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sugar-petals · 3 years

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sub!Yuzu | nsfw alphabet

🌹 NOTE ⇢ content for our fave figure skater, the legend himself. mr. yuzuru hanyu is 1000% dom candy and i’m here to honor it at length ⛸

— WORDS. 5k

tags + warnings. dom/sub dynamics, femdom!reader, role reversal hc, smut, kinks, cum play, spanking, sex toys, very freaky yuzu, kitten play, mdlb, crying kink, food play, prostate orgasms, bondage, some deeper stuff & angsty bits, asthma mention, aftercare

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Once the cat ears come off, who is Yuzuru Hanyu not to remain in character for a while. For the shits and giggles, and because it’s cozy. Once a catboy, always a catboy, it’s the law of the land. Curling up, kneading at you for the head pats and massages, you know the programme.

Also: Yuzu is famously soft-spoken and always finds the right thing to say. So, stimulating conversation for the cooldown. This is literally so nice. He’s unafraid to reflect everything in detail, say what he preferred, what you could change up together, what he wants to try next. The afterglow is not just physical, as in you give him something to drink, it’s 70% verbal which is very important to him as a consistent habit.

Of course, not to forget: Always gotta have a Winnie Pooh plushie ready. He embraces it readily and, as we know him, does some roleplay right then and there. Yuzu, professional cutiepie he is, is the kinda sub who treats all plush and pillow stuff as alive and breathing. You as his domme are in on the play and also treat his things as holy as they are to him. That Yuzu lets you into that world is the biggest compliment you can possibly get.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

We all know Yuzu’s godly ass and thighs. Or the staggering waist and beautiful black hair that makes him a total bombshell in his classic comb-back styles. His face is soft and expressive and so damn unique, his legs muscular and long, his back and tummy chiseled, the list goes on and on. Jesus, he has so many great features. All body parts a masterpiece. That are all capable of god-tier contortionism on top of that, gotta mention it in passing. Just so you know if you haven’t seen him bend his every limb into directions you wouldn’t believe are humanly possible.

Interestingly though. If he chooses, Yuzu picks his feet: They are his most important instrument and weak spot. His ankles are where the magic happens. So, you taking care of them a little would mean the world to him, imagine a candle light massage. Not to worry, no-gross-alert. Yuzu has perfect and cute feet. That’s gonna be a Victorian moment, oh my god I saw his ankles. For his partner, short and simple: He likes a shoulder to lean on. He loves being touchy in general, all body parts are amazing to him. Being in a profession that’s all about the physics, Yuzuru knows about the wonders of the body.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Certified king of cumsluts, doesn’t even hesitate. The more, the merrier. If he’s not covered in sticky stuff, Yuzu would be underchallenged. It’s less about the taste, texture or any degradation, for him it’s the playing around with his tongue. Somebody wants his mouth preoccupied. Give the cat his milk. Feed him his own cum mixed with yours. He’s gonna lap at it and swallow.

Since Yuzu’s dream is a mommy domme baking him something, he just loves the smell of dough and hazelnuts and cinnamon and everything — you know what’s coming: Imagine the food play. Nuts indeed. Anything that even remotely looks like a creampie is something he wants to get his lips on. And Yuzu is not the type to be a foodie at all, let that sink in. Sexual-looking food is just too big a temptation, though. And you spoiling him that way... oh my. Surefire way to end up in bed right after.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has a butt plug collection. Once almost went on the ice with one in. The more you know. Also— this guy is the kinda type fantasizing to get absolutely railed on a bed of plushies. He has troubles suggesting it to you because he doesn’t want them to get actually dirty. But the idea gets the two of you kind of horny. Sometimes, a thought is better as a fantasy than actually executing it. You can use it for riling up’s sake, whispering it to him during dirty talk. How you’ll bounce on him and ruin him and milk him while he’s splayed out so innocently on your bed. I smell corruption kink.

Another secret Yuzu keeps is just how much he changed his mind about wanting his partner to control everything in bed. He grew up with a pre-defined ideal type of a cute, nice skater girl who’d let the reins very loosely around him, who he can speak Japanese to because he had problems with English, who is small and someone he will protect. It wasn’t something based on experience and trying things out: It was simply expected of him. People wanted the domineering Yuzuru on ice to be that way in private, and make use of his power, be a man, savior, boss.

The reality being: He never felt truly as tough on the ice, nor was he gender-conforming in person. In fact, that is what he became famous for, and it reassured Yuzuru very often how people would accept and actually celebrate this side of him. Which is so refreshing, and a sight to see. The side that was dorky, clingy, childish, gorgeous, and cute has always been there, but now he embraces it more as his comfort place. He has to know what he’s doing in his skating programme and show competitive spirit to achieve his dreams, but that’s where it stops.

His former ideals are something people wanted to hear, it was an adaptation of the environment rather than thinking it through on his own. So, years later — oh boy have things changed. Yuzuru no longer defines his ideal type that way, saying whoever he likes is someone he’d be with. What was a fantasy template and filter is now gone and adapted to his newfound, own preferences. Yuzu is comfortably open-minded rather than being a copy to mainstream. He found fun in speaking English, opened up to the world at large, had more girls around him who he could befriend, grew more confident in his stature, and is well aware — turns out he’s the cute one. Who needs to be taken under a wing. He likes strong-minded girls and says if he had a wife, she’d dominate him. Yuzuru secretly wants her to be in charge entirely, she owns his body and soul. Not in daily life where things are just normal and everyone goes about their business. Sexually, where he surrenders instead, and is taken care of.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The tale of an introvert. What he knows — he hides it well. Has eyefucked a whole lot of people and is the type to lust like mad from a far distance, and nobody will ever know. Crushes harder than peppercorns in a mill. If he loves someone, it lingers in his mind every split second of the day, may god have mercy on him. And if you know him: Yuzu aims too high to keep it light and easy and clumsy. He hates being an amateur, he’s terrified of starting out something. He dreads not knowing what to do, how exactly to behave, talk, touch, breathe, respond, negotiate, prepare. That’s a hundred percent like hell to him.

Ironically, he has a natural feeling for it and he’s literally amazing in bed, has a sense for social interaction is all the way cute with something valuable to say. But what he believes is something way different. Yuzuru is a diehard, nervous perfectionist. He can only think of it as a rated performance since his mind usually has to work that way to skate well. His esteem is on a knife edge depending on how well he thinks he does. So, the inevitable: He will shy away from sex altogether. He draws immense skating passion from staying celibate, in fact it’s his success secret, but it still eats him up from the inside and makes him frustrated beyond measure. Not even for the pleasure, since he’s so ambitious that’s almost forgotten about, but for being told he did well.

That’s how much he believes sex is a drill and capability test. And it’s sad that he thinks it’s like his skating career, racking up points for the impossible things judges want and being in a deadlock when it comes to showing his artistic side. He feels thrown into cold water if he doesn’t know everything beforehand. If he ever works up the courage, which probably won’t happen, he will pay an expert to learn from rather than let something all over the place happen with a random person or even someone he might like.

Yes, you heard that right. He’d rather see a sex worker than ‘mess up’ his first time according to his sky-high standards. So, Yuzu’s experience remains limited since he’s so 100% do or die, and so anxious, and so torn about social interaction, he doesn’t get how his peers can be playboys and get married and flirt with someone they like and all that. He sort of has an easier time with guys, but girls... he can’t approach. To top it off, he also feels like he’d burden his first time one somebody or embarrasses himself, so he will reject and avoid suitors. Those are usually not the people he crushes so hard on to begin with. It’s bound to be one-sided and he knows, so he will abstain and focus on career and use the cheers of his fans as a substitute.

Truth is, he feels helpless and distant from sex sometimes, especially with his practice-heavy lifestyle and hyper-smart mind, Yuzuru has an intelligence that exceeds what most people can grasp. He’s alone on the ice and Brian as a coach is often the only reference person who truly gets him, and leads him well without being controlling. But that’s professional life. Sexually, Yuzuru is metaphorically: coachless. He surely observed it well when Javier (the #1 ladies man, his opposite) was still active and a social butterfly helping him fit in, but Yuzu would always be worried about his extreme fame and spotless image when introduced to someone fangirling over him. He’d rather prefer someone who comes across as a mentor and solid, loyal-to-death person to look up to. So he would do anything to have someone benevolent like that. Most girls would expect him to be the sex god and expert, but he knows that’s only half of the story and based on his characters on the ice. Yuzu crafts these to counterbalance how he really is — withdrawn and indirect.

Yuzu is extremely calculating and selective, he scans suitors well, protects his reputation, and is mortified of failure. So, he’d rather learn it by the book and from someone he’s not emotionally attached to. In a one-night stand that might also be the case, but he doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s absolutely terrified of sudden sexual vulnerability. He himself often says he values his own struggle between feeling so weak and being strong again

Besides: He’d have problems squeezing hookups into his schedule and lifestyle, he’d have to cut down on things and create a double life. Plus, Yuzu is famously inept with social interaction up close, he flees the noise and unpredictability. So, it’s better to have a long-term partner. If he doesn’t know something yet, he has it down in one day like the single axel. Definitely counts on his partner teaching him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

We know Yuzu’s signature move is the lean-back Ina Bauer. So, whatever position allows for an arch is the real deal (cough, taking the strap — oh my god his ass is made for it). But anyway, he can pull off anything with that stellar flexibility and core strength.

If I think about it. Yuzu might like sitting on your lap very much. I know it’s not a sex position, I mean it can be once his inner lapdancer awakens or you use a strap-on, I rather mean... just for some sweet moments and making out. But yeah: Fathom Yuzu gyrating on your like that. Not in an outright lascivious manner or Chippendales style. The Hanyu way, with embellishments and all the grace. This is gonna be a huge turn-on and perfect foreplay position.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not much to elaborate here: Yep, Yuzu is true goofball indeed. Really flustered and clumsy when eye-to-eye in missionary, and yet: He’s ultra serious towards the end, there’s gonna be an aggressive staredown before cumming. The feeling gets pretty intense, his duality between silly and ‘yeah, give it to me’ is no joke.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Would probably die from inflammation if he shaved clean under those tight suits and did all these chafe-heavy skating routines. Doesn’t have a lot of body hair to begin with, but for pits and pubes, it’s alive, wild, and decently long. Out of all people, Yuzu cares particularly about aesthetics, but in this case pragmatism will prevail. He doesn’t care too much about it either as long as it doesn’t get in the way of something. Having sex with Yuzu tends to be well um well all about a hundred types of friction so any stubble would be a bad idea.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You haven’t seen a guy in love like that. It’s a figure skater thing for sure. Since he works to portray these sentiments on the ice daily, hardly anybody can play up feelings so delicately and palpably like Yuzuru. Emotion is what his entire career is built on. He knows how to express himself directly, appropriately, intimately. Couldn’t be any more romantic. Yuzu can’t go without it.

Very passionate, ‘for your eyes only’ kind of atmosphere. Yes, he shows off on the ice, it’s his job (although of course, that word doesn’t really sum up what skating means to him). But private Yuzu is someone you can claim as yours. He will make it clear, he wants to belong to you, he’s yours, dedicated, devotion is the entire point. Less with a slant of what some subs like, very hands-on ownership of a mistress. It’s more emotional. He’s really attached and all smitten. Your private little haven is everything to him.

Talking about little: Yuzu can be quite a pillow prince sometimes. At least when the initiative doesn’t go back and forth as it frequently does, you often alternate with suggestions and ways of tweaking an ongoing play session. You blindfold him or tie his wrists, He might be standard tired from practice or just fascinated to watch you work your magic on him.

He also likes music to set the tone for intimacy, who’s surprised. Prepare: Yuzu likes dramatic classical music all the way. He’s probably one of the few people who can make it more than ‘classy’ and definitely more than cringe. He selects pieces very well. This is gonna be a practice template to cum together when the music reaches its peak. Makes the whole thing full of adrenaline.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Lots of fun to him. Would beat it 24/7 if the ice wasn’t calling him. Drowns himself in lube. This guy’s me-time is so rated R, Cardi B would be inspired to remix WAP to wet ass penis as an anthem just for him. A dry dick is a ruined day for Yuzuru, as is a session without teasing his prostate in whatever way he currently fancies. Once he tried it, he never went back. The intensity knocking him out is something that Yuzu thinks about all the time. Strokes like a pro, does all these little moans, can do it forever, loves the feeling, chases the high. Adrenaline junkie on the ice? No different with his hand around his cock.

Will masturbate everywhere in the house and has to really get his head in the game to make sure he won’t ruin any carpets. So, he always has at least two towels with him. In the kitchen, in front of the TV, in the shower, the bed. Watches his fair share of eclectic porn, he gets really desperate. Especially before you started dating, Yuzu would shut himself in until the lotion ran out. Can jack off to something romantic (he starts crying) or something extreme (he loves shocking himself and ).

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Very curious about sadomasochism. Googles a lot of things that make him hard during the day. Often jawdropped by his research, but once he tries things out with you, nothing can really shock him anymore. Absolutely wants to be collared, it’s his biggest fantasy. Another little secret he has, Yuzu is decked out in skating gloves, right. He wishes he could feel you wearing them, or he keeps them on for sex himself, the lacey transparent ones. Looks especially pretty when his wrists are tied so, major photograpy material. Oh yes, Yuzu likes the camera, he can work it. The guy is photogenic in any position and can strike any angle you want. Your phone background is a new Yuzu snapshot every week already, imagine your gallery, 5800 kinky pictures.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

I’m gonna say it. The frozen lake out of town, late at night, condoms and lube with you. A quickie that will leave your genitals frozen. Yuzu might get stuck inside you because it’s -15 Celsius. Call that fantasy on ice. Jokes aside: Come on, Yuzu is the biggest ever hermit homebody. The couch will have a bunch of indents after your week-long fucking sessions after he comes home training. Also, at his desk while he does work for university. You ride him, Yuzu studies. Double the ambition. His dick is completely sore. The lake out of town thing might go down, but without sex. Just skating together under the stars, Yuzu doing amazing spins and spirals around you, very very romantic.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Yuzu is a crazed Sagittarius. Have you seen these men? They just want it all. Must be the influence of Jupiter. Zeus was definitely vibing that way. And yes, Yuzu has borderline unhealthy gold medal thinking in bed. He wants to be not just good but damn good with pleasing you. If you don’t have a good time and head home without an orgasm, he’ll consider himself a failure. Yuzu won’t cut himself any slack there. You’d have a hard time changing his ways into something more chill and moderate. Instead, you will see the benefits of rolling with it once you see how improvement fuels him and does make sex really mindblowing.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Couldn’t do things like slapping you, spanking. Yuzu makes for a terrible daddy dom, it’d not suit him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Cum-dripping oral mess, Yuzu is the brave kind. Totally into it, and can’t resist a good blowjob. Will act different afterwards, there’s a lot of erotic tension. “This evening again?” is what those eyes are saying.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Outstanding kinesthetic intelligence. Every inch of his body follows his intent, and yours if you have him take on certain ways of kneeling. Yuzu can do it all, whatever you want. Tantalizing, moderato, overwhelmingly fast. He can take it, he can portray it. And knows the value of a pause like a true connoisseur. Not just when he wants to prevent cumming early, also just because the moment is right. That’s why cockwarming is a staple, as well as you having him wait patiently for kisses. To top it off: If you give him a blowjob, building up the tension by doing nothing is damn effective. The ruined orgasms you’re gonna give him... delicious.

Everything’s gonna have nice transitions as well, no awkward climbing and rolling and tangling limbs. If he gets something from another room that you need, no slouching. The university course as good as the extracurricular activities. Being inconsistent with any subsidiary details? Not in the Hanyu household, he’s keeping it classy. Yuzu feels like if he makes the bridges to new positions even remotely messy, the feeling is killed and it’s as if he’d break character mid-skate. Although he’ll have to practice and refine and test a lot of things because he’s not super experienced and adapting to your own movements is an individualized thing to do, he’s a masterclass of quality, period.

Even when things get fast and heated, nothing feels off. Having that kind of body smartness also means: Yuzu learns by touch, whatever you do. He knows by the way you pull his hair what comes next. How much saliva drips off your tongue when you suck at his neck, he knows how hard you’ll to ravage him in five minutes. This guy observes things you aren’t even conscious of because his physical understanding is just so fine-tuned.

