for Lucifer’s entertainment?”

Alastor, who had returned to his far less threatening appearance, simply smirked while twirling his hand and summoning his microphone before leaning on it casually. “No, sweetheart. That’s not all I really think of you.”

“What the fuck, Alastor,” you blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “You’re a god damned enigma! Is this how you get your rocks off? You tormented me when I first got here by making not-so-subtle threats and touching me constantly like a weirdo. Then you suddenly became nice and supportive, and after Lucifer, it seemed like you were actually going to help me, only to then make it seem like you’re just biding time until you can hand me over to him! What’s your game?! Is this how you drive your prey crazy before you slaughter them? Why are you such a creepy bastard?! What did I ever do to you to deserve these mind games?!”

Yikes. You didn’t mean to let all of that spill out at once, but you couldn’t help yourself. Once you started, you couldn’t stop. What’s worse was that during your rant, Alastor just gawked at you, seemingly unfazed. If anything, he was entertained, which only made you more upset.

After a few seconds of silence and him just staring at you with an amused expression, you emphasized, “Well?! Answer me!”

He then sat up straight, making his microphone disappear into a cloud of smoke before approaching you. Just as you were about to snap at him again, his long arm circled around your waist, pulling you close while cupping your face with his hand, running his thumb along your cheek. Before you could comprehend what was happening, his lips were on yours, moving against you in a deep and sensual kiss, making you forget the world around you.

Tags: @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @edgy-drama-queen @chasingfireflies1999 @galaxy-meteor @cecidit-31 @shadowclawstudio88 @utterly-disappointing @opheliuva @trinswhimsys @skylarhedges @whogavebrynjolfpermissiontobehot @sailor-earth-1

#alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #the radio demon #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x reader

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cynicalkairos · 5 years

Text

Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

CHAPTER FIVE

Word Count: 3856

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Alcohol, Smoking, Self-Deprecation

Summary: Henry convinces himself to talk to Ted. Ted gets sober and makes a life-changing decision.

A/N: Oof, this took a while. Sorry about that. Life got busy and everything. But we’re finally there. Well, almost. Enjoy the angst (and fluff)

Previous || Next

—————

Henry knew that he loved Ted when he agreed to let Henry teach him how to dance.

It was really uneventful. There was no swell of violins, rose petals falling across the room, fireworks shooting off in the distance. If anything, it was one of the most mundane moments, perhaps, ever.

Well, at the time.

To the Henry sitting alone on the secluded balcony with a lit cigarette in his hand, it was one of the happiest memories of his entire life.

It was more than playing the game of loving someone and deciphering whether or not they reciprocate your love, a game that Henry knew all too well. But it was different with Ted. There was no debate over his attraction to Henry based on countless words and actions that Ted said and did over the duration of their relationship.

And because of that, everything that had to do with Ted gave him a sort of…self-proclaimed meaning, one that he decided was his purpose and not thrust onto him by others.

For a long time, Henry lived for one reason and one reason only: the apocalypse. After the deaths of his friends during college, he spent thirty years trying to find ways to stop it, find out when it was going to happen, and prepare for a life of survival. Henry felt guilty for not being able to prevent their demise, dealing with the pain through manufacturing a way to be the one who saved the day. And most definitely everything going according to plan without any help from anyone else.

With said apocalypse in full swing and demolishing the entirety of Hachetfield, Henry never expected Emma, four strangers, and one unconscious Infected to be at his door. And one factor he definitely did not theorize was falling in love with one of them.

Good god, he thought Ted was just an annoying asshole who badgered him constantly until he sobered up and closed his goddamn mouth for once. On second thought, Henry was initially attracted to Ted, but it was more physically than to his personality or anything else. It was characteristics like his lean frame and dark hair that fed his attraction. Even then, he didn’t know if his attraction to him was genuine or if it was the result of isolating himself for so long that one encounter with another person sent him over the edge.

Despite his feelings and all of the action happening in the house and outside, he dismissed the provocative thoughts of Ted that invaded his head and repressed them. “Once it ends,” the professor told himself. “Once it all ends.”

Henry spent his days in the lab attempting to find solutions and, over the course of the times that he ascended from the depths of his house, he watched the love between Emma and Paul grow. Of course, he couldn’t lie to himself when he thought about wanting that type of a relationship with someone, but every time, he reprimanded himself for not focusing on the task at hand.

The initial disappointment throughout the entire situation was that it never ended. Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and before any of them knew it, it was nearly six months later.

Six months of Henry’s hopes and dreams crushed by reality.

Six months of Henry wanting to return to his normal life, yet knowing he never could.

Six months of Henry suppressing his emotions in favor of working on a cure for the people who fell to the apocalypse that never was going to work.

Henry sacrificed his entire life for what? Nothing. He missed out on finding love, being a parent, and starting a family just so he could chase the inevitable conclusion of failure. All of the things that he ever wanted out of life went to shit when the apocalypse destroyed the world around him.

Henry wallowed in self-pity for a couple more weeks with no hopes in finding happiness or any positivity from the outside world. He even replaced his usual turtlenecks and khakis with t-shirts and sweatpants, maybe jeans, out of complete negligence for his personal appearance. As an attempt to cheer him up, Emma used the information that Paul told her and weaseled the thought of Ted being interested in him. Henry didn’t believe her initially, but she assured him that Ted was interested in him of all people.

Then all of a sudden, those feelings returned to him in the same way a train would run over someone standing on the tracks.

Before that point, all of the moments that Ted would spend in his lab with him didn’t faze Henry one bit. He didn’t think twice about Ted bringing him his coffee every morning just the way he liked it or sitting there quietly as he listened to his concerns or anything that was on his mind. He only realized that Ted was flirting with him and trying to “woo” him when thinking back on those times.

The swirl of emotions that one conversation initiated engulfed Henry’s thoughts and effectively worked according to Emma’s plan to distract him from the current circumstances upon later reflection. All of his thoughts, no matter where they started, eventually wandered to Ted and, by this time, the attraction developed from the physical to everything about him.

He found himself laughing at Ted’s jokes, no matter how stupid or overused they were. Henry shared details about himself that not even Emma knew. Henry initiated more physical contact unconsciously, rather than deliberately like before.

After two painful days of emotionally losing control over Ted, Henry’s mind was relentless. The only subject that played in his mind was everything about Ted. Ted’s outfit that day, the way Ted smelt, even Ted’s facial expressions when he thought no one was looking. Henry wanted his inability to focus on anything but Ted to disappear.

So, he figured he would just tell him. Simple as that. Blunt, straightforward (despite how gay the confession was), and to the point.

“I find you attractive,” Henry recalled himself saying bluntly to Ted in between the repeated inhalation and exhalation of smoke from his cigarette.

It was a decent day and under the mental and emotional stress he was in, Henry was smoking on the balcony with Ted standing next to Henry and drinking a beer. This was a typical occurrence. Looking out at the Hachetfield skyline allowed both of them to reminisce on the days when the apocalypse wasn’t destroying humanity. They talked some but it was always relatively quiet, disregarding the occasional clink of glass or the sound of the exhalation of smoke.