The sense of rhythm, and every skating programme of him will showcase that, unbeatable. Unless his mood is really impacted by something severe, your guy feels it in every bone. He’s an artist, after all, he listens to music all the time. Dissecting rhythms to turn them into movement is what his line of work is all about. The pace will always fit the mood. Everything is precise, but never crude. Instead, the way he moves is dictated by an inherent flow. With little accents that match right with any thrust, like putting his hands on your sides when you’re on top of him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hit it Shakira: Whenever, wherever! He seemingly carries an entire condom factory with him. Or, to be more exact: At least three of them.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

This one’s a complicated case. Yuzu being reckless on the ice may or may not mirror in your private life. He might need some downtime, so bring out the soft domme stuff. No trial and error stuff, just going through a routine of things you love the most. On the other hand, he always gives it all. This guy’s endurance at your hands is amazing. Advanced kinds of BDSM he will not feel deterred from at all. Rough toys, anal hooks, sounding, whips, why not is Yuzu’s motto. But then again. He has such a confusing mix of innocence and feeling like he’s completely hardcore. You might end up experimenting a lot, but also not daring the leap sometimes because the mood is different. And then rather go for softer hours, where Yuzu will be all shy shy and more bursting with excitement than ever. A good, interesting mix is what I’m saying.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Yuzuru, once he gets a bit of practice to gauge the situation... Viagra on two legs, absolute unexpected powerhouse. You might end up pondering to work out a little and go for a run because this guy is in a consistently outstanding shape to say the least. Olympic athletes are literally hard to fuck with. And since Yuzu is starfishing sometimes (which is very adorable), or he’s in bondage for some time, that presents a further problem: For a second round, he’s full of energy, while you already spent energy. So, you alternate with who’s active, and the other leans back entirely. He has to remind himself since his body is programmed for it: This is no contest — the point is feeling good.

You might ride him reverse cowgirl all the way while you watch TV, and after the overstimulation fades he will eat you out ad nauseam, full course slobbering, sweeping the whole menu. That way, it’s less about keeping up with him, which would be hard for most people not doing sports at his galactic level. He understands, Yuzu knows he’s not normal in that regard, you don’t have to worry. Some exercise still doesn’t hurt, just to further increase the quality of sex anyway.

Then again: Why go jogging and do some laps wasting valuable together time when Yuzu’s lap is the best workout? And running doesn’t guarantee your stamina in bed is perfect even if it does help. You rather wanna manage how to draw out the arousal. It’s a self-control thing, with the goal of having you match up in every aspect as good as you can. In which case, you can count on him to pull it off: Have you seen Yuzu doing jumps side by side with a bunch of female skaters? Copy paste. This guy knows how to synchronize with the ladies.

Something that has to be mentioned beside that, though. Yuzu has asthma since 2 years old, and it’s often a mind thing to him still these days. He doesn’t let it stop him from sleeping with you because as always, he’s not letting anything get in his way. He has learned to live and thrive with it. But you both have to mind the possibility of an attack, he prevents it with inhalers, and the mood plays a crucial role. Yuzu being comfortable and confident is so important to his breathing, and keeping a good rhythm rather than being chaotic in bed. So, you will plan most of your sexual activities rather than improvising.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Would stuff an entire sex shop into his every available orifice. Yuzu is a toy freak, he wants to try everything. Motto: a new one every day. Well, almost. But he can afford it. Buys stuff he uses solely on himself, things you use on him, things he uses solo and you use on him, and as the cherry on top, every possible high end vibrator on the market for you. Any size, too. This bitch will browse through the latest innovations, prepare to get off. He’s obsessed with seeing you use it on yourself. Yuzu owns a separate phone just for videos of you buzzing your clit, and him fingering you for minutes and minutes.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Extremely so. Loves to be a total brat only to get put into his place. He does it so you’ll pull the chin grab on him. He likes getting choked out as a punishment as well. Yuzu also tends to be very around the corner if you will when it comes to soft subbing, he lays over expecting cuddles but doesn’t say so. Buds his head against your chest, nuzzles, and so on. Lighter forms of teasing come to him very easily. Loves to prompt. Roughhousing, banter, favorite thing.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Moderately loud because his voice is very very light, but unsurprisingly — he’s just beautiful. What a nice tone. Gorgeous whimpering sounds. And when you go hard on him, voice cracks! And really heavy breathing. What’s gonna be the most striking though is his expressiveness. We know it from the ice and interviews, and he can really amp it up even further. No need for screaming, that face will speak the volumes.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You’ll be blessed with him if you have a huge crying kink. Yuzu definitely opens the waterworks every other week in bed. Happy tears, horny tears, relief tears, aftercare tears, orgasm tears, masochist tears, romantic tears, subspace tears, he has it all. He also begs for the type of pain that makes it stream down his face for minutes. He’s touchy-feely all the way and feels like he can really connect with you that way.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His ass twitching is kind of a spectacle, but I don’t have to tell you, do I. Yuzu has muscles for the gods in there. So voluptuous, you can’t call it any other way. Big booty boyfriend, Jesus you can show him off, he loves it. Around the house, he will flaunt them big ole athlete buns in particular, acting like it’s unintended. Um, Yuzu, those are joggings. Smack it, he is sure to moan.

And may I respectfully mention as well — this guy has some major big ass balls figuratively and literally. How else would someone be motivated to jump a triple axel like it’s nothing. Not kidding, they’re big and round and ugh. His love for tight pants doesn’t help. He knows what your eyes like and dresses just to flex the goods. Screams for more spanking and pinching if you ask me. Yuzu is definitely serving it. Well-endowed, you lucky girl.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Mega horny, ready when you are. On a scale from zero to hundred? Breaching into the 90 percent right there. Yuzu’s hormones are literally insane. On paper he’s 26, but his dick wants the 18th birthday party. Jesus is he gonna be clingy when he’s in the mood. All wrapped around you in a backhug in the kitchen or when you iron a costume of his, and that’s sexy of him. He’s not gonna hide what’s filling out those sweatpants. He’ll desperately grind up against you like it’s Christmas.

Paired with his puppy eyes and little “Do you have some time... I’ll iron this tomorrow” — instant pounce. He’s admittedly a bit hard to keep up with sometimes, though. The reason: With that level of exercise, he has major pent-up energy. That machine is definitely running. Heavy sports changes your hormones, nervous system, and especially blood flow. Now take that to the scale of his performances and regimens? That equals a firework of horny. No wonder he masturbates all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Takes some time. He cools down, sweats it out, chugs water. However, don’t underestimate how tired Yuzu can already be. His daily routines and competitions have a toll on him. Ironically, he’s not a deep sleeper, however. Yuzu might toss and turn and have sudden energy bursts, or ideas, or gets hungry. So, he needs his plushies, he needs a weighted blanket, warm pajamas, a hot cup of his favorite warm drink, a light snack, and you by his side. Spooning him excessively and sometimes even humming to him. Yuzu looks like a certified angel on his pillow, his well-deserved rest from everything is so important, too.

NOTE - hope i could indulge you, thank you for reading!

#yuzuru hanyu #figure skating #yuzuru hanyu smut #yuzuru hanyu smut alphabet #yuzuru hanyu x reader #sub!yuzuru hanyu #sub!yuzu #dom!reader #fs #smut alphabet #smut abc #smut a-z

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the-bat-collector · 3 years

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SUPERBAT Rec List!! AU NO POWERS ish PART 1

I love NO POWERS NO CAPES AUs but its been so hard to find them!! so decided to make this list to help y’all in your search :D

The length varies, but I prefer long fics so most of these are 10-20k up to 200k

Heart and Soul by Pandamomochan

E - 150,044

Clark Kent used to be a renowned composer who was said to be able to write masterpieces that were designed uniquely for each individual player. Famous musicians around the world would flock to him in hopes that he would write for them because his pieces were always said to bring out any player's crowning performance. That is, until one day Clark loses his wife in a tragic accident and decides never to write again.

Years later, Clark's son, Jon, gets admitted to the famous "Gotham School of Performing Arts". It is there that Clark meets Bruce Wayne, a strict, uptight, by the book piano instructor who is said to be able to craft the best musicians around the world.

this is one of my favorites. I'm not really into Hurt/Comfort but this is so beautiful!! highly recommended I'm biased cause I play the piano

Seeing Bruce Wayne by Evilpixie

E - 15,089

Clark Kent is the only male midwife working in Metropolis General. Bruce Wayne the residential pediatric surgeon.

I'm so into medicine/doctor AUs this is also one of my favorite fics!if you have to pick one from this list, pick this one!!!

On The Cusp by vesper_house

E - 47,378

Clark's life isn't going so well. He's in his thirties, he works at a coffee shop run by his old crush, his journalism career is going nowhere, and he's broke. It takes only one tall, dark and handsome stranger to change everything.

COFFE SHOP AU COFFESHOP AU!! We need more of these, the dynamic between Bruce and Clark is Great!!!!

A Game You Can't Win by NightFoliage

T - 78,328

Injustice is the hottest MMORPGs available to play! Set in a world where superpowers exist, players can become civilians, heroes, villains, and anybody in-between. Designed by Hiro “Toyman” Okamura, and Timothy Drake-Wayne, Injustice was created with the best Wayne Industries technology available and has the most human NPCs. The game is beyond it's time and is planned to be at the top of the charts for a while.

By accident, Clark finds himself pushed into the spotlight and new found fame. To him, Let’s Plays are a means to stay in touch with friends and to make money. He never got into LPing to become famous.

Bruce, who funded the game after Jason’s accident, is irritated (not jealous) that a video game player is such a big topic among the kids. After the nth time they mention him, Bruce decides to take matters into his own hands and see what all the fuss is about.

link to art

ONE OF MY FAVORITE SUPERBAT FICS OUT THERE!!!!!! this is great and fun and Clark is the best!

As We Grow by butterflyslinky

E - 23,451

Clark Kent is a farmer deep in debt to Lex Luthor.

Bruce Wayne is a billionaire with seven children and no luck in love.

But their families have a scheme to get them together and hopefully make life a little bit better.

Modern Medicine by BuckinghamAlice

G - 5,208

Pediatrician Dr. Clark Kent becomes beloved to his patients, the Wayne boys... as well as to their doting father Bruce.

ABSOLUTELY lovely and adorable, you get the feels!

Hellooooo, nurse! by weirdraccoon INCOMPLETE WIP

T - ?????

Clark enjoys his job at the Free Clinic. He loves helping people and tending injuries. Saving lives. But this man... Bruce Wayne is going to kill him if he doesn't get killed first.

Bruce is still Batman on this one but HERE ME OUT, Clark is a nurse! is incomplete but looking forward to the following chapters!!

Two Cities by EllenD

E - 96,152

Clark Kent, is simply Clark Kent, junior reporter for the Daily Planet who moved to Metropolis from Smallville with big dreams. Bruce Wayne is a billionaire playboy from Gotham, who also happens to be Batman. They meet, date, and fall in love, though not without hurdles because mild-mannered Clark is also socially awkward as heck. But when the most dangerous criminals in Gotham are gunning for Batman, Clark gets caught in the middle of it all. (He's basically Batman's Lois Lane) Meant to be set in the Dawn of Justice movie universe, but also draws inspiration from video games, comics, and those awesome Batman cartoons.

This is part of a series, but this is the main fic of it. Love this trope of Clark is just a civilian and Bruce is Batman. Warning this fic does contain disturbing topics so read the tags.

Here Comes the Sun by batsy_rocks

T - 18,815

Clark Kent is a kind-hearted reporter working in the big city. Bruce Wayne is a stressed dad of four with no idea of what he's doing.

Then they meet.

Seasons of Love by littlechinesedoll

G - 4,603

Clark Kent took over that farm at the edge of the Town of Smallville. He likes Smallville's resident doctor, Bruce Wayne.

The best gifts for Bruce are ginger ale, salad, coffee, and any kind of flowers. He hates gems, and bars of copper, silver, and gold.

Petals and Ink by drunkraiinbow

T - 12,976

With a new kid joining the family, Bruce tries a new tattoo artist to continue the tradition of adding them to his sleeve, but he won't trust just any artist. Clark manages to win him over with his incredible talent and his farm-boy friendly demeanor, and he may even have begun to win Bruce's heart. However, Clark might have a few things to learn first.

FLOWER SHOP TATTOO PARLOUR AU! what else is there to say, this is extremely cute and a fast read! :D

Faceless Killer by Batsymomma11

E - 51,519

Detective Bruce Wayne from the GCPD and detective Clark Kent from the MPD have been asked to create a joint task force in an effort to catch the John Doe Killer that has been ravaging their sister-cities. Aside from their long-standing animosity towards one another, it should be a breeze to work together. Besides, lives depend on them getting along.

They never expected they'd trip headlong into a romantic entanglement that feels a lot more serious than even the killer they're chasing.

The Tailor by maderi

E - 16,026

When Clark is assigned to cover the Wayne gala, he finds himself in need of a professionally tailored suit. His tailor though is drop dead gorgeous, which brings up a lot of awkward situations during their appointments.

Heroes of the Squared Circle by Mithen

M - 226,687

They've gone by many names: Billionaire Brucie, Country Clark, the Kryptonian, the Dark Knight. But no matter what their stage names are, one thing has always been true: Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne are the world's finest wrestlers.

Six's a crowd by Untoward INCOMPLETE/ABANDONED

G - 10,133

When Alfred has to make an emergency trip back to England, Bruce soon finds out he can't manage running a business and taking care of six kids all alone.

He turns to a nanny agency for help, and is astonished when he finds Clark Kent, who seems like he can handle anything.

Clark not only can take care of the kids incredibly well but seems to be breaking Bruce's walls down rather well too.

After Hours by ????

E - 3,175

At the end of a long semester Clark can't hide his attraction to Professor Wayne any longer. Grad School AU.

This is practically a one-shot, not really my type of fic but worth adding!! Haven't come across this professor trope in Superbat so if you got any recs, send them my way!

Wings and Fangs by DanielleN3

E - 17,224

Clark thought he could never fall in love with anyone, especially not after being alone for such a long time… but all of that changes when he encounters a sexy vampire in Gotham.

TECHNICALLY they both have powers in this one but there are soooo different from cannon that I think this fic still qualifies for this list

thirteen by CapnWinghead

T - 22,890

Drowning in student loans, Clark Kent takes a summer job as the Wayne family nanny.

OKAY. so this is not entirely NO POWERS, but I mean Clark is a NANNY so this is great! TRUST ME

Kiss me, take my breath away by J_Jubilee

E - 37,934

There were legends about Gotham Reef. Legends that said it was haunted by a beast of foul temper. Stories told of a ravenous sea beast that feasted on the flesh of men, and was said to be more hideous than Satan himself. Others told of a woman with eyes that glowed like gold to lead sailors to their death. Some even spoke of a witch that cursed men and wreck their ships, taking all their treasures with it. When Clark’s catamaran is wrecked by a terrible storm, he learns that the stories were oh so far from true.

Baby Bats by AlmondRose

G - 4,003

this is a short series of adorable and simple domestic fluff

------

Haven't read this one but heeey the art is sooo pretty soo decided to add it anyways

Dragon Heart by Hells Angel 921

T - 27,660

Kal wants to make up for his past.

Bruce tries to move on with his future.

They eventually meet in the middle.

link to art

I didn't know that Dragon/DragonSlayer was a thing but hey... apparently it is, so here it is.

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

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

hehe and so my rant ends here! let me know if you know fics that fit any of these tropes! I’m all ears

181 notes · View notes

alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom · 3 years

Text

THE MASTERPIECE: CHAPTER 2/5

Pairing: Modern!IVAR x Reader x Modern!HVITSERK

Warnings: strong language, mentions of torture and the warning that you’ve all been waiting for -> SMUT, unprotected sex, NSFW

Spotify playlist: here (only for those who like latin urban music)

Words: 2682

a/n: This MASTERPIECE was so much fun. It was such an honor to do this with you @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie, you are so talented! Every hour of writing and editing was definitely worth it!

Summary:

Ivar and Hvitserk had always prided themselves in being the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. They had a comfortable life full of everything they wanted: houses, cars, money, and the most beautiful women. And with all of that came the security of always having the upper hand. But what happens when a bewitching girl from Ragnar’s past arrives into their lives claiming his fortune?

1 month later

When the waitress set down the two black coffees on the table, Ivar raised his eyes to study his brother’s face. “Why did you call me here? Are you finally going to tell me what she did? I know it was her you were seeing!”

“What? No! What are you talking about?”

Since Hvitserk stayed in silence, Ivar pressured him. “Brother, I saw Y/N’s underwear in your room, you can’t try to fucking deny it...”

“Oh really? So, explain to me how you know that it’s her underwear, dear brother? I know a lot more than you think. How come you spent the entire night in her home the day after she signed those papers? I didn’t know that your ‘business meeting’ had to be sofucking long and that you were going to get hickeys from it.”

“How do you know about that?” Ivar cleared his parched throat.

“Our chauffeur told me. Or rather I made him tell me.” He grinned wickedly.

When Ivar stared at him blankly, his sibling explained: “My knife needed to be sharpened, and I thought his throat might have been a good place to practice.” Hvitserk said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ivar exhaled annoyed at Hvitserk’s antics. He had a habit of getting the family name in trouble with petty lawsuits. “If he sues us like the last guy that we fired...”

“Relax. He won’t. Start talkin’.”

Ivar hated to be the one showing his cards so soon at the beginning of their conversation. He always liked to have the advantage, letting other people speak first so he could turn their words on them but still, he agreed to go first. “Okay.”

He let the words pour out from his mouth, recounting the first time they’d ever seen her in their lawyer's office and how they followed her back to her house that first night.

“So, we agree on everything that happened until then?”

“Yes.” Ivar concurred.

“And what happened after?” Hvitserk took a sip of his coffee and leaned back.

“Well, I spent the entire day thinking about father and his decision. Just... running through every possible scenario in my head but I still couldn’t understand. By dinner time, I couldn’t handle the frustration anymore so I called the lawyer, fed him some lie and he gave me her number. I reached out to her and she didn’t want to talk to me at first, obviously, but...”

~~·······~~

“Please don’t hang up! Just give me two seconds! It’s me, Ivar!”

“Wrong number. I don’t know anyone by that name. Bye.”

Ivar could only hear the mocking beep of the dead line and he felt incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t just leave it like that so he made his chauffeur drop him off in secret and leave. And there he was again, in front of her house. He knocked on her door and stood some feet away from it in case she came out and slammed it as she’d done on Hvitserk. His knees were shaking.

Why is this girl making me so nervous?

Possibly because he had never been rejected. His money was a guarding shield whenever he wanted to impress a woman and have her forget about his messed-up legs. But now that he’d lost all of it to her, his defenses had been weakened.

Y/N opened the door and she was immediately annoyed by seeing him again.

Suddenly, he forgot what he wanted to say. “I- I’m Ivar.” He stuttered pathetically.

“You?” She raised her eyebrows. “You are Ivar? The one who called me? Have you lost something or what is the matter now?” She really didn’t care for his answer, but she still felt compelled to talk to him. Maybe she could have a bit of fun and toy around with him for a while.

“Can’t you give me five minutes of your time? Please? I need answers.” He bowed his head and dried his sweaty hands on his pants, hoping her eyes wouldn’t notice.

“Five minutes and not a second more!” Y/N took a step to the side and let him in. “Where is your brother? He’s your brother, right?” She walked into the living room and Ivar followed her.

“Yeah... he doesn’t know that I’m here. I wanted to do this alone.”

She ordered him to sit down as she stood in the kitchen with her arms crossed. “So, talk now. Your time is running out.”

Ivar wanted to wait until she sat down too, but she clearly wasn’t going to. The awkwardness only increased by the second so he just jumped straight to business. “My father and I had a very close relationship. I can’t understand why he planned all of this in secret. I mean, the Lothbrok-Sigurdsdottir empire is highly regarded. He was a hard-working man, very appreciated by others... It makes no sense that he would leave all of his belongings to you... I mean, who are you even? You never introduced yourself to us and father never mentioned you.”

Y/N gritted her teeth to try and push down the rage she felt at the mention of Ragnar’s name.

“Well, despite that, I’m sure he loved you,” Y/N said ignoring his question. Still, she was a bit moved by his words. His baby blue eyes seemed honest enough. She walked to her kitchen to serve two glasses of chilled wine and began to be interested in what he was saying. “This is for you, let’s have a drink… I won’t tell anyone that you were here. Promise.” She sat to his side, leaned into his space, and stroked his hand with her thumb. “Can I tell you something?”

Ivar took a sip of the wine, gulping it loudly. “Yeah.”

“You are a very attractive man, Ivar. I feel that we should get to know each other.” She bit her lip and moved closer to him. “See it as a thank you for your trust...” Her fingertips traced the skin on his toned arm.

Ivar blushed like a schoolboy. “I think I should go. My five minutes are over.” He got up and put the glass on the coffee table. “Thank you for your time. Maybe we could see each other again and talk about a compromise. In the meantime, think about it.” He didn’t want to make her angry again. It was strange, the way he felt around her...

“Ivar, wait. I mean it, I want to know you better. Why don’t you stay?”

He’d already reached her dining table on his way to the door when Y/N closed the distance between them effortlessly to squeeze her body against his until she was close enough to catch a whiff of the slight smell of wine that perfumed his breath.

“Then I could tell you everything about me. Isn’t that the reason why you’re here?” She purred with a sultry voice and a devious smile.

Ivar closed his eyes but didn’t dare to kiss her. Instead, he gripped her waist, and her dress creased in his hands.

Without wasting much time, she pinned her lips against his, profiting from his nervousness.

Y/N sat down on the table, her ass crumpling some stray documents but she didn’t care. She hooked her legs around his hips to draw him closer.

“Who are you?” He mumbled confusedly before she hushed him up.

She undid his belt and pulled his pants down as far as necessary to get to his cock.

“Y/N, I have to tell you something.”

“Later.” She grabbed him by his shirt to pull him closer and kiss him roughly.

“I can’t…” He held her hand in place to stop her.

Y/N guided his hands over her breasts, kneading them. “Trust me”. The snaps on her dress made it easy to slide it off.

She noticed Ivar’s passive behavior. “Would you prefer to sit?” She pointed to the sofa giving him a seductive look.

Ivar felt very insecure.

What if I can’t please her? Will she still like me? I’m not like other men... How should I tell her? Or does she know that already?

He nodded shyly and she entwined her fingers with his hand to lead him back to the sofa. He was relieved over the fact that they were alone. No one could ever find out about how pathetically he’d been acting around her.

She crawled on top of him looking deep into his stunning blue eyes, eyeing him hungrily. His lamblike attitude made her shiver and her cunt throbbed. It felt good to have the upper hand. She finally slipped off her dress completely and threw it to the floor.

Ivar gulped when he saw her lusty gaze.

She took off his shirt and ran her palm slowly over his upper body to feel each of his solid muscles twitching for her.

Ivar’s skin turned to gooseflesh and he moaned ever so softly. He followed Y/N’s lazy hand with his gaze.

She reached his shaft and he almost stopped breathing.

He closed his eyes as she dropped her head against his forehead.

She squeezed his semi-hard cock. “I’ve been thinking about this moment ever since I saw you standing at the door.” She wrapped her hand around it and stroked him from the base to the tip and back down again. Her tongue brushed over his lip and slipped into his mouth to chase his.

Dear Odin, this girl could kiss.

Her sensitive pussy rubbed against his stiff cock. He had no clue how she’d made him so hard in so little time and smirked when he realized what was going on.

Y/N put her panties aside inconspicuously and placed the tip of his dick in front of her soaking wet entrance, rubbing in quick circles.

Ivar clenched his teeth to prevent himself from moaning again. She tossed her head back, feeling her walls sink around his cock. His gaze was focused on her face.

Ivar was stretching her pussy and a harsh moan escaped her mouth. She had her eyes closed and her whimper made it sound as if he were hurting her, which unsettled him.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Ivar held her hips tightly against his crotch.

“Aren’t we at it already?” She tried to continue but he still held her in place. “You better start touching me instead of talking so much, Ivar.” She hissed against his ear, biting it.

He nodded but didn’t know what to do with his hands. He felt under pressure to please her.

Y/N put her hands on his chest to ground herself. Her hips moved like waves; with every movement his cock sank deeper and deeper. She did it carefully so as not to hurt him and eventually, Ivar loosened up. She pressed her torso against his and her bare tits rubbed against his chest and he grunted a low growl.

Ivar pushed Y/N’s hair away over her shoulder and nibbled on the soft skin of her neck. His lips moved to her collarbone, sinking his teeth deep into it, making sure that the imprints would stay long. His hands caressed her breasts, sliding down her belly, close to her mound but never so close as she wanted.

Y/N heard his hoarse moans and increased the pace, making Ivar forget about his disability and his every insecurity.

He was breathing heavily and his body tensed. His thighs twitched and she knew that he was coming as he let out a guttural moan while he spilled himself inside her. He was too shy to moan her name loudly.

She kept up the rhythm chasing her own release while Ivar’s fingertips sank painfully deep into her waist. She was so close. Y/N’s hands tangled into his long hair pulling his face closer to hers, needing more of his delicious tongue. She could definitely see his appeal.

Ivar’s brisk and urgent kisses triggered her orgasm, making her open her mouth to gasp for air. She opened her eyes, feeling dizzy and pleased.

Ivar’s eyes, in turn, glinted with satisfaction. It had been a long time since somebody had blown him away the way that she had. He’d never met a woman who contradicted him and even rarer still, one that was brave enough to order him around.

“Do you have a towel nearby? I think we made a mess.” He said out of breath, smiling coyly and staring at her perfect breasts.

She took a pillow and covered herself with it. Ivar’s cum ran down her legs as she stood up to look up for the towel and his face flooded with blood with the knowledge that he’d been the culprit.

“Hey, catch it!” She tossed a small towel to him and disappeared into the bathroom.

~~·······~~

“You're staying here tonight.” It was more of a statement than a question. They were sitting on her bed as she ran a comb over the strands of her wet hair.

“Doesn’t it bother you though? I can sleep over there if you want to.” Ivar pointed to the living room. He had never stayed with a woman overnight. It was a rule to keep himself from falling in love with them.

“We fucked less than fifteen minutes ago and then you stared at my tits for another fifteen

minutes-” Y/N exaggerated with a smile, wagging her comb. “-and now you dare to ask me if I mind that you sleep in my bed?” Her good-smelling hair dripped fragrant drops onto his thigh. “Of course, you can. I want to fall asleep in your arms... I want to feel safe, Ivar.”

Her words made him soft inside and awakened his protective instinct. Ivar didn’t notice the wicked glint in her eyes because he was too busy placing a sweet kiss on her forehead.

~~·······~~

Ivar was woken up by the smell of coffee. He strolled to the kitchen where the most beautiful woman he’d ever come across was standing. Her blue silk dressing gown matched the color of his eyes.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” She giggled.

“I- I have to go home. Hvitserk is waiting for me. You can imagine that my brothers would not be happy if they find out that I stayed the night here... And even less if they knew what we did.” He gave her a little kiss near her lips, hoping she wouldn’t get mad because he was leaving. “But can we meet again soon?” He took a sip of the hot coffee she offered him.

“Maybe… I’ll call you, ok?”

Ivar put his jacket on and glanced at her one last time; he wanted to memorize every inch of her face.

“Ivar... Thank you for the nice evening yesterday.” She caressed his cheek. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about us.” Her lips twitched upward.

~~·······~~

Y/N’s POV

Dear diary,

For some reason, Ragnar wanted meto be his successor. The same Ragnar who left me behind one day without bothering to think of my feelings. I spent the longest days in my life sad and alone, wishing I could change things. At first, Ragnar treated me like a queen, but then he banished me from his life like a worthless slave.

And now, these two handsome naïve boys will help me carry out my revenge. They are nothing but arrogant rich kids who don't know what hard work and suffering really mean. They don’t deserve his inheritance so I will definitely not share it.

I can’t believe Ivar the Boneless, the ruthless heir of Ragnar, the most terrifying of all brothers, the merciless rough son that everyone always talked about... is actually a tamed puppy.

He was still asleep when I saw the message Hvitserk sent him. Lucky for me, I wrote down his number. It was as if the gods wanted me to meet with him too.

Can’t wait to make him putty on my hands as well.

#ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #vikings #hbovikings #vikings ivar #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk x reader #kattegat #modern ivar #modern hvitserk

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imlostinsantacarla · 4 years

Text

@daydreamerneko123 said: Hello, I wanted to make a request for a imagine involving The Lost Boys. How would the boys react to an artist reader drawing them in secret? Due to their shyness and the fact they are just too freaking hot to confront. 🙏 Please and thank you

(a/n: hey lovely! thank you so much for requesting this, as well as for being so patient with me. it took me awhile but i finally got there. sorry that these are shorter, but i hope that you enjoy them nonetheless! - admin kat 🌙❣️)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Lost Boys x Artist Reader Drawing them in Secret Headcanons:

David:

° Being the observant type, David was acutely aware about your little hobby, along with his observant tendencies, he also read your mind. He’s an incredibly smug shit about it and the entire fiasco definitely inflates his ego considerably.

° In order to mess with you, he will remain in the same position for awhile and when you look up to reference him once again, he’s got a cigarette hanging breathtakingly from the side of his simpering mouth, blonde brows raised innocently and in utter humor.

° An immediate sense of embarrassment courses through you, resulting in you dropping your sketchbook rather clumsily.

° That’s when this cobra strikes, stepping from his prized bike and coming over to pick up your sketchbook with such nimble swiftness that it leads to your head spinning wildly.

° David is such a dick about it as well, because instead of returning the sketchbook like a gentleman, he’ll thumb through to pages to find not only one sketch of him, but several!

° Oh, it’s on! He’s teasing the hell out of you until there’s no tomorrow. All in good fun though! David doesn’t want to see you cry... at least not yet.

° “You know, you’re not half bad, actually. But I think you’ll enjoy the real thing much better.”

° This fucker w i n k s afterwards, just like the suave bastard he really is.

° David will flirt with your relentlessly afterwards. You won’t escape from his smooth words and his luscious leathery touches. You’ve peaked his interest after all.

° Prior to this specific occurrence having played out, he had dropped hints that he knew but when you picked up on them, he’d act entirely oblivious, which only confused you further and entertained him profusely.

Dwayne:

° Oh, silent Dwayne with the observant eyes of a hawk! His observant qualities had seriously downgraded themselves in this instance, your form hunched over a sketchbook having gone entirely over his head. It’s safe to say that it literally took him f o r e v e r to figure this one out.

° In fact, Paul had to tell him. Paul! Which honestly indicates something rather big here. Marko and David never let Dwayne live that down. And of course, Paul got teased in the process as well.

° Ignorantly, Dwayne had always assumed you had been drawing the scenery around you. It never occurred in his head that he could ever peak enough interest in someone to become a subject of art. Bruh, has he even seen himself???

° Though now he’s a little a lot curious and he wants to approach you about it.

° So like a slinking panther, he patiently observes and waits for you to look at him, and once you do, he s m i r k s the Big Shit™ and just says nothing!

° Due to your ample amount of embarrassment, you avoid looking up at him for quite some time, though once you deem it to be safe to take a peak, he’s disappeared into thin air, though his buddies are gawking at you like savage simpering wolves.

° “Is that me? That’s pretty good.” A deep voice blossoms in your ear, cold air causing gooseflesh to speckle across your skin like wildfire.

° You have never quite screamed at such a sheer volume than you had in that very moment, my god! And Dwayne couldn’t help but laugh, the other boys cackled wildly from a distance. Though Dwayne wasn’t poking fun at you at all: Yes he found this rather amusing, but he also wasn’t sure how else to respond. But he found it adorable nonetheless.

° With your permission, he goes through your sketchbook, because he’s a Gentleman™!

° As he thumbs through your sketchbook quietly, he discovers one of Laddie and himself, which makes him grin like an idiot! He evens asks if he can keep it, and keep it he does.

Paul:

° One thing that Paul isn’t is observant. Often things like this go straight over his head, though the only reason he noticed your secret sketching sessions of him was because he was checking you out first in all honesty.

° Curiosity practically bounds through his undead veins, mixing that with the his lack of shyness... you’ve got yourself a dangerous concoction that often get’s this vampire into tons of trouble. This dangerous concoction of qualities leads to him coming over.

° How adorable, you’re attempting to hide your sketchbook from him! It’s too bad that he owns the most pesky nimble fingers in existence and snags the book right from you in a swoosh of bountiful laughter. You really stood no chance against him anyway.

° Your feeble attempts at snatching it back from Paul is Childish™, and in response to your embarrassment, Paul cannot hold himself back from holding it above his head and poking a little mean spirited fun at you. This is definitely Paul that we’re discussing here, so are you even surprised at this point?

° Paul lacks the polite boundaries that come along with normal social interactions; either that or he decides to just completely ignore them. So he goes through it right then and there, not being able to resist the urge to throw you flirty comments the entire time. Anything to see you get flustered.

° “I didn’t know I’d bagged myself such a hot fan girl!”

° “At least you got my good side!” Does he really have a good side with that bedhead?

° “Hey, you think next time you could paint me like one of those French Girls?”

° “I can get naked if you want?”

° Paul adores just how shy and flustered you become about it, it provides him with entertainment after all. He’s kind of an ass.

Marko:

° Marko is swift, so it didn’t take him that long to figure out that you were drawing him. Yes, he’s usually up to no good with his best pal Paul, but he’s got incredible brains. He had just been hanging back nonchalantly and planning on how to confront you. Lmaoo what a dork!