When Henry said those fours words, Ted nearly choked on the beer and spat it out on the ground below them, avoiding death by beer. Once the coughing fit that ensued died down, Ted looked back at him to see Henry still calmly smoking his cigarette, as if nothing out of the ordinary was ever said.

Henry only looked over to him when Ted didn’t respond and he witnessed a flabbergasted Ted, jaw dropped to the floor and a stain from the beer that he choked on. The professor’s facial expression only turned mildly concerned while he said, “What?”

Even though his confession wasn’t a big deal to Henry, he found out later that it was monumental for Ted. Ted was sputtering and manufacturing a reply, until he just uttered, “What the fuck?”

“What?” Henry asked, shifting his stance to lean against the railing, the cigarette still dangling from his lips. “Good god, Ted. Get yourself together.”

“Get yourself together?” Ted repeated, clearly still shocked by Henry’s proclamation. “Fuck, Henry. You said that I’m hot!”

“And?”

“‘And?!’ You can’t just do that to a man! What am I supposed to fucking do?”

To be completely honest, Henry had no idea how to respond. He hoped that Ted would, you know, feel the same way, but he would understand if he didn't. Henry was— well, older than he was and had grey hair. Despite his insecurities, he rather enjoyed the freedom of not withholding his emotions anymore, no matter what Ted’s response was.

“I don’t know,” Henry said, shrugging and taking another drag. “I was reluctant to theorize about the aftermath.”

“Why not?”

Henry stared at his cigarette longingly, tapping the ash of the end and letting it drift to the ground below. He then looked up at Ted and met his eyes for the first time since his proclamation. Ted’s eyes were darting all over the place, scanning his face, his hair, anything he could take in at that moment.

“I was scared that you might not reciprocate my attraction.”

When Ted burst out laughing, almost dropping his beer in the process, Henry felt worried if Ted was okay or if his fears were coming true. Truth be told, laughter wasn’t on the list of responses that he expected. He didn’t know if Ted was mocking him or simply going insane.

“Are you fucking with me, Henry?”

“No—”

“I mean, why the hell would I not be into you?”

It was Henry’s turn to be shocked. The cigarette in his mouth fell and landed on his hand, leaving a small singe where it landed. Henry stamped the cigarette out, his eyes never straying from Ted’s. He watched Ted place his beer on the small table in the corner.

“Ted, I—”

“And just so you know, before you go and deny it, you definitely are so goddamn hot. Like when you traded your khakis for those jeans that one time— Wow.”

“Ted—” Henry attempted to protest and felt warmth flood his cheeks from the sudden compliment.

“Oh! And when you forgot to straighten your hair—”

Ted didn’t get a chance to finish his compliment to Henry when Henry cupped the sides of Ted’s jaw and silenced him with a kiss. He felt Ted still and then two arms wrap themselves around Henry’s waist, drawing him closer.

Henry could remember every detail from that kiss. The feeling of warmth emitting from Ted’s body, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, the brush of coarse hair from his mustache and stubble, even then he wouldn’t deny that he wanted more. To Henry, it felt…right, as if everything in his life was leading to this one moment. He never asked Ted about his experience from that kiss, but he probably did something right because there were more after.

After a few seconds, Henry separated himself from Ted reluctantly. He stepped back against the railing and shoved his hand in the inside pocket of his coat, scouring the space for another cigarette and his lighter. Once Henry found them, he lit one hastily and took in an inhale of smoke to ease the rapid beating of his heart. After another deep breath, he glanced over to see Ted slowly open his eyes again and locking with his own. Henry averted his gaze in embarrassment of being caught staring and toyed with the cigarette, taking a long drag.

“Henry, you just fucking kissed me.”

“Yeah,” Henry chuckled as smoke trickled out of his mouth, looking back at his cigarette to stop Ted from seeing him blush. “I suppose I did.”

Ted laughed with Henry joining in after a second. Ted took a few steps closer to Henry and took the cigarette out of Henry’s hand, extinguishing it in the ashtray. Henry then watched as Ted gently traced his fingertips along his arms.

He never thought that he would get this far. Henry believed that he would chicken out or never say anything, but not this. Here, he held Ted, he kissed Ted, he began the road of doing something he wanted to do for a long time. Henry couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t understand what Ted saw in him to even be in the room. Because of the way Ted talked about Henry, Henry figured he must’ve been a fraction of a bit attractive to Ted to get his attention.

Ted pulled Henry out of his thoughts when Henry noticed that his hands were on his jaw. Henry met Ted’s eyes and felt himself smile and blush even more. “Good god, Ted.”

Ted responded with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. “What is it?”

Henry placed his hands onto Ted’s shirt and gripped it tightly, balling the fabric up in his fists. He looked at his own fist, before meeting Ted’s eyes once more. “You’re such an idiot. You know that, right?”

“But I’m your idiot.”

“Yes, yes, you are.” Henry sighed dramatically and pulled Ted closer, a wide smile forming on his face. They gazed at each other for a moment. Looking back at it, it was the moment when Henry realized how stunning Ted’s eyes looked in the sunlight. Before, he only saw them in the fluorescent lights of his lab or everywhere else in the house. The sunlight accented the spots of honey in Ted’s irises that the lights inside the house masked through the terrible lighting.

“Are you gonna kiss me or keep staring?” Ted asked, intruding on Henry’s thoughts.

Suddenly, Ted’s lips crashed into his own, preventing Henry from responding.

Henry remembered the kiss that ensued was one of the best that he ever had, even though there were not many competitors for the title. The kiss quickly escalated from gentle pecks and soft caresses to deep kisses and needy touches. Soon enough, Ted tugged on Henry’s lip, asking for entry, which Henry gave immediately. Teeth clashed and, after Henry untucked Ted’s shirt, he grasped onto Ted’s hip in a way that was bound to leave bruises later. Meanwhile, Ted gripped onto Henry’s hair, hearing a muffled moan come from Henry’s mouth.

Being pinned against the railing didn’t stop Henry, though. Henry moved one of his hands onto Ted’s ass and gripped tightly, bringing him closer. The instant connection between the two caused them to separate, the feeling almost too much for either of them.

As the adrenaline of the situation drifted away, Henry took in several deep breaths and accessed his— well, compromising position.

Henry was leaning onto the railing of the balcony, hand still on Ted’s ass that, from this point forward, was never going to leave. Ted leaned his head onto Henry’s shoulder, seeming like he was trying to hide the bright blush on his face from Henry, but in reality, was seizing the opportunity to plant more kisses on his jaw.

Reminiscing over that moment, Henry couldn’t help but think about how fucking gorgeous Ted was in that position. With his hair sticking up in many different directions, his shirt severely wrinkled and untucked, and the red tint that his face acquired from either the lack of oxygen or the intensity of making out with someone, Ted looked almost…ethereal.

Almost two months later, Henry stood in the same position, watching that moment replay over and over in his head. It was the catalyst to the beginning of their relationship and their inevitable fight.

He was standing alone, watching the cigarette burn down into a pile of ash and trying to convince himself to do the unthinkable: talk to Ted.

Of course, it seemed a lot more daunting than those words let on. The possibilities were endless regarding how badly he could fuck everything up. He could say the wrong thing and initiate another fight. He could chicken out at the last minute and never talk to him, hindering what little relationship Henry believed they had left.