° His infamous Cheshire Cat grin is obviously plastered all over his countenance whilst he confronts you about this. Marko is also rather suave, he’s definitely going to flirt with you the entire time this is going down. Winks galore!

° “I’m impressed. The jacket looks like the real thing.”

° Genuine inquisitiveness is activated during the entire encounter, and honestly, Marko is quite abrupt and honest: He asks you in total candidness whether you have a crush on him or not. And even though he’s being candid, you aren’t entirely sure if he’s being serious or making fun of you, because let’s be fair, Marko is rather difficult to read, especially if you’re not close to him just yet.

° “If you did have a crush on me I wouldn’t be complaining.”

° In all honesty, this only gives him more ammunition to flirt with and tease you: Two things that he just loves to do.

° “These are amazing. I’m so glad I no longer have to see the chicken scratches Paul calls masterpieces!”

° Marko inquires a lot on whether he can keep one of your drawings because he is also a Gentleman™, though he has acute tendencies to be a little bastard. He’s friends with Paul, after all.

° As sappy as this sounds, he honestly becomes your biggest fan. The other boys rip into him about it all the time, but he doesn’t mind. You’re good at what you do and even they know it.

° “I could draw you too, but only if you go out on a date with me.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: closed!

192 notes · View notes

huihuiheart · 4 years

Text

Goretober D27: Treasure - Seventeen

Seventeen + Pirate! Gender Neutral Reader

Might make something based off this at some point, we’ll see.

Warnings: Shipwreck themes, pirate themes, teleportation/time travel themes, mentions of curses, mentions of death, mild language/a little cursing, treats, mentions of blood, swords.

Word Count: 1,422

“How did you really convince me that us all being on this little boat together would be a good idea?” Seungkwan sighs dramatically eyeing Seungcheol with a critical expression.

“You’re right we probably should have gotten something a little bigger, but you can’t deny the fact that it’s nice for it to be just us. It’s more than a welcome break from everything.” Seungcheol insists and Seungkwan huffs again, but offers no further argument.

“It is, I’m getting a little restless though. I’m ready to get off and like run around a bit is all.” Chan admits quietly, though when some of the others who heard voice an agreement Minghao smirks.

“You know I have a great idea!” Minghao speaks up, though his face is a little mischievous, that was just a sure sign of curing any boredom some of them had through, “We saw a shipwreck near the path when we came by originally, why not take a little detour and go explore it?”

Seungcheol sighs at the number of expectant eyes on him, rolling he own a little, “Fine, fine, we’ll go explore it, but just for a little bit alright? We still have somewhat of a schedule to keep.”

So a lot of them buzzed with excitement as soon as the wreck came into sight. The ship stranded among sand bars and rocks, their much smaller one able to navigate the area much better than the large pirate should would have been able to. Until their practically side by side.

Seungkwan whistling, “Now that.....that’s a ship!”

Joshua doesn’t seem to share the same excitement though as his brows furrow looking over where the name had once brilliantly been painted onto the ship, before it clicks and he knows what ship this is, “Guys! This ship.....this is The Last Horror...”

His wide eyed gaze meets that of the others who look at him confused, before Mingyu finally speaks up, “The Last Horror? Are we supposed to know what ship that is?”

Joshua sighs, running a hand through his hair, “Have you ever heard of the pirate that was called The Banished? So feared that the other pirates tried to throw them out all together.....and they lost?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen looking at this ship again, “Wait this was their ship? This was Y/N ‘The Banished’ Y/LN’s ship?”

Joshua nods and Minghao looks between him and the ship in confusion, “Then why does it look untouched? I mean it’s not like it’s really all that hidden.”

“Most likely fear has kept most people from touching it. Rumor has it there is a pretty intense curse of the ship and treasure. That Y/N themselves will deal with anyone whom touches what was theirs.” Joshua explains, “Which is why I’ll be staying on our ship thank you very much, I’m not risking that.”

Seungcheol and Seungkwan both deciding to stay on their ship as well, leaving the other ten to go explore the ship wreck. Carefully standing on the edge of their own to reach the old rickety ladder and climb up one by one onto the worn deck of the ship. Even after so long the ship was a sight to behold, some of the luster worn off, but it was still impressive in size and stature. Holding a reputation that had never come close to touched.

“Do you think we could find some treasure aboard then?” Minghao only further spurs on and Chan shakes his head slightly.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, that’s always when something bad happens. Even if the treasure is here, I’m not touching it!” Chan insists and Dokyeom nods in agreement.

“I’m with him, besides it’s practically a part of the culture at this point. We should leave Y/N’s treasure be. Let’s just have a look around and then go.” Dokyeom encourages a safer course of action, leading the way before Minghao can and lead them on his little treasure hunt. Soon coming across what had once been the captain’s quarters. Vernon managing to work the door to it open, so they could slip in and look around.

“Whoa! Look at this! Do you think this picture is of Y/N?” Vernon asks pointing out a painted portrait in the center of the wall and drawing the others attention.

“They look really badass!” Mingyu comments and Wonwoo laughs lightheartedly, he knew more about you than most the boys aboard right now.

“You know, I don’t think anyone knows this picture exists. Everything I’ve read about Y/N, there’s never been a definite description of them, let alone a picture based off their face.” Wonwoo explains before chuckling again, “But I’m sure that they looked this badass in real life too.”

“They had a lot of books though, didn’t they?” Soonyoung questions, fingers delicately brushing over the spines, being inside the room they were more preserved that the ship, they were obviously aged and well used though.

“Definitely! They were very smart! Studied in a naval school before they were dismissed for being too....blood thirsty I guess...they were not known for their mercy....at all. That being said though, they were an amazing strategist, that’s part of why they were so feared! No one could outsmart The Banished.” Wonwoo answers before gasping as he notices what Jihoon found, “Y/N’s cutlass!!! Now that I’ve seen pictures of! It was their identifier! There was nothing else like it.”

Jihoon carefully unsheathes the blade, letting it glitter in the dim sunlight seeping into the room, “I would think not, it looks like a masterpiece as deadly as it is.”

Jihoon appreciates it only for a moment more, before putting it away. Dokyeom humming as he looks around seeming a mix of both confused and concerned as his face scrunches.

“Um guys....where are Jeonghan, Minghao, and Jun?” Dokyeom inquires and Vernon and Mingyu bolt out the door to search the deck.

“Damn I bet you they went to look for the treasure!” Vernon curses shaking his head a little. Sure enough the three soon reemerge from below with a chest in hand and proud smiles adorning their own faces.

“Do you really think it’s alright to be messing with that?” Chan worries his lip between his teeth as he watched and Jeonghan is quick to nod.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it! Just go tell the other ship we’re going to bring this with, so be ready. “ Jeonghan waves his hand at Chan, sending him back down the ladder to the other ship.

“Hao you go with them, Jeonghan and I’ll find a way to get it down to you all, be ready.” Jun tells Minghao who follows the others, the three that found the treasure the only ones who truly seem excited about this whole situation. Also the three the closest to the treasure once it’s on their boat, all of them crowding around though as they open the chest.

As soon as they open it though the world quakes and their deck is no longer beneath them, replaced with a dark wood deck and when they look up their met with the sight of you, cutlass drawn and pointed at them.

“Mind telling me what exactly you’re doing with my treasure?” You question them, face stern and unwavering even by their numbers. Their sudden appearance did tell you pretty much all you needed to know though, knowing it was likely the curse your treasure and ship held that brought them to you.

“Well fuck.......there actually was a curse.” Jun blinks at you as he speaks quietly and his words almost have you chuckling, but you knew better than to be expressive right now.

Jeonghan sighing with a soft shrug, “Well if I’m gonna die at least it’s in a badass way at the the hands of someone hot.”

Seungcheol and Joshua rolling their eyes at him as they try to think of a way out of this situation, though it’s Wonwoo who speaks up first.

“Captain, our apologies. Some of us are somewhat.......testy.” He eyes the ones responsible before his eyes fall on you again, “We really meant no harm to you or your treasure and would like to discuss this matter reasonable, if we may?”

The way this man addresses you respectfully instead of cursing or threatening earns your attention, and works at least for the time being as you nod.

“Alright then, let’s discuss this is my quarters. But one wrong slip up and your blood will be all over my decks before you can so much as blink.”

#goretober #seventeen #seventeen oneshot

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secretradiobrooklyn · 3 years

Text

Secret Radio | 7.24.21, 8.7.21 & etc.

“Better, Better, Back” Secret Radio | 7.24.21, 8.7.21 & etc. | Hear it here.

- Mort Garson - “Plantasia”

1. Jean-Pierre Djeukam - “Africa Iyo” - “Cameroon Garage Funk”

The main musician I think of from Cameroon is Beti-Beti, and this is a whole different thing. Endless props to Analog Africa for providing fiery track after track. This is the sweat from their newest collection!

2. Eyedress - “Jealous”

Paige hears something in this and when I unfocus my eyes I do too. (Literal?) high school skate kids gettin in their shallow feels. I will admit that the chorus “time-time” is killer.

3. Nahid Akthar & Tafo - “Takra We Gutt Bhar Le” (I think)

Nahid Akthar’s voice is so completely bewitching that the amazing arrangements almost sneak by. Tafo is the producer of this track I believe, and the narrative structure of the music is just so confident and encompassing. But then also: man, that VOICE. She’s right up there with Ros Serey Sothea in expressiveness and character.

4. Oruã - “Escola das Roas” - “Sem Bênção / Sem Crença”

My thanks to you, Marc, for pointing this band to us. I have fallen in love with this particular recording, it just gets more thoroughly better with every listen. Calvin Johnson mentioned this band in a recent K newsletter — they’re a Brazilian band who corresponded with Doug Martsch as mutual fans until at some point Doug decided his own band needed replacing and he brought them out as Built to Spill and also as Oruã. This track also has shades of Sonic Youth’s “Master-Dik,” one of my all-time ultra faves. It really hits me in the ’90s, and I rilly want to see how some of this music is performed live.

5. Jacques Dutronc - “Le Responsable”

I’m so thankful to have Jacques Dutronc in my life. His rock songs knock me into gear like nothing else — and the whole band has its own very specific flavor. It kicks!

6. Sleepy Kitty - “Alceste in Silverlake”

At very long last, there is a new Sleepy Kitty album on the way! It’s in line at the record plant as I type this. And this is a song from the perspective of a musician-seeking drummer in LA, crossed with the most brutally honest man in all of France.

7. Sakuran Zensen - “錯乱前戦ロッキンロール” (I Wanna Rock & Roll)

We only knew one song by this band (that we’ve played here) because the video was rad, but I looked to see what else was there and this song is just freakin great with me. The chords are really cool and his vocal delivery is just so over the top it’s impossible not to love. And the guitar solo is basically a full-on tonefest, which I appreciate more than a bunch of flying fingers. The video helps fill in the picture nicely too, I think, though I like the song while not looking at it even more.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPCqT3e89SU

- Mort Garson - “Concerto for Philodendron & Pothos”

8. Clothilde - “Fallait pas ècraser la queue du chat”

All hail the French instinct for chamber music instruments as pop instruments, and then as a kind of technicolor weirdness. The orchestration of this song is a work of art in itself, and that doesn’t even account for her self-harmonizing melody. If you haven’t already, picture a brunette bob and deep mascara.

9. Public Service Broadcasting - “Spitfire”

I can’t remember now how I found this music, though I think it might’ve been from Josh’s playlist? This is from 2012, but they have a new album coming out almost exactly a month from now. In Bound Stems Tim and I got really into interlacing snatches of other people’s words into the music we were making, and this is very congruent with that interest. I feel like this song passes tests as it goes.

10. Shocking Blue - “Send Me a Postcard”

I first heard of this band when I was learning everything I could about Nirvana, and I’d heard both versions of “Love Buzz” and knew they were both great, but we only recently caught this track. It’s the bridge between “White Rabbit” and “Territorial Pissings.”

11. Metak - “Tetrapak”

Our favorite Croatian band! Everything about this song is delightful. I feel like if this song was in English I’d probably cringe at the lyrics, but in this format I can only hear how much fun the song is to play. I am one-quarter Croatian, which means I can’t understand any of the lyrics either but I do see little ghosts of myself in the pictures of the band somehow. It’s weird.

12. Katerine - “Louxor J’adore”

-Anything I could say about this song is eclipsed by this excerpt:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uD7QuV6f_MA

The performance to the cemetery knocks me out

13. Erkin Koray - “Seni Her Gördügümde”

Whenever we’re listening to Anatolian psych, the songs with the most creative ideas and satisfying riffs and great vocal passages are always Erkin Koray. The four-piece arrangements are so good, and then he doesn’t hesitate to step up with his guitar to narrate a passage. Also, I really like how Turkish rock sounds so Indian and also Arabic and also French.

14. WITCH - “Chifundo”

Zambian prog rock! I haven’t heard anything like this track anywhere else in Africa yet. The thing is, this version of prog includes the exact flavor that Yes totally lacks, and thus I really love listening to this track in a way most prog rock doesn’t hit me. The time switches and the lead part over the top are just so smooth!

15. Ezra Furman - “Psalm 151”

We’ve been listening to a lot of Ezra Furman’s music lately, and it’s only getting better and more engrossing with every listen. We toured with Ezra Furman’s band about 5 years ago and every night was a pleasure. They’re finishing up a new album, which makes this a great time to listen to the others. This entire album, “Transangelic Exodus,” is a masterpiece as far as we’re concerned, and I find myself thinking the whole time too about Tim Sandusky’s production. Tim’s such a home town for us, and to hear his full attention on this album is just such a pleasure.

16. Ralph Stanley - “White Light, White Heat”

It was one of my favorite musical influence moments ever when my dad’s bluegrass band, The Prozac Mtn Boys, played VU’s “What Goes On.” Knowing that there is a recording of one of my dad’s true banjo heroes playing “White Light White Heat” is just an endless blessing. And actually hearing it is even better.

17. Kim Jung Mi - “Ganadaramabasa”

I know basically nothing about this track except that she’s Korean and this is from 1973. She’s got a real Diana Ross thing going on, and her band has a real Supremes vibe too… but it doesn’t sound like one of their songs.

18. Penny Penny - “Yogo Yogo”

We just got this record recently, and based on this track I wouldn’t’ve necessarily pictured the remarkable-looking guy who actually made this music. This is from the album “Shaka Bundu.” I’m sure it’s been cranked up and sent through some great house remixes — how could this not be? — but I like how this tempo operates at its own pace. It’s so truly and thoroughly ’80s, very 20th century. In the 21st century this tempo is practically cerebral.

19. Baris Manço - “Binboganin Kizi”

More Anatolian action. It’s really interesting to me how Turkish stuff was always associated with psych music but I didn’t really know how except for the opium thing, and I now understand that it’s in the chord relationships, well, and a lot of the vocal melody and delivery. In that way, Turkish rock pretty much defines what psych music sounds like. Wow. And check out that keyboard solo, so next level!

20. The Velvet Underground - “Countess from Hong Kong”

People are always asking Beatles or Stones and the answer is Velvet Underground. (And the Beatles, and the Stones.) They were just operating along a different balance beam than those other guys — performing different tricks for a different audience. While the Beatles were defining pop music, the VU were destroying it… but then later, they reveal their deep affinity for Western music, even as they never drop in to the blues-centric reading of it. It’s truly punk. I guess they are to punk what the Beatles are to pop — the definition of pop is whatever flows to or from the Beatles; punk is whatever flows to or from the Velvet Underground. Certainly more than any single band in 1976 or 7 or whatever.

21. Bella Bellow - “Denyigban”

The piano phrase that kicks this song off is surprisingly close to the opening of Bound Stems’ “Appreciation Night.” We got that phrase from the demo mode of Radz’s keyboard, and it’s surreal to hear a high-overlap version in a song from Togo. Her voice is so clean in tone and pitch, and what’s strangest to me is that I register the instrumentation in an almost Disney mode — but then realize that’s because Disney will draw on Caribbean and African elements at times as they establish characters and settings. Such an elegant song though!

22. Rail Band - “Mouodilo”

One of the first insights that got us into WBFF was the realization that James Brown had even more fundamental influence on the music of the world than the Beatles did — certainly in Africa. Hearing how his delivery interrelates with so many bands from all across Africa is such a revelation. This track just keeps winding around you til you can’t hardly live without it.

- Asha Bhosle - “Salma Jarir Jhalak”

All I know about this is that it’s in Bangla and it’s from a movie.

23. Unknown - “Chemirocha” - from “Love Is Love”

Several years ago, when African records looked interesting but we literally didn’t know anything about them, we bought a record called Love Is Love, in part because it was a beautiful cover and in part because the music seemed mysterious and full of possibility. Now, when I go to look for it online, I see no sign — I think it’s just a really small pressing from a… pirate group, I guess one could say? But really I think just hardcore music lovers. Anyway, it has this song “Chemirocha” on it, and there’s a story about this song that is really probably just best to link to because it’s so amazing. I guarantee you will find the information in this article worth your read:

https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/chemirocha-how-an-american-country-singer-became-a-kenyan-star

24. Sparks - “Do-Re-Mi”

We’ve known about Sparks, but we’re late to a close listen. We’ve been listening a lot in anticipation of — not the band bio pic but “Annette,” the new film by Carax, one of our favorite directors ever. For that matter: make sure to watch “Holy Motors” by Carax. It’s probably best if you watch “Lovers on a Bridge” before that, but if you have to go straight to “Holy Motors,” dive right in. It’s amazing.

Meanwhile: This take on the Mary Poppins classic is TOO MUCH — I can’t stop smiling at the end, when the bells start tolling over the crashing drums and crescendoing vocal waves as their third finale fades away. How can anyone make this song, the very definition of not-rock, rock so fully?

- Mort Garson - “Ode to an African Violet”

25. Bob Reuter’s Alley Ghost - “She Brought Me to the Wire”

I will forever be glad that we not only landed in a city where we could find out about the person and the works of Bob Reuter, but that we got to know and work with him. Bob Reuter was one of the definitions of St. Louis to us, and when he passed, so did some of that city. But also, he left music and photos and stories in Eleven and chapbooks that I truly hope last forever. He was the hard-living romantic that you hope lives in the heart of every hard-luck case… and in his one instance, it was true. Bless your soul, Bob Reuter.

photos by Bob Reuter from The Pageant and El Leñador

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earth-architect · 4 years

Text

Senior Year Aventures (zuko xOC) pt.9.5

“Come dance with me”

The ride to Toph’s house was calming. Zuko let her have the aux, her favorite songs played as she watched the beautiful scenery. Toph lived pretty much in the middle of the woods, she always loved driving down Bei-fong lane seeing the practical mansion peak through the evergreens.

“wow Tophs house is huge!!” Zuko looked at the house in wonder. That’s another thing she loved, when someone new sees Tophs house, especially when the person is cute.

“you’re going to want to park in the garage” she tells him as the get to the front of the house.

“The garage doors are close though?”

“Yeah I know I have the garage key” she digs out her keys to get the garage key out. She presses the button and the doors slowly open up. Sokka and Aangs cars are parked in the first two garages, leaving Zuko to park in the third. She jumps out of the car first, walking quickly to the door and unlocking it. She opens the door and walked back to Zuko’s car to help him get out the drinks. They walk in the house, making sure to lock the door and made their way to the kitchen.

“hello!! Any irresponsibility teens home!!”

“in the living room”

Setting the drinks on the kitchen island, the two walked to the living room, a sight Kianna has seen hundreds of times, but Zuko was amazed. And rightfully so, every room in Toph’s house was a beautiful sight. Tophs parents were world famous architects, of course their house would be nothing but art. The living rooms high ceilings brought in the natural light into the room and a perfect view of the enormous back yard a pool could be seen through the celling to floor window.

“looks like Zuko is enjoying Toph’s house” Sokka says, everyone turns to look at the boy, his eyes were wide with amazement.

“Ki you should give him a house tour” suki says. Kianna didn’t even have to look at suki to see she was slightly smirking. ‘I’m starting to regret telling them I like Zuko’

“we can do that another day, right now I’m ready to get smashed”

“ I second that, let’s get this pregame started” everyone cheered as they walked in the kitchen.

“wait” Kianna stops from taking a drink “did you guys party proof the house”

The groan Sokka let out was enough to answer her question.

“alright everyone split up, meet back here in 20 minutes” everyone sets the cups down, walking in different directions while Zuko just stood there.

“come with me Zuko” Kianna chuckles ‘boy does he need to stop acting so new’

she led him to the dining room. This room had the most expensive things on display, and if anything, where broken it wouldn’t be pretty.

“everything you see in here needs to go in the case in the corner so we can lock it up”. Zuko doesn’t say anything back, he just starts picking things up and putting them neatly in the case, the two worked in silence for about 5 minutes until everything was put away. Kianna places the lock on the case, giving it an extra tug to make sure it wouldn’t budge.

“ok all we need to do now is lock the study and we can go drink” she gives him a bright smile, which he returns quickly. He follows her a little more closely now, almost like he’s working up the courage to hold his hand. He was so close she noticed when he wasn’t following her anymore. She turned around to see him looking at a painting, her painting.

“is this the piece you were talking about?” he asked, though his eyes never moved from the painting.

“yes, the Bei-fongs where the first people to hire me, when Toph’s mother found out I could paint she asked me to do this piece, it’s one of my favorites” the painting is of Toph, sitting in the garden that was placed in the back yard, it took Kianna weeks to finish it but it was honestly amazing work, the colors blended together perfectly, the flowers draw beautifully, you would think it was painted by a professional who’s had years of practice, not a 13 yea old girl.

“I had just moved in with them too, at the time they lived in the house I live in now” she takes a few more steps to the door of the study, knowing Zuko could still hear her.

“it took me a while to warm up to Mr. and Mrs. b but when they found my art and showed genuine interest in it, I knew they were good people.” She sighs at the memory

“when if finished it, Mr. b told all his rich friends, I started commissioning pieces for them on the weekends, Mrs. b put all the money I earned and started a fund for me, I’m pretty sure the put their own money in there too.” She locks the door, and twist the handles to check that is was locked.

“so, the Bei-fongs are your parents?” Zuko finally tore his eyes off the masterpiece

“there my adoptive parents, the took me in right before my 13th birthday they gave me there old house a few months ago when I turned 18, I guess they wanted me to have something of my own after not having anything the majority of my life” Zuko turns to face her, looking deeply in her eyes. Both of them getting lost in each other’s eyes, studying each other like they would forget the shing specks of brown and gold.

“it looks like I have a lot to learn about you” he says smiling at her “but I can’t help but be interested and finding out exactly who you are Kianna” ‘wow did he get closer? And god the way he says my nam-“

“KI, ZUKO, WE ARE ABOUT TO DRINK WITH OUT YOU” Tophs yelling startles them both, with a shy smile, she leads him back to the kitchen, immediately getting handed a drink. The teens spend the next two hours drinking, setting up music, and clearing furniture for a spot for people to dance. By the time the crowds of party animal students arrived, Kianna was tipsy, on the verge of being completely drunk. She had lost sight of Zuko for what seems like hours. Being pulled away by other classmates to do shots and chat about how Mr.Piandao test was a bitch. It wasn’t until around midnight that she spotted Zuko talking to some of the boys from the soccer team. The boys looked like they were having a fun conversation, she couldn’t hear what they were saying but before she could look away, Zuko caught her glaze. He tells the boys a quick goodbye and makes his way to her. All she could do was stand there and watch him, it was almost, like everything went is slow motion and maybe she was actually just drunk.

“hey, you having fun” she says as soon as he was close enough to hear her, which was extremely close with the loud music playing.

“yeah I am, some of the guys from the soccer team have been convincing me to play”

“you play soccer, you should totally go for the team”

He shrugs “I played at my old school, I’ve been debating if I should pick it up here, some guys don’t like new people on their team”

She gives him a smile “nah the team isn’t like that, and if you love to play you shouldn’t let other people stop you”

He gives her a soft smile -god that smile- “do you want to come with me to get a refill”

She gives him a nod and turns to walk to the kitchen, he walks with her, and she almost jumps when he places his and on the small of her back, slightly leading her. They get to the kitchen and find it surprisingly empty. Ask Zuko takes her cup to fill it with whatever drink he was drinking she hops up on the island, crossing her ankles so no one could see up her dress

“here try this” he hands her back her cup, she takes sip of the drink and it was so good she ends up chugging the rest.

“geeze slow down “he laughs when she hands him her empty cup filling it for her anyway

“what is that it’s so good!!”

“it’s my own concoction, I call it California surprise, but really slow down on it, the sugar will make you drunk super-fast” he hands her cup, which she takes brushing his finger times lightly. she takes a slow sip before putting the cup down.

“you know I forgot to tell you look really good tonight” she slyly looks at him through her eyelashes “you trying to impress some”

He sets his cup down next to hers “well you look absolutely amazing, did you know red is my favorite color?”

“really, red is mine too”

He raises his eyebrow “well good thing we match huh”

Before she could think of a reply, a familiar tune distracts her

“oh! This is my favorite song, come dance with me!” she dragged Zuko toward the dance floor in the Livingroom, he didn’t put up a fight, so he figured he was ok with it. When the got to the dance floor she turned to him.

“I’m not really a good dance” he says clearly hesitating

“that’s ok, everyone is too drunk to notice” she wraps his ands around her waist and puts her arms around his neck, slightly swaying to the music. Zuko loosened up eventually swaying with her. The two danced to a few songs, then went to the kitchen to get a drink, then going back to dancing. At some point in the night Kianna had he back pressed against Zuko’s chest while they danced. The two were lost in their own world, enjoying each other. They didn’t even notice Katara, Sokka, suki and Aang watching them the whole night. And when the group watched the two disappear to where Kianna’s old room was, all Toph could think was ‘tomorrow morning is going to be really interesting, and imma bout to get paid’

A/n: here’s the second part of part 9!! I hope you guys like it!! I will hopefully have the next part up on Saturday, and from here on out I will be posting every Saturday and Wednesday to give myself a schedule!! If you want to be added to the tag list just let me know!!P.s thanks for all the love posting my writing has always been a battle for me and I’m glad some people out there enjoy it!!

Tag list: @snickerdoodleeee @fanficflaneuse @pyromanicschizophrenic @kyleeanne016 @welovediaaxx

#Zuko x OC #zuko smau #atla smau #atla x oc #avatar the last airbender #atla zuko #zuko #highschool au

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forehead-enthusiast · 5 years

Text

Muse

Pairing: Rowoon x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: An artist and their model- both too attracted to each other to admit it.

Rowoon sat a few feet away from you, as still as he could, which wasn’t very still at all, but you appreciated his effort. You had a sketchbook propped against your knees and a pencil in hand, and were doing your best to trace the contours of his face against the page.

“How’s it going so far?”

“It’s okay.” You hadn’t gotten much completed yet, and if you were entirely honest, it was difficult to capture how beautiful he was. Still, it wasn’t altogether awful. He fidgeted as you looked up to take him in once more before returning your gaze downward. Without you knowing, he gazed at your figure, bowed over itself, infatuated with your focused expression.

It was fairly easy for him to sneak glances. You were always so engrossed in art that you barely noticed anything around you, which was lucky for him. This wasn’t news to you, of course. You knew how focused you could get as you watched graphite grind onto paper, trying to pull the dreams from your mind and trap them in the form of rough sketches and pictures. You got so focused, you almost forgot how attractive your usual model was.

Almost.

It was rather distracting to have a model of such caliber. Every angle on his face was breathtaking. Every shade of brown in his glossy hair was stunning. Every time he breathed in, you felt the urge to illustrate the way he looked when his chest rose and the way he looked when it subsequently fell. If only your hand could keep up with your brain, you’d have filled the room from floor to ceiling with stacks upon stacks of drawings, but alas- you had to focus on one moment of him at a time.

“Am I sitting still enough?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, you’re fine. I’m just grateful you’re willing to do this for me.”

I’d do anything you asked. Especially if it means I get to spend hours with you alone. The words floated around Rowoon’s head, taunting him with their straightforwardness. He waved them away with a swing of his large hand before he noticed you looking and flashed a totally natural smile. He sighed discreetly as you looked up every so often, each time your eyes alight with inspiration and flecks of sunshine.

Sometimes he liked to close his eyes and take in the world that seemed to only exist for you two: the scratching of a pencil, the smell of aging wood and dust that was suspended in time, and the warmth of the setting sun on his skin.

Time seemed to fade as he sat there. The world stopped turning, nighttime stopped falling, the ice in your water bottle ceased to melt. The air moved like honey, thick and sweet and slow, and he’d let himself drown in your drawing sessions if he could.

He hoped you felt similarly, even if only a bit.

You did.

You wondered if he ever noticed you drawing extra slowly on some days, longing to extend the minutes and prolong the inevitable goodbyes and goodnights. You wondered if he thought you looked at him too long or too often, or with too much softness in your eyes. He’d be right. You wondered how you managed to get into such a wonderful predicament. So gently tortuous in its opportunities.

“Is my pose okay?”

You chuckled. “Yes, Rowoon, it’s fine.” It was a silly question. No matter what he did, he’d look like a masterpiece anyway. That’s the beauty of being beautiful. Every movement, every instinct, every flick of a finger and every sidewards glance was lovely.

“Alright, just checking. My shirt isn’t on backwards or anything?”

“No, it’s not. You know models don’t usually talk this much, right?”

He grinned sheepishly, swinging his legs gently through the air. He looked so young and boyish sitting there, like a grade schooler waiting to get his picture taken for the yearbook. It was such a contrast from his tall and imposing stature it made you smile without realizing.

Rowoon watched your eyes crease with affection, and prayed the glow of the sunset would mask the warmth on his cheeks.

He let the silence stretch on, only occasionally tapping his fingers on the underside of his stool when he couldn’t resist. He thought about how your eyes draped over him, taking in his minute details. He thought about your hands tracing over his silhouette, sliding across his jawline and shoulders, and flushed at his own imagination. He pictured what it would feel like if you were to actually get up from where you sat and touch him, your gray-stained fingers threatening to smear their imprint on his skin.

You looked at Rowoon, and wondered what could lead him to make that expression. How would you describe it? Tender? Bashful? It almost seemed scandalized by itself, as though it was trying and failing to restrain impulsive thoughts. It was both hard to look at and hard to tear your eyes away from.

Your flush matched his. Your hearts pounded in tandem with each other, and you could almost hear their rhythm reverberating off the walls if you only listened closely enough.

Rowoon couldn’t stop his imagination from blooming with scenarios of you and him, and, worried they’d begin to overflow out of him in petals of confessions, broke the silence.

“S-so what are you drawing right now?”

You found yourself snapped out of the trance that peculiar expression of his had trapped you in, and took a moment to compose yourself and answer.

“Ah, the lips. My favorite part.”

There was a long pause, and you realized the implications of your answer as Rowoon pressed a hand to his chest, desperate to keep his heart contained within.

“Of me-”

“T-to draw! My favorite part to draw.”

“Right, of course!” He forced a laugh, and couldn’t even convince himself it sounded organic.

You tried to return to drawing, but your pencil hovered above the image of his lips, and you found yourself clutching the thing too tightly to draw properly. You hoped it wouldn’t snap in your grip- you only had the one. What, you didn’t claim to be some professional artist who could afford more than one decent pencil at a time.

“…Why aren’t you drawing?”

Rowoon’s low voice seemed to fill the space around you, rich in its tone.

“It’s your favorite part, after all.”

He gulped. You imitated him unintentionally. His mind was going even more wild than before, practically exploding with thoughts of you. He bit the lip you were struggling to draw, teetering on the edge of no return. You were just a few feet away. The distance seemed to widen as he watched it, and it seemed to threaten that if he waited much longer, it would become too great a gap to close.

“Do you need a closer look?”

He got up from his stool, and took a step towards you. His feet felt glued to the floor, in the space where the model was meant to stay. He pried them up.

You stiffened as you watched him come closer, the expression on his face mesmerizing yet somehow terrifying. While you could never admit it, never assume it, you understood what that expression meant. Who it was for. You covered your face with your sketchbook, but even with it blocking your vision, you could picture the way he looked vividly, and grew frustrated at its inability to shield you.

Long fingers tapped on top of the sketchbook, pushing it down and away from your face. No matter how many drawings you must have of this face, nothing could prepare you for it at this distance.

He was crouched down on the floor, looking up at you. You’d never seen him from this angle. Your heart raced at the sight, sometimes forgetting to pause between beats.

He took hold of your wrist gently, guiding it towards his face.

“Touch me.”

Your fingers reached out despite yourself, and pressed gently against his lips. Your thumb slid across his bottom lip, and while you weren’t sure if you could really be considered conscious, you took note of how soft it felt.

Your sketchbook and pencil slid off your lap and clattered onto the floor as he kissed you.

His jaw was tilted upwards in your hands. His palm was large enough that it completely covered yours. You could taste the sunlight on his lips, warm and gentle like summer rain. They fit so perfectly against your own, it was a pity to separate them, even to kiss again a moment later. In those pauses, his murmurs would fill your mouth, your lungs, his mumbled words would dance on your tongue. He murmured your name. Your name, over and over, as if reciting an incantation. The way his voice sounded when he said it was soft and smooth and dark, and felt like velvet when it touched you.