Henry knew that everyone was right. He had to do it at some point in time. He longed for Ted in his heart, but every time he wanted to go search the house for Ted, his mind told him that Ted would break up with him. He would rather not talk to him and remain together than talk to him and lose him forever.

Henry missed waking up to Ted’s outrageous bed head and the warm feeling of having his arms wrapped around Ted. He missed the random conversations that Ted’s mind manufactured and their constant use of cheesy pick-up lines that made each other blush. He missed each gentle touch, kiss, and word that they shared.

Fuck, he was in deep.

Henry was so in love with him that it hurt thinking of him and not being able to be near him.

Well, you could. His heart whispered. All you gotta do is talk to him.

Henry chuckled at the proposition. It was really that simple. He knew it was. The idea kept circling around his head for a reason and it was because of its simplicity.

You know what would happen. His mind replied. You would just fuck it up like everything else in your life.

As much as it hurt, his mind was right. He would fuck it up. Henry fucked up his life with his Workin’ Boys then and fucked up his life with Ted now.

Once the cigarette in his hand was rendered to a pile of ash, he blew the contents away into the surrounding air, watching as it disappeared into oblivion. Henry dusted off his hands and wiped them on his pants.

Then a notion struck him.

What if he just…disappeared? Then he would never have to have that fated conversation.

He shook the thought from his mind when he realized that Emma would drag his ass back here to stop him from avoiding it.

He rubbed his temples with one hand when his head began to throb from the abundance of emotion. Henry sat down and closed his eyes, leaning his head in his good hand. Combined with the pain in his hand, he wished that something would just numb all of the pain, whether it be physical, emotional, or mental.

Henry could hear Emma chastise him, saying, “You’re making things too complicated.”

Usually, he would never listen, but this time, he took her advice.

How did Henry confess his feelings to Ted? Simply.

If it worked once before, it might work again.

To win back Ted, he just needed to be extremely blunt.

Fuck you, mind. He thought, giving his conscience a mental middle finger. I’m gonna get my Ted back.

Henry stood up abruptly, regretting that decision immediately when another pang of pain spread throughout his hand and head. He groaned and moved to exit the balcony.

Expecting to have some time to prepare his words, he froze when he saw Ted standing in the living room, staring back at him.

Oh, fuck.

— — —

While Henry was having an existential crisis on the balcony, Ted hyped himself up in the mirror.

To give an accurate description of Ted’s mental status, imagine any teenage coming-of-age movie when the teen was getting ready for a date. Cheery, uplifting music and dancing montages, the whole package.

The only differences were that Ted was a middle age man and this was the apocalypse; everyone in that house abhorred music by that point.

A newly sober Ted regarded himself in the mirror. His hair was still wet from the shower and he actually didn’t look absolutely disgusting for the first time in a week.

Ted no longer reeked of alcohol but of some fruity body soap that Ted found in the cabinet. His hair wasn’t matted with sweat to the point that it was almost glued to his head.

Sure, he had to chug about four glasses of water to avoid dehydration, but he felt better than before.

The lack of alcohol really helped with helping him process what he was going to say and— well, everything that happened. (Shocking. I know.) Drunkenness didn’t really favor the thoughtful.

He spent so much time wallowing in the thought that Henry was in the wrong and should apologize that he neglected to put some of the blame on himself.

Henry wasn’t selfish and did things for himself. He always had others in mind. When Henry went out into Hachetfield alone, albeit it was a stupid decision, he did it so that none of the other occupants in the house would get hurt or die. He risked his life for the good of the people around him, not himself.

In conclusion, Henry did what he thought was right and necessary and Ted got angry about it.

When he saw the “blue shit” left unattended, anger bubbled from deep within him and he acted irrationally. He couldn’t help but toss it out. His Henry could have died because of that.

It wasn’t okay. His actions were not okay. He regretted saying every hurtful word, pushing Henry and everyone else away, and most importantly, hurting Henry.

He could never erase the look of pure despair when he looked back and saw Henry on the verge of tears.

He could never forget the sound of Henry smashing his hand against the counter and the crunch of the bones from the strong force.

Even in his drunken state, Ted heard everything. Every shout of pain, every curse to himself and others, every angry outburst from Henry. It only made him drink more and cry harder when he realized that it was his fault that Henry was like this.

Ted’s heart shattered more and more every time.

But now in his sober state, his love for Henry and his desire to fix everything only grew by the second. He was itching to simply be in the same room as him again.

Ted looked in the mirror at the final thing preventing him from hunting Henry down and apologizing to him.

His beard.

He neglected to shave while he was drunk, but now, he was faced with doing so. He could never talk to Henry with such horrible thing growing on his face.

Ted looked at the razor and picked it up slowly, looking at it.

He could go back to his typical mustache, but he needed something new. Something to show to Henry that he’s committed to moving on from their fight and embracing their future.

Fuck it. He thought. I’m gonna shave it. All. Of. It.

Before he could change his mind, he put the razor down and lathered on shaving cream over his entire beard.

Then he picked up the razor, examining it.

Finally, he made the first shave.

It already started. There was no turning back now.

Ted slowly watched as with every swipe of the razor, remnants of the days wallowing in self-pity went away.

Soon, he was clean-shaven. Ted had no idea if Henry would like it, but it was worth a shot. It was certainly something that he hadn’t done in years by now.

He ran his hand over the smooth skin and smiled. I don’t look too awful.

Ted rinsed off the sink and washed the hair down the drain, running the razor under the water as well.

He patted his cheeks with aftershave and quickly posed in the mirror, boosting his self-confidence.

Ted was determined to win the love of his life back, no matter what it took.

(I mean, seriously. The man shaved off his mustache.)

—————

A/N: I hope you enjoyed that. This shit show of a work is almost done. There’s one more chapter left. Feel free to like and comment. I really appreciate all of the support.

#tedgens #professor hidgens x ted #henry hidgens x ted #henry hidgens #professor hidgens #ted richards #snaff tedgens #tw: cursing #tw: smoking #starkid #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #ted tgwdlm

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hollandroos · 5 years

Text

The Price We Pay | Six

Series Masterlist

Summary: A one night stand was all it took for your entire life to change. You’re shoved into unknown territory, agreeing to fake date the prince long enough for his parents and the media to get off of his back only there are a few issues… one of them being that you really can’t stand each other.

Words: 2.2k

Tom crept back into his room at around seven am.

The castle had been dead silent, his parents having left a few hours earlier for a flight and Harrison was still buried beneath layers of his own sheets. Toms back aches slightly from sleeping on the couch compared to his extravagant bed but he hadn’t minded.

He glanced in, opening the door a crack before seeing you were still asleep and crept in. Originally he had only wanted to grab a change of clothing from his draws but he couldn’t help but glance over for a second.

Your hair was sprawled over your face, duvet pulled up to your shoulders and you looked so content. So carefree. But Tom knew that the second you woke up you’d be in pain but for the life of him he didn’t think to grab any painkillers.

He remembers your small moment last night. It was a quality moment, you were only inches apart and he was so tempted just to close the gap– that damned gap. And he swore that he saw you glancing down at his lips too but wasn’t positive. Tom shakes his head, squinting in the dark before he turns and leaves– closing the door with a small thud.