It felt dangerous to kiss him. It was addictive, all too pleasant to be permitted. He grew sweeter each time you lingered. At some point you had slid off your chair to join him on the floor carpeted with eraser shavings. His hands had discovered your lower back, and embraced you like there was no other purpose for them in life. Meanwhile, your hands had found his neck and the collar of his shirt, and left the smudges of silver he’d been fantasizing about. You could feel his racing pulse against your fingers.

The sun had finished setting. Cool shadows were strewn about the room, coating you in shades of gray and blue, but his hands on you were warmth enough. He looked at you, breathless in his arms, and wished he had the ability to draw, to immortalize this moment. He let his fingers run themselves through your hair, and smiled softly.

You couldn’t even meet his eyes. You could feel the flush that had spread to the tips of your ears, the back of your neck. You figured if you were to face him directly now, you might simply melt.

He lifted your chin, and grinned when your eyes widened, then tightly shut.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I love you too much.”

You scrunched your face up tighter at the words that spilled out uncontrollably, far too honest to be intentional. His low laugh floated around your ears. You opened one eye cautiously, only to find him staring at you adoringly. He leaned in to kiss your cheek, then the other, then all across your nose and chin and forehead. He kissed your fingers, your palms, his lips exploring the hands that knew him well.

“It’s the same for me.” He spoke into the curves of your hands. “I love you more than you can imagine.”

He cupped your face in his hands, and pulled you suddenly into another kiss, as if to memorize how it felt when your lips melted into his. You practically fell onto him, with his arms supporting you as you pressed against his broad chest. He leaned back onto the ground, gently taking you with him, and began to smile too widely to kiss you properly.

“Yes!”

He positively beamed in celebration, his soft hair splayed on the floor. He looked like an angel with a coffee-colored halo framing his face.

He really was a masterpiece.

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nunukibebe · 4 years

Text

Forget-Me-Not

Hongjoong fluff!! Slightly suggestive ending, cuz this is me hello.

For my lovely @shyeosang, ily sweetpea.

-_-_-_-

Glancing up at the clock above the door, there was no hiding the small sigh that escaped you, your lips still turning up at the corners as you turned your head. Chin going back to its place in your palm, you knew that you could never truly be angry at the man you'd been staring at for the past half hour.

Hair hidden under a red beanie, tongue poking out every so often as he poured all his concentration into the new piece of music he'd started, Hongjoong hummed under his breath, his brows furrowing as he stopped mid-tune and you stifled a giggle, not wanting to interrupt his muscial genius process.

As he stared at the computer screen, you stared at him, fingers itching to trace his features once more. The thousands of times you'd done it before were forgotten as he turned just enough to present you with his profile, and you felt his beauty like a punch to the heart. A year together and he still took your breath away, the moments creeping up without warning.

Another glance at the clock had you shrugging out of your jacket and pulling your phone out. Knowing that you would never make it to the restaurant in time to keep the reservation you'd made, you slid your feet out of the heels you'd chosen an hour earlier, padding silently out of the studio and into the hallway, closing the door with a quiet click. Dialing the restaurant's number, you quickly gave your apologies to the man on the other line. After listening to the man talk himself through the process of cancelling the dinner you'd spent hours planning, you finally hung up with a groan.

"Did 'Joong-hyung loose track of time again?"

The familiar gentle voice had you smiling as you looked up, San's brown eyes twinkling with mirth as he took in the picture of you, dressed to impress in a little black dress and leaning against the door that lead to his elders studio.

"He did, but I won't hold it against him." You admitted with a chuckle. "I knew that music would always be his first love even before we started dating."

"He loves you too, you know that, right?"

Smiling at the younger boy who had made you cry with his singing, you patted his shoulder, assuring the man that you knew Hongjoong loved you. He only told you everytime he saw you, and you would never complain about it.

Waggling your fingers in a casual wave, you slipped back into the studio, door closing softly behind you, toes sinking into the rug at the entryway. Your presence hadn't been missed, your boyfriend still focused on the music he was editing. This not being the first time you'd spent time waiting for Hongjoong to come back to reality, you crouched by the small loveseat that had been shoved into a corner, fingers searching for the soft blanket you'd stashed the moment you realized how immersed Joonie got. Wrapping the blanket around you like a shawl, you drew your legs up and tucked the corners of the blanket so you were completely wrapped in the blanket.

Then your phone was out and you let your mind wander as you scrolled through your neglected social media, Hongjoon's humming and occasional mutterings your soundtrack for the next hour. Contrary to other people's opinions, this was your happy place, curled up on an old loveseat and watching your boyfriend compose musical masterpieces. Yeah, you'd been looking forward to trying the food at the restaurant, but nothing would ever change the fact that you were happiest just being in the same room as Hongjoong. Looking up to catch the comical glare he was leveling at the editing software, you swallowed back the laughter that threatened to bubble up. Then, he looked up and there was no stopping the laughter at the pure shock on his face.

"Babe?"

Unable to help the laughter that escaped before you clapped a hand over it, you watched as your boyfriend bolted up from his chair to launch himself at you, wrapping his arms around you as he practically tackled you in a hug as apologies fell from his kissable lips.

Knowing of only one way to stop the man from talking, you freed your hands from where they were trapped under his arms and planting your palms on each side of his face, you lifted his head up to yours, forcing a gentle kiss onto him.

"Stop apologizing." You muttered into his mouth, lips curling into a smile as he stared at you in surprise.

"But I forgot about the dinner reservations." He got out between kisses, and you pulled away to level an eyebrow at him.

"This isn't a new thing, bubba." You snorted, and seeing the hurt look that passed across your boyfriend's sweet face, you held up a finger, continuing on. "But thankfully, you got super duper lucky, and your girlfriend actually prefers quiet togetherness like this instead of noisy restaurants where someone always smells like they dumped a whole bottle of cologne on themselves."

Grinning as Hongjoong rolled his eyes in amusement at both your anecdote and the way your nose crinkled in remembrance of the horrible dinner that had been your second date with him, you winked and tossed him some finger hearts that had Hongjoong outright laughing and squishing your cheeks before he drew you into a quick but heated kiss that left you breathless.

"Super duper lucky, huh?" He asked, voice husky and coming from low in his throat, and your mouth dried up quicker than you could say 'paperplane'.

"Oh yeah." You managed to get out between dry lips before sneaking a kiss, leaping up to your feet as an idea occured, fighting down a laugh as you looked down at your slightly beweildered lover. Putting a hand on a hip, you grinned. "So you should totally buy me ice cream to make up for the fact that you totally forgot about your hungry girlfriend."

"Ice cream? Now?" Hongjoong asked, and eyebrow lifting as he righted himself, laying on his side and propped up on an elbow. "Babe, it's freezing outside." He said incredulously after pulling out his phone to check his phone for the weather.

"So?" You asked with a snort as you knelt to grab a shoe that had somehow found its way under the loveseat."Means the ice cream won't melt all over my hand like it normally does."

"You're so weird." Hongjoong muttered as he moved, reaching his longer arm under the sofa and pulling out your shoe. When you shot him a look as you slipped your other shoe on, he held up a placating hand, which you then used to hang his coat from. "I mean I'm super duper lucky to have such a loving girlfriend and I'll gladly eat uce cream with you in near freezing temperatures at 1 o'clock in the morning."

"Not sure I appreciate the attitude, Mister. But, I'll take it cuz I'm craving ice cream." You said as you shrugged on your jacket, pulling out the soft wool gloves that kept your fingers from, smiling when you saw his eyes light up as he recognized the gloves as the ones he'd bought you on your first overseas trip with him. It also just so happened to be the first time y'all had made love and you knew they reminded him of that night too when he slid an arm between your waist and the jacket, drawing you in for a kiss that had your knees threatening to give out, your hands grasping onto the lapels of his jacket to help you stay upright.

A swipe of his tongue and you were groaning into his open mouth, his other hand gripping your waist with an almost bruising force.

And just as quickly as he had deepened the kiss to where you swore you could almost see the stars, Hongjoong was stepping away, the deep red flush to his cheeks the only sign he was as flustered as you were. Gasping for breath, a quivering hand over your speeding heartbeat, you watched in a small daze as Hongjoong quickly saved his work and shoved his laptop into the backpack he carried everywhere before slinging the bag over his shoulder.

"Let's go get your ice cream, oh light of my life."

Snorting in laughter, you wrapped your scarf around your neck with slightly shaky hands, knowing he saw the trembling fingers when that smirk teased the corner of his lips that were a deep pink and kiss swollen and so very tempting. Feeling the familiar tingle running down your spine, you knew the instant Hongjoong sensed the change in your mood, an answering look in his eyes.

"Yeah, maybe skip the ice cream this time."

#ateez #ateez fluff #hongjoong #hongjoon #ateez hongjoong #kim hongjoon #kim hongjoong fluff

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goingoverthegardenwall · 5 years

Text

Chapter 6: Lullaby in Frogland

Let’s look back. Way back. Back before the dawn of animation, before the dawn of film, well before Ruby or Spears or Disney or Iwerks or either Fleischer Brother. Back to 1835, in a town named Florida in a state named Missouri when a boy named Samuel was born.

Like Ub Iwerks, Sam was raised in Missouri. And like Max Fleischer, Sam’s family took a financial hit when his father’s work stopped (this time due to a premature death rather than the decline of tailory), giving Sam a practical approach to employment. He left school at age eleven to become a printer’s apprentice, then moved to his older brother’s newspaper as a typesetter and occasional columnist, writing humorous articles and drawing cartoons. But unlike Beatrix Potter or the animators we’ve covered, visual art wasn’t in the cards for Sam.

He moved to the East Coast to work for other papers, bouncing between cities before returning to the midwest to embark on a career he’d dreamed of since he was old enough to dream: piloting a steamboat. He thrived on the water, and kept writing about his work along the river, but everything stopped when the Civil War closed off the Mississippi. So Sam headed west to work for the same brother who once ran the newspaper, now a politician in Nevada (I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that this brother was for some reason named Orion). Sam tried mining, and it didn’t take, but he’d gotten pretty good at writing and set off for San Francisco to get back into his jocular brand of journalism.

It was here that he had his first success, a short story published in his paper called Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog. But, like a certain frog we’ve covered in this series, Sam wasn’t huge on permanent names. Within a month, the story was reprinted as The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Jim Smiley’s name was changed to Jim Greeley. Until the book version came out, when it was changed back to Jim Smiley. And this whole time, within the story, it’s a mystery whether Jim’s real name is actually Leonidas (it turns out that it isn’t, but it might be). None of this should come as a surprise for Samuel Clemens, who wrote under the names of Josh, Thomas Jefferson Snodgrass, and most famously, Mark Twain.

“I knew you were special.”

Over the Garden Wall is, among other things, a story about the importance of solid communication. After five episodes spent building up our heroes as a group of friends, all it takes is one episode of terrible communication to throw it all away. The specific issues vary, despite leading to a similar result of not verbalizing their thoughts very well: Greg’s youth stops him from articulating his rapidly changing ideas, Wirt’s anxiety leaves him too timid to speak up or too rambling to be clear, Beatrice’s true intentions make her obfuscate the truth, and Jason Funderburker straight-up can’t talk. Or so we think.

This time he’s named for American statesmen George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, which fits the continuing vintage Americana vibe of the series—while I figure it’s a coincidence, it should be noted that Mark Twain’s Jumping Frog was named after American statesman Daniel Webster. Surrounded by other frogs that walk around and wear fancy garb, our frog is more anthropomorphic than ever, standing on his hind legs and dancing along with Greg. But it’s still a shock to hear him open his mouth and sing, a shock that soon cedes to the realization that the frog playing the piano at the beginning of the series is singing the Jack Jones song in the montage that follows.

Lullaby in Frogland is Jason Funderburker’s episode through and through, so much so that it’s the first time we hear of his namesake, Jason Funderberker. This is an episode where Wirt rejects Greg’s assertion that their frog is “our frog,” a plot point that’s paid off in their last conversation in the series. This is an episode where Greg wonders aloud if he can be a hero, sees the frog set off on a diverging path immediately afterwards, and accepts it, because he’s willing to sacrifice his happiness for the good of others. And it’s an episode where the frog returns after a harrowing betrayal, showing that even when all seems lost, there’s still room for hope. Over the Garden Wall (the song) might not sound like a traditional lullaby, but it soothes us into a cold night as the sun sets on the first half of Over the Garden Wall (the show).

Adelaide’s true nature is foreshadowed by Beatrice’s sudden hesitance to bring the brothers to the pasture after several episodes of nagging, but the twist is made tragic by Wirt finally letting his guard down enough to be happy. He sings a completed Adelaide Parade with Greg and joins the dance before collapsing into the most earnest laughter I’ve ever heard in a cartoon. He’s a good enough friend to notice when Beatrice is “uncharacteristically wistful,” and takes a risk by playing the bassoon instead of just giving up. He’s still got growing to do—it’s one thing to blame Greg for getting them in trouble by throwing away the ferry fare and forcing them to sneak aboard, but another thing to literally shout “Take him, not me!” when confronted by the frog fuzz—so it’s clear that his journey isn’t over yet, but he doesn’t even get a full episode of peace before everything blows up.

The whole steamboat sequence flows between simple delights, like saluting the captain mid-chase, the revelation that the frogs love music more than they hate trespassers, and the repeated gags of three gentlemen frogs snatching up flying flies and a frog mother dropping her tadpoles. Everything just feels calm, even when antics are afoot. Wirt gets to save the day with his bassooning, Greg gets to feel rewarded in his knowledge that his frog is special, Jason gets to sing a song after being silent throughout the series, and Beatrice seems, for now, to come to a sort of peace about things after several clear attempts to sidetrack the boys. This is the only episode to feature two major stories instead of one, but the steamer segment is rich enough to feel like a full episode. If only we could’ve stopped here.

All roads lead to Twain when it comes to depictions of steamboats as a go-to American icon, which is why he preceded this discussion of Lullaby in Frogland: I’m not claiming Mickey Mouse wouldn’t have been successful if his first cartoon was about something else, but I’m certainly claiming that we wouldn’t have gotten Steamboat Willie as it was if Ub Iwerks hadn’t grown up in a Missouri whose lore was shaped by Twain’s tales of the river. But while the author is the root of the episode’s many influences, I think the most fascinating branch that we borrow from is The Princess and the Frog.

2009 was a great year for animation, seeing the release of Coraline, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Secret of Kells, the surprisingly great Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, and the first ten minutes of Up (also the rest of Up, if I’m feeling generous). The first two on that list are my favorite of the year, twin stop-motion masterpieces that I’m always in the mood to watch, but The Princess and the Frog is a brilliant last gasp from Disney’s 2D animation studio. It isn’t the final traditionally animated film they made (that would be 2011′s Winnie the Pooh), nor the final fully sincere princess movie they made (that would be 2010′s Tangled), but it marks the beginning of the end for both trends: for better and worse, modern Disney animation feels the need to loudly subvert old tropes and wouldn’t be caught dead in two dimensions.

Lullaby in Frogland’s connection to The Princess and the Frog is certainly visible on the surface level: both feature a long sequence starring frogs on a steamboat where a lead character must pretend to be another animal and play a woodwind instrument to get out of a jam, and both involve our heroes seeking help from a wise woman far from civilization (even if only one of these women is actually helpful). But it’s the somber nostalgia factor that binds these stories closer than anything, the knowledge that this is the end of the road for this type of tale. The ferry’s gotta land somewhere, and the cold is setting in as the frogs begin hibernating for the winter, but there’s still more story to tell.

The second story of Lullaby in Frogland is scored throughout by a haunting string and piano rendition of Adelaide Parade, and Adelaide herself is immediately captivating. John Cleese returns for the second episode in a row, but as both of these episodes aired the same night, it feels like a consistent through-line: in the first half, he’s an eccentric who might be a deranged maniac but is actually harmless, and now he’s a witch who might be harmless but is actually a deranged maniac.

Adelaide gets a compelling amount of detail for someone who’s barely in the show. We don’t get any explanation about her fatal weakness to...fresh air? Coldness in general? Either way, like the Wicked Witch of the West’s lethal reaction to water, it’s absurd that someone like her has managed to live this long. She never says what she needs a child servant for, why she has scissors that seem custom-made for Beatrice’s specific curse, or what her spider-like deal with yarn and wool is (she has a black widow hourglass on her back, but also reminds me of the Greek Fates with her emphasis on thread). We never find out how she’s connected to the Beast, whose theme bleeds into her music as she proclaims, without much prompting, that she follows his commands; her goal of using children as zombie slaves seems counter to his goal of turning them into trees to fuel his soul lantern. But this blend of unexplained characteristics and seemingly inconsistent motives only makes her more enthralling to me, because she feels like the major villain of another story who just happens to intersect with ours.