That night Tom had had a dream. He had a dream that the two of you were together in Paris and it was beautiful. You were overlooking the Eiffel tower, as cliche as it sounded, and you were free from the pestering of paparazzi and royal fans and people trying to catch you out doing something you shouldn’t have been doing.

You were carefree and in a rather extravagant dress, but it was one you had picked out instead of one that's been chosen for you. But the most important detail? In the back of his pocket sat a box.

It was one of those dreams that woke him up in a hurry and left confusion written all over his face– and a hole in his chest.

You woke up that morning engulfed by sheets and a thick, almost cloud-like duvet.

Maybe it was a little too much because a thin layer of sweat covered your body but the more you kicked at the sheets in an attempt to get them off, the more you noticed the fact that your head was pounding and a familiar, sick feeling sat at the very back of your throat just waiting.

Not even the silk pillowcase that in no way belonged to you could hide the feeling of nausea that overcame you, hitting like a train and it no longer mattered that the sheets had you cocooned like a butterfly, or that the bed itself was so comfortable that you swore you never wanted to leave because in a second they were thrown off and you were diving out, racing towards the connected room that one could only hope was a bathroom with a hand over your mouth.

Luckily it was and in a second you were emptying your stomach of the alcohol and shrimp you’d dined on the night before. You grimaced at the smell and the strands of hair that fell over your face, wishing you’d tied them back beforehand. It was revolting.

You felt gross, smelt gross, most likely looked gross too. You could only imagine the makeup smeared down your cheeks and lipstick staining your chin and good god your hair. But not everybody could wake up looking like snow white.

You flushed the toilet, eyeing the grand shower a few meters away and with no hesitation slip the dress off– that was a task in itself, taking huffs as you tugged at the straps and the waist hugging material. You peeled it off with much of a struggle, trying to ignore the pounding headache as it hit the floor. You nearly fell over once or twice.

The water ran down your spine, washing away any traces of makeup and knots from the night before. You felt much cleaner. Never in a million years did you imagine showering in a room that was worth probably more then your entire place combined. The shower itself held hundreds of intricate designs and you traced as many as you could as the water cascaded over your shoulders.

The taps attached to the sink were gold and whether or not it was real or not? You had a small hunch. And the toilet that you’d thrown up in… yeah.

After around ten or so minutes, you turn the water off, letting out a sigh as you stretch your shoulders and wrap towel just above your breasts. The only clothing you had was the dress you’d worn last night and that didn’t seem appealing. So of course, you go searching through Toms draws hoping he wouldn’t mind and come out with a hoodie and sweats.

Now, this probably wasn’t the best thing to wear in the castle but it was either that or continue to walk around with a towel wrapped above your breasts. Plus, you wanted to see Tom's reaction… wherever he was. Maybe you stopped for a split second and breathed in the scent of his cologne on the clothing, rocking your feet back and forth as the sweats hugged your ankles but that was it.

You didn’t search through his things, not even thinking about invading his privacy because you weren’t a bad person. While he had bothered you immensely, you had been welcomed into his home– allowed to sleep in his bed and you were thankful.

You pad down the stairs, stretching your arms as you wander. You gave the maids smiles as you went, small waves at those that waved to you. Some uttered good morning. You would’ve stopped to talk if it weren’t for the fact that your head was still pounding and you were totally in the mood to down a glass of orange juice.

Maybe you got a little lost along the way, having to stop and try and retrace your steps back to the week before but you managed to find your way to the dining room eventually. Any longer and you swore you would’ve gone mad.

Tom stood talking to Harrison. They were both laughing, crinkles forming beneath Toms' eyes and you didn’t want to interrupt but tapped him on the shoulder. The royal meets your gaze and smiles even wider if possible.

“Morning, how do you feel?”

You shrug.

“Head hurts, I don’t even remember drinking last night.” He tries not to chuckle at your misfortune but can't when you lean into him. You did it almost on instinct, craving some kind of physical affection after the night before.

It shocked Tom– just how you learned in, head resting on his shoulder but he welcomed the act, one arm going around your shoulders. Harrison smiled from his place only a few steps away. He felt like a matchmaker, even if nothing serious had happened yet.

“Y-yeah, you drank quite a bit last night. It wasn’t that boring was it?” He jumps over his own words at the start and feels his cheeks redden. Tom felt that he already knew the answer to the question.

“All I remember is you asking to kiss me which by the way– gross.” You screw your face up, Harrison snorts but doesn’t say anything.

Inching out of his arms, Tom eyes the outfit, trying to ignore your remark. He noticed his sweats and his shirt and no longer felt bad about not leaving you a change of clothing. You notice his gaze.

“Oh yeah I uh, borrowed some of your clothes, I hope that’s okay.” You suddenly grow nervous and lace your fingers together. “It was either this or a towel.”

“No, it’s fine! You look good.”

You notice how Tom looks down, how he can barely make eye contact with you and he seems to be finding his fingers more interesting then you. It’s clear that something is wrong whether it’s awkwardness after the night before or he was purely not a morning person. Maybe it was something else but you find yourself screwing your face up as an awkward silence sits between the three of you.

For a second it doesn’t feel fake. Everything feels real and you like it. You convince yourself it’s just the feeling of having someone there and shrugs it off.

Harrison goes and takes a seat at the table, leaving with an awkward cough, glancing at Tom and moving his brows in a way that tells you Tom had something to tell you– or say in general.

“What’s wrong?” You question, bunching the ends of the hoodie around your wrists.

Tom didn’t want the good to end but he was plagued. He knew this would come out one way or another.

“My parents.” He sighs. “My dad, more so, wasn’t impressed after last night.”

You scoff and shrug your shoulders. Sometimes you forgot that part of the deal was to please his uptight parents. “Oh well. I had fun while it lasted and I think you did too. Didn’t you?”

“Y/n.” He stops you. “You got drunk and that’s bad for us– for our image which is exactly what we’re trying to fix.” Tom was growing frustrated too, something he didn’t want to do this early in the morning.

“So? Do you ever just… have fun?” You quickly grew frustrated, hating the way he spoke to you as if you were a child. You swore you’d seen a smile on the boy's face last night between glasses of expensive wine. But now, after a stern telling off from his parents he seemed ashamed.

He leans in, glancing up at the cooks that bring the breakfast in. “We don’t get to do that when my parents are around. They don’t like it.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Well I’m sorry, but how was I meant to know what to do? I didn’t grow up like you, Tom. Parties on the farm were dull, there was never that many guests or fancy outfits– I’m sorry.”

Your statement started out as rude and you intended for it to be, but near the end, you were uttering a genuine apology, realising that you probably had screwed up your end of the deal. Instead of looking over at him you look at your feet in shame.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone for so long last night, I should’ve stuck with you instead of running around like a headless chicken.” Tom chuckles and your eyes remain at the ground.

You couldn’t work out who was more in the wrong here.

“Let’s… just not let it happens again, okay?”

You nod at Tom, stomach growling at the sight of food and you reach over, giving Toms hand a small squeeze. It was a small action but one that makes him smile for a second, feeling that for a fleeting moment– everything was okay.

Someone waits patiently to talk to Tom and you make your way to the table, Harrison quickly popping up to talk with the chef too. You wonder if Tom knew how to cook as you take your seat and glance at his plate. You remembered him telling you that he always had blueberries in his breakfast, while Harrison always had strawberries and shake your head.

So you switch their plates when they're not looking, finding small ways to get under Tom's skin even if that means switching his breakfast with his best mates. Because while things were okay between the two of you, it didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to mess with him.

The boys discuss something about dinner before heading over, bumping each other playfully and it was clear that Tom's parents were gone. Not only because they weren’t sitting with you, but because the boys seemed much more relaxed. You did too. While they talk, you take a large swig of juice.

“I’m starving!” Harrison beams, hissing when he burns his tongue on a sip of coffee. “Fuck.”

“What do you look so smug about?” Tom teases, bringing a forkful of pancakes to his lips. He smiles as cream lines the area right above his lips, leaving a faint line.

“Nothing.” You shrug your shoulders, twirling your own fork between your fingers. That orange juice had done wonders with your headache.

You must've switched your plate with his, his thinks. Enjoying strawberry pancakes for once. But he watches you take a bite of yours, strawberries peeking out of the cream and furrows his brows.

That's weird–

But It’s Harrison that you switched with. It’s Harrison that stared at you two with wide eyes as he swallowed something– a fruit that was not strawberries. It was weird, different, and Harrison would remember the familiar taste of blueberries anywhere.

How could he forget after that fateful day when he was a kid? Only nine years old and accidently consumed a single handful of blueberries from the bush out back and ended up with his first near-death experience.

“These are blueberries.” He coughs, fork clattering against the plate. He looks like he’s struggling.

For a second you think he’s joking.

For a second you think that the small coughs leaving his lips are all for effect.

You think that he’s playing a game and you roll your eyes but deep down, something hits and it tells you to stop.

You think that the sudden panic replacing the amusement on Toms features is a little scary but nothing more then him playing along.

And you think that the sound of the bowl hitting the floor, blueberries rolling onto the marble covered in a thick layer of cream is a little too dramatic.

And Tom's voice is piercing, the gasp that leaves him clearly not just created to make you feel shitty about yourself for a small laugh. Because Harrison is gripping– no, clawing at his throat.

And he looks like he’s struggling, maybe like he’s in pain and your fork hits the floor, bright, cherry– no, strawberry red staining the ground.

“Get help!”

Seven

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cosmicteadust · 5 years

Text

[LOGH fic] Guys Like Me

Fandom: Legend of the Galactic Heroes

Pairing: Oskar von Reuenthal/Yang Wen-li

Wordcount: 2600+

Summary: The opening scenes of an artist!Reuenthal and history professor!Yang modern AU for @beingevil. It’s incomplete for the time being and I don’t know when I’ll be able to pick it up again, but I wouldn’t consider it abandoned. Title from this song by Aimee Mann.

The human form is intimately familiar to Oskar von Reuenthal. He’s been studying it for as long as he’s allowed his past to stretch out; beginning in his adolescent days—devouring anatomy books and committing the various muscle groups to memory, back when he thought he might want to become a physician. The time he’d spent meticulously copying diagrams from those books soon gave way to an interest in drawing for drawing’s sake. Eventually, he found himself in an art college, his eye for detail insatiable despite the twice-weekly figure drawing classes he attended.

He’s been making a living as an artist for close to ten years now, still popping in to live drawing sessions whenever he can. He thought he’d mastered the various ways in which it was possible to draw the human body, clothed or unclothed. Thought he’d been confident in his ability to capture any posture, any curve of musculature, any drape of fabric or lock of hair. Until he met the stranger who would change that.

The human form was intimately familiar to Oskar von Reunthal, before he saw the man perched cross-legged on the top step of his front door, taking shelter under the awning.

Reuenthal’s breath catches in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” the stranger murmurs, glancing up before Reuenthal can speak. He has sorrowful eyes, a smile like a peace offering. Hair that looks like he’s threaded his fingers through it countless times before the rain plastered it to his face. Plain dark sweater vest over a cream-coloured shirt.

The man shakes his head, sending beads of water gracelessly flying in an arc around him. Doesn’t help the state of his hair. He twitches from a sharp inhalation before raising his arm to his face, muffling a violent sneeze.

Reuenthal is staring. He’s thinking about the wetness on the stranger’s cheeks and how the late afternoon light catches it. For the first time in a long while, he’s so captivated by detail that he can’t appraise the figure as a whole. The subject is eluding him. Reuenthal clears his throat. “You’re in my way,” he says firmly. To emphasise the point, he marches up the steps and plants a foot within millimetres of the stranger’s knee. If he made to kneel, it’s likely that he would end up straddling him. Reuenthal is tall, but his imposing silhouette is mostly accounted for by his oversized black umbrella. Raindrops slide off the waterproof coating, landing obnoxiously on the stranger’s face.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” the stranger says unhappily, head bowed. He shifts, revealing a crumpled sheaf of paper stuffed under his cardigan. “Just let me get these in order and I’ll go. It took me the better half of the morning to photocopy this lot, not that the fact is of any relevance to you.”

“It could be.” The words slip out before Reuenthal can stop himself. He moves back, then steps under the awning into what little space has been left for him, closing the umbrella as he turns to face the front door. The sheaf of paper is added context. With every new detail he notices, his curiosity about the stranger heightens. His dispassionate facade is starting to crack, and it won’t be long before he loses his resolve to send the stranger on his way.

He can almost hear Mittermeyer’s voice in his head. Every great artist needs a muse, idiot. You can’t keep drawing anonymous people forever. Reuenthal grudgingly admits to himself that Mittermeyer may be right. An intimate knowledge of the human body isn’t intimacy. But Reuenthal always thinks he knows better.

Yang hears the sound of a key turning in a lock somewhere above his head. He angles his body to peer up at the owner of the house, waiting for a cue. The door swings open behind him. A slow wall of heater-warmed air nudges invitingly against his back. A gesture from the owner as though to direct him inside—a single, decisive flourish, index finger extended to indicate that this is indeed a command to enter.

Yang levers himself off the step with an arm while attempting to stand on legs that have fallen asleep. The sheets of paper start to slide out from under his cardigan. Turns out, the world doesn’t tilt in slow-motion the way it does in films; it’s an artless backward tumble against a carpet that only marginally cushions the bump to his tailbone. “Ah...” Thousands of years of written history are now sprawled across the floor and his thighs. “Sorry. Thank you. Sorry,” he says. “In that order.” Added after a brief moment of thought. He rearranges himself, starts to shuffle the fallen sheets back into some semblance of a pile.

The owner of the house has moved past him and is already making his way up to the second floor. His overcoat has been hung on the coat stand, the umbrella deposited into a tasteful steel mesh holder beside it. His furniture seems purposeful, like his stride. Every movement he makes. “Wait in the living room. And close the door when you’re done,” he calls to Yang without even turning back to look. Yang feels his cheeks burn, but he’s too exhausted to be humiliated. He gets to his feet, groaning at the prickling sensation of pins and needles in his calves. Shoves the door shut with his free hand, defiantly using more force than necessary. Slowly, he hobbles further inside.