What makes Adelaide even more compelling on rewatch is that her scissors, despite their gruesome method for curing the curse, do end up working. Which means she did mean to help Beatrice out as part of the deal. At no point does Adelaide lie, and given Beatrice knows she’s bad news as she lures the brothers in, it becomes clear that for all her villainy, Adelaide is an honest witch. I’m always down for baddies that tell the truth, but it’s of particular interest when we compare her to the Beast, whose whole deal is lying.

The only liar in this episode is Beatrice, even if she wanted to set things straight without hurting anyone; she values her friendship with the boys so much now that she’d rather make herself a servant to Adelaide than just tell them she’s dangerous and reveal that she lied. By the time she’s willing to tell the truth, it’s too late, and not even saving Greg and Wirt by killing Adelaide is enough for Wirt to forgive her. Considering he knows in The Unknown that the scissors he uses to escape the yarn can save her family, he was also listening in on the end of the conversation before entering the house, which means he must have heard that she was willing to sacrifice herself, but that doesn’t matter either. Beatrice gave the boys hope, and no matter how badly she tried to stop it, the encounter with Adelaide transforms Wirt. Where he was once nervous and unsure, and was then briefly optimistic, he’s now sullen and untrusting.

But again, in comes Jason Funderburker, croaking and hopping on all fours once more to bring some light to the darkening series. He doesn’t do much for Wirt, but allows Greg to quickly get over whatever trauma he had about getting webbed up in yarn; he’s remarkably quiet about it, but it’s important to remember that he was betrayed, too. Whether he doesn’t understand exactly what happened or is just quicker to forgive, Greg is fine with Beatrice, allowing us to focus harder on Wirt’s reaction from now on.

It’s all rain and winter for Wirt until the end of his adventure. But the show isn’t content to leave him even slightly forlorn: when it gets too dark, he has a frog to swallow a lantern to light the way, and when it gets too cold, he has a brother to cover him in leaves, and when he falls, he has Beatrice to help pull him back up. Even the Woodsman tries to save him in his own way (talk about folks who are bad at communication). Bad things happen, and people make mistakes, but the bigger mistake is allowing that to close you off to others, or to never forgive friends that are genuinely sorry. Our heroes have taken the ferry to the other side, and now the story can shift to one about the folly of abandoning all hope.

Where have we come, and where shall we end?

On top of Jason Funderberker, who’s set up as a major rival to make his eventual reveal one of the show’s best jokes, Wirt gives Beatrice a general summary of Into the Unknown three episodes before we see it play out.

#lullaby in frogland #over the garden wall #otgw #steven universally #mark twain #the princess and the frog

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itsblissfuloblivion · 5 years

Text

Noir

this power duo is back on track, this time with some murder mystery with a healthy dish of sultry hinny on the side :) AO3 and FFnet versions available!

lots of love and please enjoy,

@gryffindormischief & @fightfortherightsofhouseelves

The post-Christmas season has always felt odd to Harry. It’s not the sudden lack of anything to anticipate, per se. His childhood had hardly been filled with late nights guessing what he had tucked underneath the tree. Unless he wanted to debate which old pair of Dudley’s socks he’d be receiving. All in all, he’d found his little spider mate more entertaining in the dimly lit closet-bedroom.

Once he got his Hogwarts letter and all the Weasleys that entailed, Christmas certainly became a more exciting affair with happier associations - save a few in the middle there, marred by some Voldemort tinged memories.

Regardless, Harry’s not really had the season built up in his mind to be something he should be nostalgic for. Particularly since his and Ginny’s real ‘holiday’ tends to start after everyone else’s. Sure, they both manage free days for the eve, day of, and boxing day, but wizards seem to love testing out dark magic in the dark winter months, and Ginny’s always got some promotion or other.

But January - January’s when he can lie about in his pants from dawn till dusk and no one says ‘boo.’ Ginny sometimes says some variation of ‘take off those shorts, Potter,’ but that’s either because he smells or she’s feeling randy. Either way, over the course of their still young marriage, Harry’s come to love January and everything that comes with it. Particularly the fact that they rarely plan much of anything, except maybe relocating their lazy eat-sleep-don’t sleep routine to a more tropical locale.

This year though, family gets in the way a bit. Not the red haired, magical, crazy type. In fact, it comes in a heavy weight paper, Muggle envelope addressed with an elegant hand to Mr and Mrs H.J. Potter. And since very few people know Harry and Ginny’s address and even fewer would actually use it to send mail, it’s not even necessary to read the embossed sticker on the back.

Huffing, Harry shakes his head. “Classic Big D. Coming in at the worst time.”

Which isn’t to say he hates getting contact from Dudley. Sure, it had been odd, building a semi-friendly relationship with his cousin and former bully. But time and maturity meant Harry had come to learn that apologies from contrite former enemies who’ve mended their ways should generally be accepted. If not for the whole cohesive brotherhood of man bit, at least to cut down on the things that give him heartburn. Besides, he’d seen a lot worse of humanity by the time he was eighteen than Dudley.

And whatever fear of a war he barely understood hadn’t squeezed out of Dudley, marriage and time spent away from Vernon Dursley managed to eradicate. So really, Harry didn’t much mind their occasional chats on Sunday afternoons, the sporadic lunch in Muggle London, or even a double date of dinner and a show.

But today, today he’s ready to toss the damn envelope and invitation in the fireplace. Because it’s the death knell for his staycation second honeymoon, and Ginny’s been taunting him with a tiny little package from that shop in Muggle London that sells even tinier, littler lacy bits.

Still, he doesn’t. And maybe it’s because the mailman gave him a bit of an odd vibe, in a hurry to leave, his jaw set and that rather conspicuous glint in the corner of his eye Harry’d noticed here and there throughout his career. Or maybe it’s that damn voice inside his head reminding him that Dudley’s really trying - in his Dudders-Diddikins way, granted, but still coming from Dudley the gesture’s more than decent.

A long suffering sigh and Harry flicks the envelope on the table next to Ginny, who gives him a cocked eyebrow, to which he responds with a shrug.

“Are we going, then?” She asks as her eyes scan Harry for any signs of hidden displeasure or negative feelings. Ginny’s always been protective of her husband when it came to his side of the family matters.

“Guess so, dunno,” Harry shrugs again, his slippered foot drawing traces on the carpet.

Ginny presses open palms to the table, balancing her way up and around the table to lean on it, her bottom now against the hard wood as her eyes tease and her grin speaks of mischief never quite managed. “Have I ever told you that I’d always imagined the two of us snuggled underneath a soft blanket in a cabin?”

“Uh - you - err, you didn’t?” Harry gulps as she bites her lower lip, that one delicious freckle close to her mouth taunting him as it always does.

“Huh,” Ginny pretends to frown, “It must’ve slipped my mind. Anyway, it’s the two of us, naked, content, snowflakes gathered over glazed windows as the fire burns strongly in the hearth,” she pauses, admiring the result of her work - which is to say a very hot and bothered Harry, smudges of red and pink crawling up his neck and up to the top of his ears.

“But if you don’t really feel like going…” Ginny sighs, adding the cherry on top of her masterpiece, then brushes past him on her way to their bedroom.

“What? I didn’t say that!” Harry panics, the beautifully crafted image of Ginny and him enjoying - well, everything - dissolving like a sad soap bubble in front of his eyes. So being the man of action he’d always been, Harry strides into their room, grabs their suitcases, and magics various articles of clothing inside with a huff and a frown.

“What are you doing?” Ginny asks rather amused.

“Packing. Can’t have old Diddy waiting, he gets an upset stomach when he’s anxious,” Harry shrugs, determined to finish the job he’d begun, and Ginny stiffles a giggle with the back of her palm.

“Right,” she smirks, caresses his arm as she move towards the wardrobe. “Then I’d better pack that little black thing you like so much.”

Harry groans.

Which is how Harry ends up in a rented car, trundling through the Scottish mountains, snow falling softly while Ginny does her best to convince him that he can refrain from murdering Piers for a weekend.

“He’s still a total arsehole,” Harry whines and flicks the windscreen wipers on. He’s not proud but this is seriously salt in a wound, being deprived of his Ginny-only holiday and being forced to associate with Piers the Prick for longer than an evening.

“Don’t be so close minded.”

“First, you asked if you could pants him at Dudley’s birthday party, and second, I am fully aware that people can change and grow,” Harry says, “I am also fully aware that somehow Piers got worse.”

Ginny fiddles with the radio - whoever programmed the shortcuts has terrible taste and loves listening to the most boring talk radio in existence - and sighs with mock easiness. “Well I suppose every time you start to feel your temper, I’ll just have to drag you off and have my way with you in a loo or a coat closet or a - ”

The blinker clicks as Harry turns onto a side road which allegedly leads to the little cabin Dudley’s rented for the weekend. “You’re a damn minx.”

“You’re welcome.”

The rest of the drive is relatively short and soon enough they’re greeting Dudley in the cozy front room while the rest of the guests mill about in the den. “We’ve got a fire going already and some mulled wine. Piers and his wife are here, so’s my mate Pamela from uni and her partner.”

Ginny gives Dudley a short hug. “Are we the last to arrive?”

“Nah, we’re still waiting on Jamie and Kendra,” Dudley shrugs, leading them toward the guestrooms, dark wood stairs creaking beneath their feet, “Fran will be glad you’re here, Ginny.”

“How are things at her new station?”

Dudley grins, unable to disguise the pride he has in his wife. “She’s already made assistant producer.”

Harry’s in the middle of congratulating Dudley when the door to their room swings open and he sees it - some sort of white fur rug laid out in front of a roaring fireplace. He can practically taste - well he’s not alone at least, in his train of thought, if Ginny’s slightly dazed expression is an accurate indicator.

Luckily, Dudley seems unaware, pointing out their view and confiding that he’s given them the room with the best facilities. “It’s got a jacuzzi tub.”

Someone, likely Fran, calls for Dudley from downstairs and he excuses himself. “Take your time getting settled, it’s a holiday.”

Once the door clicks shut, Harry drops back on the bed while Ginny unzips her luggage. “I’m not unpacking for you, lazy bones.”

“I’ll unpack myself, if you get my meaning,” Harry says with an exaggerated wink and a slight wiggle of his pelvis.

“Ugh, such a boy .”

Harry hums, “You’re welcome.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes and Harry drifts off into a bit of a twilight sleep while Ginny putters around, claiming the middle drawers for herself (top ones have always been too high and lower ones would mean she’d always have to scoot down to find anything). He wakes when she shoves the last drawer closed and falls onto the bed just at his side to tug on a fresh pair of socks. “Harry, my dear, darling Harry.”

She gets a grunt in response, and is apparently dissatisfied. Though, Harry’s not at all bothered when her method of expressing said dissatisfaction involves throwing a leg over his hips and sitting astride his thighs like he’s her favorite broom. He can’t help but run his palms up over her knees, pressing at her back until she complies with his wordless request and tips forward.

At least, mostly. Because ideally, she’d have pitched forward until their lips met and Harry would currently be turning to mush at the mercy of his wife’s dexterous tongue. But she catches herself on her forearms instead, fiery waves cascading around their faces like sunkissed curtains. “You have got to behave yourself this weekend.”

“I thought you liked my mischievous streak.”

“There’s a drawer full of your mischievous streak in the caretaker’s office at Hogwarts,” Ginny teases. “What I mean is that little black thing you like so much? It’s a reward for good behavior.”

“So I’m just to let whatever happens this weekend happen?”

Rolling her eyes, Ginny lets her lips tease at his jaw, nipping along the scruffy skin with highly distracting skill. “You’re to lie back and let your gallant harpy of a wife fight all your battles,” she lingers at his ear, earning a half sigh half moan, “And we both know you love it when I take charge.”

In a flash, Harry reverses their positions, pressing Ginny onto her back while the bed creaks beneath them, and manages to pin her wrists to the down-filled duvet. “Ditto.”

Later, though sadly not enough later for Harry and Ginny to have tested the jacuzzi tub, the Potters wander downstairs and join the other guests, all now arrived. When Piers catches Harry’s eye and raises his glass in recognition, Harry leans close to Ginny, his lips brushing her hair. “You are a sneaky little thing.”

Her lips tick up at the corners. “A given. Why the sudden revelation?”

“Getting me all hot and bothered talking about shagging in the closets - ”

“What a dirty mouth you have,” Ginny teases, her whisper quiet as she twiddles her fingers in a cheeky wave. Piers looks worried and he should.

“And you thought having your way with me would leave me all relaxed and then you could have all the fun.”

There’s a pause when Dudley’s wife Fran greets them and hands off two freshly poured mugs of mulled wine, but as soon as she goes to mingle with the other guests, Ginny picks up the thread. “I was under the impression the fun was mutual.”

“We both know I mean a completely different kind of fun.”

“If this is how you interrogate suspects, I’m quite shocked at your success rate, Aur - Detective Potter.”

Jamie - Fran’s friend Kendra’s fiance - wanders over, eyes lit with excitement. “Did I hear detective? Kendra and I love procedurals. You’ve got stories, right? Grisly stuff?” he pauses, fiddling with the clasp on his watch, “Sorry, I get excitable after a few drinks. Kendra’s my impulse control,” Harry and Ginny can barely do more than blink in his direction when Jamie shouts across the den, “ Kendra?”

As the tall brunette makes her way across the room, Ginny murmurs so only Harry can hear, “Hope those interoffice dinners with the bobbies from Scotland Yard are doing their job.”

He muffles his snort as best as he can and puts on his polite face for their new friends.

Dudley had better get him a case of scotch for this.

It’s not long, though, before they’re all summoned to the dining room for a delicious three course dinner. It’s not until the little miniature fondue pots are laid out that Harry realizes just how much of an appetite he’s worked up. He’s dunking his fourth bit of crusty bread in the heavenly dish when Piers’ wife - June? - addresses Harry. “I think it’s just lovely that you boys have known eachother since primary school.”

Dudley’s skewer falls to the table with a clatter and Harry simply raises his brows at Piers before responding, a slightly stiff smile on his face, “Ah. Yes. Even from a young age Piers was always eager to make an impression.”

Ginny snorts and June looks slightly confused at Piers’ flush, but prattles on about where her grade school mates went off to. Dudley and Fran look relieved as the chef pushes in a rattling cart filled with china bowls and a tureen of creamy tomato.

Once they’ve finished off half a roast chicken, two bowls of mashed potatoes, and some sort of baked mixed veg dish, they move back into the den and settle on the couches. The chef - Harry really tried to learn his name but he muttered it in a low very heavy German accent and Pamela was telling some story involving a fog horn which requires some very detailed imitation - disperses after dinner coffees and cherry pie a la mode before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Ginny manages her way through the minefield that is being a professional Quidditch player in the company of curious Muggles while they devour the pie. Before Ron and Hermione’s wedding, the bride herself had gifted Ginny with one of those ‘for dummies’ type books on football. Under threat of whatever terrible punishment Hermione Granger-Weasley could cook up, Ginny studied the book like she was back in her seventh year prepping for NEWTs and consequently ended up with a highly useful knowledge of the sport. Not that Ginny was a particularly big fan of telling Hermione so - in fact she’d only admitted it to Harry after a few too many glasses of wine on last year’s post-Christmas holiday from the world.

In the interest of brining the chat to a close before Ginny runs out of professional opinions as a sports writer in the field, Harry waits for an opportune moment and transitions the conversation to the following day. It seems they’ve got full run of the slopes and more than enough equipment to share between the four couples. Harry and Ginny went skiing with a few of his mates from the Ministry the January after Ginny started with the Harpies, so a day on the slopes should be pretty enjoyable. Plus last time they collapsed in bed and took turns massaging eachother’s tired muscles so all around Harry’s excited. He would probably have more fun if he and Ginny were home in their flat instead of using up valuable...bonding time socializing with Dudley and his mates.

“Ginny will probably put us all to shame, sportswoman that she is,” Pamela says with a laugh, propping her socked feet on Kate’s legs. She wriggles her toes so it almost seems the jolly reindeer are dancing and Ginny laughs good naturedly.

“I do alright, Harry here’s the expert though with that fit little arse,” Ginny laughs and Harry flushes.

Piers sets his coffee down with a clumsy hand, brows furrowed. “See - I still don’t understand that.”

“I’m sure that is something you don’t say often,” Ginny drawls, low so only Harry is privy to her jab.