The house is sparsely furnished, the decor a blend of minimalist aesthetics and accents inspired by brutalism? Baroque architecture? Yang isn’t sure. Wooden floorboards, concrete feature walls, a large mirror with an embellished frame. A curious yet coherent mixture of the angular and the ornate. He can identify some of the design elements present thanks to the elective art history module he took as an undergraduate. An incongruous splash of colour by the far window catches his attention. Two generously stuffed cushions resting on a window seat—one red, the other royal blue.

A window seat! He heads toward it eagerly before remembering that his clothes are still damp from the rain. Comes to a stop by the table and rests his precious sheets of paper down on it, lets out a soft, wistful sigh in the general direction of the window.

Still standing, Yang starts on the arduous task of sorting through his notes. They’ve gotten hopelessly jumbled, many pages sporting dog ears and splotches of moisture that threaten to smudge the printed text beyond legibility. He’s made copies of chapters from at least fifteen ‘Reference Only’ books and had left a mess in the library’s photocopying room. Ms. Greenhill hadn’t been pleased, but she’d slipped him a cling-wrapped home-made sandwich which served as his lunch later on in the staff lounge.

Reuenthal pauses on the way down, leans casually against the banister to watch the stranger in his home. The other man is too absorbed in his task to notice. He’s a strange sight in his mismatched outfit. The top is alright, but the slacks simply don’t match. On the whole, they produce the effect of a student in an ill-considered public school uniform. He’s of average height and build, has an admittedly plain face. What, then, makes him so compelling?

“Here.”

The stranger nearly jumps when Reuenthal appears beside him and offers him the change of clothes. Reuenthal doesn’t apologise, waits patiently for him to take the clothes off his hands before pointing him round a corner. “There’s a bathroom on the left. Light switch is behind the door.”

“You’re really too kind.”

Reuenthal waits until the man is out of earshot before scoffing.

The clothes smell faintly of mothballs. For no reason in particular, Yang buries his face into them and breathes in. They remind him of his childhood. His father was always moving for work. They lived like nomads, on the move so often that his clothes spent more time in boxes than out of them. He didn’t mind. The only thing he cared about was his father’s mouldering collection of old history books.

Yang has been given a plain black shirt with long sleeves and a pair of dark grey sweatpants. He wouldn’t have guessed that his host had these lying around. Not with the way he was dressed: fitted black jeans and a black turtleneck shirt which made his arms and torso seem endless. Though the broad shoulders did not escape Yang’s notice. Their recent interaction was the first time he’d been able to get a good look at his host since the kerfuffle in the doorway. Up close, the shimmer of blue in his left eye seemed almost supernatural.

Genetic quirk or vanity lens? He wonders as he struggles out of his own clothes. Lost in thought, navigating his vague first impressions of the man, it takes him longer than usual to get dressed. He puts the shirt on inside-out on his first attempt, wears it back-to-front on the second. It’s a little too large for him, but comfortable.

When Yang finally leaves the bathroom, damp clothes tucked under his arm, his host is seated at the table, leafing through his notes. “Would you like a comb?” He is asked, in a tone that seems to imply that hair tousled dry with a shirt is not a good look on him.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Unconsciously running his hand through the offending unruly hair, a reflex he found impossible to rid himself of. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stay till the rain stops.” Yang slides into a chair, leaving an empty seat between himself and his host.

“As you like.” His host gives him a lopsided smile, eyes crinkling into an approximation of genuine contentment. “I never did introduce myself. Rude of me.” He leans back to ease a leather cardholder from the pocket of his jeans, offers a name card elegantly poised between index and middle finger, like one would ash a cigarette over an ashtray. It’s printed on high quality card stock; Yang satisfies his tactile nature by enjoying the marvellous texture, stroking his thumb over it appreciatively.

Oskar von Reuenthal. Portrait Artist.

“It’s pronounced Reuenthal,” the man says. His deep voice wraps around the name possessively, as though daring Yang to speak it aloud himself. “You can call me that. I’ve been told I don’t look like an Oskar.”

“Honestly, you look like less like an artist than you do an Oskar.” The comment bubbles to the surface before Yang can stop himself. He’d been expecting something else. Real estate mogul. Surgeon. Lawyer. “That was uncalled for. My apologies.” Hand in hair again, fussing. “Uh... I don’t know much about artists. My father was an art collector who never directly liaised with anyone who made art. He didn’t think it was necessary. Turned out, he’d been purchasing forgeries.”

A piercing stare from Reuenthal. “As an artist, I find it difficult to extend my sympathies.”

Yang laughs in spite of himself. “There’s no need for that. He died before anyone found out what his collection was really worth, or if they even knew he’d been duped. Who knows what he was thinking? He was always so earnest about that particular interest of his. I never understood. Never understood his actual work as a stock trader either. Business. Money.” He shakes his head.

“So, what do you do?” Reuenthal waves a hand over Yang’s notes for emphasis. “You seem unusually preoccupied with events and warfare of ages past. Or is this just a hobby?”

Nervous laughter. “I’m an adjunct professor. Working towards a second Ph.D. in Military History.” He reaches out across the table, fervently hoping that Reuenthal recognises that a handshake is being initiated. He does. “I’m Yang, by the way. Yang Wen Li.” The language of his childhood rarely sees use these days, but it lives on in every self-introduction; he’s careful to enunciate well, employing the tonal lilt of the Mandarin tongue. People in this country tend to iron out the intonation of his full name. While they aren’t to blame, he resists in his own way.

“Yang.” Reuenthal repeats. And Yang never thought he’d want to hear another person speak his name over and over again, but he does. Reuenthal says it like an incantation that would seek his soul out if it were lost and anchor it to his corporeal form.

They sit in silence, allowing the hum of the radiator to fill the room. Without a word, Reuenthal continues to sort Yang’s notes. Most of them are easily discernible as belonging to disparate sources. His attention to detail comes in useful, picking out minor differences in typeface, line spacing, margin width. Yang puts each smaller pile in order by page number. Sometime during the afternoon, a pot of unsweetened black tea is brewed, the contents duly contemplated and consumed. Reuenthal mentions nothing of his preference for coffee, nor does Yang drop the slightest hint that his choice of beverage contains a warmed shot of brandy.

ii.

Yang returns home just past twilight, moments before Julian would have hit the dial button on his phone to check up on him. “There you are!” The adolescent exclaims. “If you’ll tolerate my saying of something completely disrespectful, I’ve been thinking about getting you a collar with my number on it for easier retrieval.”

“You could have called, if you were worried.” Yang mumbles, his tone tinged with guilt. He tosses his notes onto the couch (neatly organised and filed in the thickest ring binder Reuenthal could spare him). As discreetly as he can manage, he slides his hand behind the cushions in search of his own misplaced phone. There it is, wedged beside the remote. He suspects that the crafty Admiral had noticed it and taken it upon himself to paw it out of sight for Julian’s sake.

“I’ll start on dinner!” Julian calls from the kitchen. “You’re getting the Yang Household Special: Quick and Creatively Re-purposed Leftovers for Adult Students and Child-Like Educators.”

“If it’s edible, it’s good enough for me,” Yang answers. He privately resolves to bribe Walter and Alex with decent whiskey so that they will, in future, refrain from being openly sarcastic around his impressionable young housemate.

Later, over creatively re-purposed ratatouille with a side of pasta:

“I met a man,” Yang confesses.

“Good. So you’re finally ready to settle down?” Julian teases, with shades of Caselnes.

Yang frowns. “Settle down...? Oh, you meant a relationship. Aren’t those the very opposite of settling down? I’m too tired for that sort of thing. Upend my comfortable way of life? Not a chance.” Hastily, he shovels a forkful of pasta into his mouth so as not to segue into an unintended monologue. He’s reminded uncomfortably of the talk he and Ms. Greenhill had about a month ago, after she’d confessed her attraction to him in a quiet corner of the cafe two blocks down from the administrative building exit. In short, it seemed clear to Yang that he did not feel as strongly for her as she did for him, nor could he even promise that he had the capacity to identify and reciprocate expressions of affection. “My heart’s more like a part of my mind,” he’d mumbled into the beret he’d nervously pressed to his mouth, wishing that he could shrink and crawl under it to hibernate. “And my mind is near constantly on my work these days, and will continue to be for the foreseeable future.”

Julian butts into his reverie with a statement that comes out of nowhere. “Things always happen to you,” the youth observes.

“Don’t things happen to people as a general rule of life?”

“No, not like that.” A serious look that makes him appear well beyond his years. “I mean, you don’t steer yourself very much. Or navigate currents. You’re like a leaf drifting along a river.”

Yang is surprised, but not offended. “So you think that I lack direction?”

Julian winces. “Not that either. You’re just... you.”

Yang blinks at him.

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kitsumiekat · 6 years

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For Kingdom, For Her - Liam x OC, Maxwell x MC (TRR Fanfic) (6/?)

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x OC (Kina)

Rating: PG (NSFW for certain chapters)

Summary: In the aftermath of the attack, the Unity Tour starts of at Fydelia. But Madeleine still nurses a deep grudge not only to the royal family, but to the new Duchess Riley, and point blank refuses to step in to help. Help comes in a different form… and one that absolutely distracts Liam in ways he never expected.

A/N: I’m sorry for being MIA for a week! My country had election day where we proceeded to have the most awesome week ever politics wise and I was drowning just keeping up with the news! But I’m back now!

And TRR isn’t yet?! T_T I miss Maxwell already. T_T

Tags: @decisso

---

"Where are you bringing me?"

Kina laughed as Liam opened the door and yanked her into his arms, even if she's insisted many times before that she could walk just fine. In Liam's words, he 'was not taking any chances'. So it was in his arms, that Kina was brought to the city square, where people were beginning to wind down from the day's business. Behind them, Bastien got out from the car as well, but Kina barely saw as Liam turned and walked towards the centre, placing Kina on a bench next to the fountain.

"I... just wanted to show you something." his words seemed halting, his gaze uncertain as he took a seat next to her. He had suggested they take a spin around the city after the rest of their friends had headed to the spa, and seeing as the night was early, Kina had agreed and Liam had whisked her off in the royal limousine.

Kina's heart softened at the wary gaze, and instead of the sarcastic remark her brain had cooked up, she instead raised a genuinely curious brow. "Oh? What about it?" she peered around the cobbled stones, and ornate buildings. "It is very pretty, that I give you."

He chuckled, but his eyes seemed wistful as he took in the twinkling lights in the dark. "I came here once Leo abdicated and I found out I was actually going to be the King. To see what my people saw, to run my hands along the brick walls lined by people who've gone for hundreds of years."

His fingers brushed the brick and mortar they sat on, and Kina saw the gentle love he had in his eyes. "People who built the country I love."

She remained silent, the moment seemingly quite poignant for him. So she awaited his continuation, and found herself surprised when he turned the tender look he had on her with a grin. "It helps when I get too caught up with the diplomacy and taxes for the country."

"You'll be a wonderful King, Liam." Kina murmured. She knew she probably shouldn't, but she let her fingers lay gently over his, a reassuring touch as she continued. "Just like King Fabian was."

Liam gave a surprised look, blinking a few times before he spoke. "He.. was my favorite. He often reminded me that a ruler's responsibilities wet beyond just providing and protecting the citizens. A good king-"

"-helps his people thrive." Kina replied. Throwing her head back, she laughed, the chilly breeze picking up her blonde locks. "Madeleine often recited that as she studied the many monarchs of Cordonia. She really would've made a wonderful Queen."

Liam paused, and then chuckled, turning his palms upwards to gently lace her fingers with his, his heart warming when she did not pull away. "Perhaps. But... being a wonderful Queen is a lot more then just emulating the previous monarchs. It's being able to be kind because you see the good in others, having the heart to forgive, forget and to want to bring others together with you to the top... everything you are, and more.”

The girl flushed, turning the other way to hide her reddening cheeks. “Anything else you wanted to show me? Or just a half-naked King Fabian?” Turning back to him with a cheeky grin, she continued. “If you’re attempting to distract me with half naked statues, let me just say it’s working very well.”

This time, it was Liam’s turn to toss his head back laughing, shaking his head wryly at the saucy response of the young blonde. “See the library?” he leaned towards her, keeping their hands laced together, he used his free hand to point at the ornate building with large wooden doors. “My mother used to bring me there when I was younger. We used to sit on the steps, her reading my favorite stories to me, wearing her jasmine perfume.”

“Her Highness enjoyed books?”

“Somewhat.” he explained. “My mother was not a Cordonian by blood, and whenever she felt homesick, or an outsider, she would come here. She said it was difficult to feel homesick in a library, when there was so many adventures awaiting.”

“Wise words.” Kina murmured, unable to resist leaning closer to him so their shoulders brushed. “Must be where you get it from.”

The King raised his brows in what appeared to be a surprised look. “That is high praise coming from you.”

She laughed, mock punching his arm. “You’re lucky I can’t exactly perform a kick on you right now.”

The two dissolved into giggles that eventually tapered off, the silence of the night taking over again. Letting the peace wash over them, Liam looked down at their loosely intertwined fingers, and felt his breathe hitch at the possibilities and risks he was taking. How would Madeleine and her parents react? He knew Regina wouldn't be happy, but he wasn't about to let his stepmother come in the way of happiness again.

But happiness with someone he had just met? Liam was surprised Drake hadn't cautioned him with some deep, foreboding quote as it was, especially with his history with Riley.

Looking up at the belltower that loomed in the distance, Liam's thoughts flew back to when his brother had announced his abdication to him first, and all the thoughts that led to him accepting the crown. That he had the power and responsibility to the country, and that what he did will affect people for generations after.

Sometimes, Liam wondered what would it be like if he could make a decision that did not have Cordonia's future hanging off its hinges. If that was the case, he probably would've collected Kina in his arms days ago, and locked them in a room as he explored each and every inch of her, got to know what made her laugh and what made her angry. Was she passionate? Did she scream or laugh? He wanted to know everything.

But he also know he had his risks. And that was the only reason why he had not reached over to haul her to his chest and kiss her senseless.

Yet.

“Your Majesty? We should get going.” Bastien piped up, reminding them of the time.

Liam sighed, letting his fingers slide away from Kina’s. He bent, prepared to scoop her up in his arms, when she lay her fingers on his arms, firmly pushing him away with a shake of her head.

“No, really Liam. I... I’m fine.” she insisted, and with her hands as assistance, pushed herself into a standing position, with a majority of her weight on the good knee.

“You’ll fall.” he warned, when she began to hobble.

“Then I’ll take your offer of that walking stick. Otherwise, I can’t rely on you to carry me everywhere and no,” she held a finger up when Liam started to speak. “Before you even suggest, I will not get in a wheelchair.”

For the first time, Kina found herself at the receiving end of a petulant pout from the King, much to her surprise as she gaped at him. Liam wasn’t happy, of course, but that didn’t mean he knew better then to argue with her. Instead, he waved Bastien closer, offering her an arm so she could use him as a temporary walking stick.

“Arrange for that walking stick for Lady Makeena. And get her a security detail.”

---

As the royal train began to near Castelsarreillan, Kina raised a brow again, attempting to figure out what to do with the cropped haired female who now stood alert and at attention at her doorway, Bastien by her side.

“He said... what, again?” she asked, raising a wry brow at Bastien, who gave a long suffering sigh.

“His Majesty insists that Andy be by your side at all times.”

Kina sighed, picking up the walking stick Bastien had just handed to her. “Do you have so many people in security that Liam can just hand out security details left and right?”

Bastien opened his mouth to defend his king as was protocol, but Kina put a palm up, halting his words. “Never mind, I don’t wanna hear it.” she turned to the her new security, who sported a bob cut, and gave a wistful smile. “Just... keep up, okay. Riley has a long day, and I’ve got my work cut for me today when I’m moving at the speed of a tortoise.”

Pushing past Bastien, Kina made her way to the boutique, nodding her thanks when Andy opened her door for her, before greeting Riley and Maxwell, who were already waiting inside. They greeted her happily, and then raised a brow when they saw Andy pushing the door closed.

“Liam’s doing?” Riley asked, grinning. The duchess remembered how annoyed she had felt when Liam had arranged for Mara to basically stalk her every step. Maxwell had been thankful of course, after the attack, but a girl like Riley who was used to her freedom, was still getting used to having eyes on her at all times.

Kina nodded, rolling her eyes, before she spoke. “I hope you’ve studied the PDF I sent you over KnowsApp last night on Kiara’s family?”

“Of course!” Riley replied enthusiastically.

Kina flashed her a thumbs up, and then nodded at Maxwell. As if they’ve already communicated, Maxwell ran off to the back of the boutique, as Kina went over the most important points regarding Hakim, Joelle and Ezekiel just as Maxwell returned.

“Ta-da!” he flourished the new outfit out. Kina had to hide a giggle at how excited Maxwell was as he presented the high necked, glittering black ensemble to Riley, complete with the owlet bangle on her upper arm.

---

“Where’s Kina?”

It wasn’t till the end of the house tour with Ezekiel and Kiara, after Joelle left, did Hana suddenly asked, surprised.

Caught up in thoughts of his father being called back to the palace to rest with his stepmother, Liam blinked in surprise, the questioning calling to front the fact that the blonde younger sister of Madeleine was nowhere to be found.

“I think she mentioned she was going to unpack in her room. Shall I fetch her?” Penelope piped up.

“No.” Liam interjected. “I’ll go. I... have something I need to fetch from my own baggage anyway.”

Before anyone could question or offer, Liam had ducked out of the deck of Kiara’s home, and headed in one of the corridors they had motioned, where all of their rooms for the night. There, he counted the doors until he found the closed one, on which he rapped his knuckles on light.

“Kina?”

It only took a minute or so before the door opened, and there the blonde stood in her shorts and a long sleeved blouse, her eyes surprised when she saw who it was.

“Liam? What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you what are you doing up here. Why didn’t you join us?” he asked.

Kina bit her lip, averting her eyes to the ground. “I... It isn’t my scene. Hakim and Joelle are nice people, don’t get me wrong. Just... the whole diplomat thing just rubs me up the wrong way. Like we... have to be nice to people for the sake of getting something.” she wrinkled her nose, in a way that made Liam want to pinch it. “I just never liked it.”

“Well... we’re all having a wine tasting on the deck now. Care to join us?” he invited.

She paused, debating the idea in her head. Despite being the daughter to a duke and duchess, Kina had never enjoyed the ins and outs of functioning in noble society, disliking the many facade’s one would have to hide behind. She had always been thankful that Madeleine took up the mantle of pleasing their father with her love for the society, and had imagined she would settle with a nice common man, living a normal life.

Now... as she looked at the palm Liam held in her direction, she bit her lip. Did she really want to go in this direction?

“Kina?” he asked, hesitant.

Taking a deep breathe, she squared her shoulders, and lay her palm in his. “Let’s go.”

---

Much to Kina’s surprise, she had a good time at the wine tasting, learning much more then she had expected. She managed to make a connection with Ezekiel, understanding what he meant when he said that he never felt like he quite belonged, and knowing what he felt when he said his plans did not line up with his families plans for him.

As the night wound down and everyone began to leave, Kina turned back, and paused when she saw Liam leaning on the railing, his gaze taking in the rolling hills of the vineyard.

Unable to just leave him, Kina turned and hobbled back, waving at Andy and Bastien to stand away as she propped up her walking stick, and then leaned on the railing next to him, smiling at him when he saw her. “What’s the matter?”

For a long moment, she didn’t think he would answer, before he spoke. “My father. He... had to return to the palace to rest. The doctor’s have no good news for us.”

Immediate, Kina’s heart fell, especially when she saw the crestfallen look on Liam’s face. While he may not agree with everything Constantine has done during his rule, there was no denying that Liam loved his father very much, and quite possibly looked up to the King Father for guidance in his new days of being Cordonia’s new King.

“I’m... sorry, Liam.”

He sighed, and then wiped his crestfallen look with a smile, gingerly, placing his hand over hers. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.” Letting his gaze roam to the vineyards again, he asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Surprisingly... yes, I did.”

“Surprisingly?” he echoed, raising a questioning brow.

She nodded. “I’ve never liked politics or courtly drama. It’s always been Madeleine’s thing. I think Father gave up on me when I threw a bowl of soup at a formal dinner with the Minister of Slovenia.”

Liam chuckled, squeezing her hand. “I would’ve loved to watch that.”

Kina grinned. “Father would disagree.” Letting the easy mood wash over them, she sighed as a gentle breeze picked up. “I’ve always thought that Madeleine would handle the politics, and I’ll meet some normal common man, marry and perhaps piss Father off with our marriage, and live out a normal life.”

Liam’s heart hitched when he heard of that, disliking the image she planted in his head of her being married to just any man out there. Maybe... would she deny him, simply because of who he was as King? Was he enough to make her give up her girlhood dreams of a common life? “And now?” he couldn’t help but ask, wincing when he heard a hollow tone in his voice.

“Now?” she laughed. “We’ll see.”

#trr #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #liam x oc #liam x kina #maxwell x mc #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices fanfiction #king liam #liam rys #king kinky

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