“Harry’s always been a scrawny, specky thing and somehow he managed to land a hot piece of - ”

Unintentionally, Harry lets out a low growl as his jaw tightens. He’s used to holding back his baser instincts in this type of situation given that Ginny prefers to handle on her own with a mix of witty barbs and head cracking, depending on the situation. At the moment, he’s torn on which he’d like to see most.

Ginny’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly as she sets down her half-empty plate on the side table. Then she smiles, slightly too toothy to be genuine and Harry knows that look. It’s the same expression she gets before decimating the competition during a game, a shark smelling blood in the water. “Yes, Harry was a little thing. But he’s certainly grown up,” she pauses and squeezes his thigh meaningfully and sends him a flirtatious wink, “In all the most important ways.”

Jamie and Kendra share a look, both biting back laughter while Fran clears her throat, moving things along before Ginny decides to challenge Piers to a duel for Harry’s honor. She might hate an overly chivalrous mate, but hell if Ginny’s not a melodramatic Gryffindor when it comes to defending hers.

Everyone wanders off to their rooms, Dudley and Fran collecting the dishes and passing them through to the kitchen. Harry takes the stairs two at a time, tugging Ginny behind him.

Once they reach their room, Harry swings the door open and once they’re inside, presses Ginny up against the wood.

Ginny’s chest is rising and falling as she catches her breath, though she still manages a teasing, “Alright, Harry James?”

He’s already working his way down her neck, fingers dragging up the bottom of her jumper. “You have never been sexier.”

Sighing, she wriggles her hand between them and manages to press Harry away, just barely. “Wait ‘til you see what I packed to sleep in...or not sleep in.”

Harry wakes to a facefull of Ginny’s hair and a full bladder. She groans as he extricates himself from the bed, grasping at the sheets with her face scrunched against the morning light. “Why leave the glorious bed and your even more glorious wife for the cold, cruel world.”

“Unless you want me to wet the bed - ”

“Gross,” Ginny grumbles, flopping so she somehow takes up most of the bed, “Just get that clenched arse back here ASAP.”

“Ogling me?”

“You’re the one parading around starkers,” Ginny teases, twisting onto her back and basically wrapping herself up like a sultry little burrito.

Harry closes the door behind him, shouting back, “You’re a bloody minx.”

After some very enjoyable quality time as husband and wife, Harry and Ginny manage to pry themselves from the comfort of their bed and dress for polite company. Just as they’re about to reach the top of the stairs, Pamela and Kate emerge from their own room, looking well rested and chatting about the weather conditions.

Pamela waves, cheery, while Kate affords them a short nod in greeting. “Did you see the weather?”

Harry flushes, because they most definitely did not bother with much of anything but each other that morning, and Ginny pinches his side. “We had the curtains drawn, wanted to sleep in a bit.”

“Surprise snowstorm swept in last night,” Kate says, “We flicked on the wireless, the roads are all closed.”

Pamela leads the way and the couples continue downstairs. “At least Fran said we’ve got an excess of food laid up for the weekend. I wouldn’t mind staying in all cozied up in front of the fire and eating my weight in cheese.”

Ginny grins, “We’ll get along just fine, Pamela.”

Breakfast is as decadent as dinner the night before, Harry could swear they ate three dozen eggs between them, and the conversation is easy despite the niggling presence of Piers. Perhaps Ginny’s shag away the rage plan is viable.

Over a final pot of tea, the couples make plans to grab the sliders, sleds, and whatever else Dudley and Fran rented for the weekend and take advantage of the fresh snowfall.

Once everyone’s bundled, they troop out into the bright wintery morning and fall on the gear like excited children. Almost immediately, Ginny snatches up two sliders and tosses one toward Harry’s chest. “Let’s see how fast you are, old man.”

“Again, barely a year older,” Harry says, mock serious, and trots towards the slope.

He’s getting settled in, ready to push off when a red and grey blur flashes past him followed by the ever familiar sound of Ginny’s competitive cackle.

She’s a third of the way down the hill when Harry pushes off with a muttered swear. The icy wind bites at his exposed cheeks, his throat dry from laughing in the cold, eyes streaming. Somehow, in the span of a few minutes, Ginny always manages to make him forget his cares and feel like a kid again. Maybe the kid he never really got to be, save a few precious memories.

When he reaches the bottom, Ginny’s already propped her slider in the snow next to her hip, eyes alight with teasing glee. “Welcome, you made it just in time for my birthday.”

Tossing his sled aside, Harry takes a few quick strides - slightly slowed by the drag of snow drifts - and tackles Ginny to the ground in an expert move, perfected in the training room with Ron. Hovering just above her, his hat lost in the fray, Harry accuses, “You are a cheat.”

“Opportunist,” Ginny corrects, gloved hands splayed to the sides so she’s positioned like some sort of gingerbread man. “We never set rules.”

“Because since the dawn of time, races assume opponents will begin at the same place and time.”

“Don’t go all high and mighty, you pulled that out of your arse.”

“How would you know?” Harry says, rolling off and tugging Ginny to her feet, “I have layers.”

“Hermione Granger-Weasley is the only human in existence who says that and actually knows she’s correct.”

Harry dips his head, allowing it, and they begin the trek back to the top as Kendra and Jamie speed down on a two person toboggan. He leans down to swipe up his lost cap and continues, “Next time, I’ll come prepared with documentation.”

“You��d better, I’m a hard arse who takes no shite,” Ginny replies, jutting her chin and pausing to pose dramatically.

“Don’t make me take you down again.”

“Like you could,” Ginny challenges.

“Is that a dare?” Harry asks, stepping closer as they reach the hilltop.

She eyes him speculatively so Harry’s body thrums with possibility, before shaking her head. “No. Not yet. I want to draw this out - make it all the better for waiting.”

Harry’s brows rise and before he can think, he’s got a snowball formed in his hand and flying right for his wife’s face.

Swiping the flakes from her cheeks, Ginny’s eyes narrow. “You’ll live to regret that move, Potter.”

And then it’s an all out war, a blur of snowy projectiles that somehow draws in the other couples.

They split into two groups sharing the same battlefield, their clothes wetter with each throw and snowball sneaking through the defense, it’s not long before time slides away from everyone’s minds. A growling belly (Ginny’s) announces it’s turned lunch time and heartily laughing the battered troops march arm in arm back into the cabin, completely and utterly ready for the chef’s finest.

However, in lieu of the fresh and delicious aromas of nicely cooked food there’s only a disappointing smell of...nothing? The wood in the fireplace has all but burned, the back door was left ajar, the cold winter air creeping inside, and there’s conspicuously no frenzied rumblings from the kitchen.

Still they shrug it off and hop the stairs two at a time to change into something dry before hypothermia kicks in and terminates their small weekend getaway, high key hoping that a steamy meal will be enthroned upon the table when they return.

“Something’s off,” Ginny comments as her first layer of clothing flies away into the continuously growing pile of wet clothes. “And I don’t just mean your right throw.”

“I’ll let you know I’m taking offence on that,” Harry scoffs, wrestling his thermalware off and over his ankles. His face turns serious once he’s gotten rid of the sodden cloth, “But yeah, I’ve the same feeling.”

“What’s on your mind, then?” Ginny looks at him, pensive and weary.

“If my gut is right, then our pleasant weekend ended with the cook’s conspicuous disappearance,” Harry scratches at his stubble and walks over to Ginny, puts his arms around her. “But let’s wait and see how it plays out.”

Ten minutes later they’re both tucked into woolen hand-knit sweaters, winter jackets cozily fitted around them. Harry’s boots scratch the surface of the dining room as he stops to take in the scene. Three couples, six people looking a little bit uneasy, a little bit grey-faced. Never a good omen, this feeling of uneasiness sweeping up an entire room and slowly sowing seeds of panic and despair.

“The food’s still not here,” Piers smartly observes and Harry would very much like to serve him a knuckle sandwich for his efforts. Still, he does have to admit there are other more pressing issues he must attend to first.

“Erm - Harry,” Dudley calls uncomfortably from one of the armchairs next to the windows. “Do you have any...tips?”

Harry’s mind is buzzing with not just tips, but theories. It’s always done things on its own, his mind, first creating a mental map of the scene, filling it with dots to connect them later, when the blur disappears and everything takes shape.

Behind smudgy round glasses, his eyes focus on a spot next to Dudley’s left ear and through the window, somewhere outside. Suddenly, he remembers the door being ajar and the chill that greeted them once they returned to the cabin.

In three quick strides, Harry’s at the door, his deft fingers prodding at the floor.

“Harry?” Ginny asks and he knows she’s caught up on his train of thought.

“Someone was here,” he states.

“What? How?” Three pairs of voices sound from all over the room.

“Someone was here and they’ve been very careful to mop their footprints before they left,” Harry explains as he makes his way towards the kitchen, Ginny and Dudley in tow. There are pots and pans everywhere, as though a hurricane had snuck in while they were outside and wreaked havoc. All three rush through the kitchen back door and -

“Shite,” Harry swears under his breath. Before him, a body rests peacefully in the snow. If not for the unusual stance of the arms, the loll of its head to one side, one would be tricked into thinking that the cook was taking a quick kip before supper.

“Oh no - oh, Harry, is he dead? He’s dead, right?” Dudley panics, his face paper white.

“Dudley, go lock all doors and tell everyone to not leave the sitting room under any circumstances,” Harry instructs and shakes his cousin twice when there’s no response. “Understood?”

Dudley lamely nods his blonde head and stumbles back inside the cabin.

“Ginny,” Harry focuses his attention on his wife, composed and ready three steps behind him. “Try and call the muggle police. Ring until someone picks up.”

She’s much faster than Dudley to comprehend and speeds through the door with a quick nod of acknowledgement.

As Harry squats down to examine and think, his mind begins its wild zigzag trajectory once more. Who could have done it? Why? What’s their MO? Why the cook and not somebody else?

“Bloody hell!” Ginny’s voice distinctly punctures through to him and then she’s back, blazing look on her face and breath uneven. “The phone lines’ve been knocked out by the blizzard.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, heavy boots stomping their way back inside. It seems like there’s never a day of rest for Auror Potter, not even this far from the Wizarding World.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry’s growl startles Piers, his hand on the door handle and cap askew atop his head.

“Home. I want none of this -”

“You’re staying right here.”

Piers’ face turns from white to scarlett then back to white in under three seconds, probably a new world record, before he finds the courage to ask, “Says who?”

Sadly for Harry and his well prepared fists, it’s Dudley who gets to them first and provides a stuttered answer, “Piers, erm - I know I never told you before, but, yeah, Harry’s with...Scotland Yard.”

Everyone’s silent, the kind of silent that indicates fear, not comprehension of the general situation. Harry’s well acquainted with it, walking into rooms where the quiet feels as heavy as chains more often than not.

He’s photographed enough to hold as evidence, careful that each of his actions could pass as a muggle detective’s under any circumstance. For now, he knows the fall was definitely not a fall, but a deliberate push. He also reckons the possibility of another murder is fairly limited, but still keeps a close eye on everyone.

“Anyone fancy a cheese sandwich?” Ginny claps her knees as she gets up from one of the chairs, tone as cheery and natural as she can manage.

Immediately, Dudley’s wife, then Pamela jump to their feet, breaking the strange trance they’ve all fallen into since the body’s been found.

Harry takes it as cue to disappear for a few moments and alert the cavalry, so to say.

“I’ll be upstairs for a minute to send word to a friend,” he casually addresses Dudley, emerald green eyes clearly saying more than his mouth does: make sure nobody leaves.

He climbs the stairs two at a time and shuts the door behind him, casting Muffliato before anything else. Harry concentrates fast and hard on the day’s events, he imagines Ron receiving the news.

“Expecto Patronum!” The liquid silver shapes into a stag, hooves trotting on the wooden floor before it takes flight to Ron, Harry’s message safely guarded with it.

“Think, Harry, think,” he urges himself as he paces the room, five steps ahead and another five back. “You’ve arrived here by car, so have the others, and maybe...so has the chef? And the killer?”

Clinging on to that last thought, Harry runs to the parking lot, wand clenched tightly in his fist inside his windbreaker. He rushes past an infuriated Piers, past the clink of the cutlery on plates as the rest munch on Ginny’s patented cheese sandwiches and out the door, nearly flying over the landing.

A nasty curse and a stomp of the boot against the ice and snow, and Harry’s almost never been so displeased to notice that the instinct telling him the murderer must’ve taken the chef’s car and scattered was correct. And along with the car, most of what would have been his lead vanished as well.

Frustrated, he shakes the snow off from his clothes and shoes, then slumps on the couch next to Ginny with a sigh and a ruffle of his perpetually messy hair.

“You don’t look too chuffed, Potter,” Piers remarks with a scoff. “Should we take it that your little investigation has failed?” Harry is aware that he should exert some self control, but his childhood bully seems a bit too pleased with himself to let it slip.

“The only thing you’ll be taking if you don’t shut it is my foot up your -”

“Harry needs more time before he draws his conclusions,” Ginny squeezes her husband’s leg, then turns to him. “Perhaps I could assist, right, dear?”

And she’s right, he’s got to focus and ignore foul-mouthed idiots for the time being. A man’s been killed.

“Better check the cook’s room before we lose more evidence,” Harry agrees.

They leave the room perfectly aware of the many pairs of eyes following them, not fully trusting, yet not entirely certain they can’t trust them. It’s that gut feeling that tells Harry once again that the killer is not longer amongst them.

“That bad, huh?” Ginny asks from the corner of her mouth as they stop in front of the chef’s room, door closed and locked.

“Fairly,” Harry admits, looking around to be certain no one’s watching before he removes his wand from its pocket and taps the handle. “Car’s gone, as is the murderer.”

“Brilliant,” Ginny mutters as she pushes the door open with her shoulder and steps inside.

The room looks untouched - a wee bit too untouched and clean for Harry’s taste.

“Someone’s been pretty keen on leaving no trace, I reckon,” he states and, after memorising each detail of the scene, takes out the camera and snaps enough photos to add to the ever growing case file. All a far cry from the playful snowy snaps he’d imagined taking home this weekend.

A quick search through the wardrobe and desk drawers shows that the chef’s a long term employee of the cabin: there’s piles of clothes and stacks of paperwork, paychecks and logs in one agenda.

“He used to be here more often than not, wasn’t he?” Ginny asks, her voice trailing off at the end.

“Seems so...But then -”

“Yeah?”

“Then the killer must be a person who knew him well. Well enough to find him here, and his car, his room, his schedule,” Harry finishes running both hands through his disheveled hair.

“A peer?”

“Or a friend.”

“Dunno how many friends this one’s got, there’s no personal mail, no postcards, no notes around,” Harry points back towards the desk.

“Or just someone who knows things about other people,” Ginny shrugs, a frown disrupting entire constellations of freckles on her face.

There’s silence before Harry’s eyes widen as he remembers a short scene from the previous day, and he slaps his forehead, palm pressing hard and quick against the old scar.

“What?” Ginny asks, brown eyes locked with green.

“You’re brilliant, you are!” Harry grins toothily, brings her close and kisses her hard on the lips.

“I mean usually I’d say where’s the lie, but why am I brilliant right now?” She responds, slightly amused, slightly taken by surprise.

“Muggles put their mail on hold when they leave for longer periods of time.”

“Oh?”

“Therefore mailmen are informed about the recipient's departure so they know when to start delivering mail again,” Harry continues his explanation as he paces around the room, a habit he’s developed and honed over long work hours of thinking, thinking, thinking.

“You mean to say that -” Ginny gasps, eyes fixed intently on Harry.

“That the mailman must’ve been the killer, yeah.”

“Merlin’s sweet - why would they do it?”

“That I do not know yet,” Harry ceases his pacing, a smirk lingering on the corner of his lips. “Ron should be able to tell us once he’s done searching the chef’s house and secured the stolen car from wherever our suspect’s abandoned it.”

“How inappropriate is it that I believe you’ve never been hotter?” She grins, steps closer to him, one hand pushing her hair back as the other sneaks beneath his sweater.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Harry breathes against her lips, hands cupping her face before she presses him against the wall and kills him slowly with tender kisses.

Ginny pauses, pulling away, “Perhaps we continue this not in the murder victim’s bedroom?”

“Affirmative.”

Ron takes the lead back in London, getting together with actual detectives from Scotland Yard and somehow getting a combined magic and muggle task force approved for the case, despite it’s heavily muggle leaning. When Harry says as much, Ginny grins. “Ron’s the second most persuasive Weasley, so I’m not shocked.”

Harry chuckles as he tugs his trousers back on and flops back against the rumpled bedclothes. “And who takes first place?”

“Ravishing girl with amazing quidditch skills who just moments ago persuaded one Harry James Potter to - ”

Grabbing her hand as she passes the bedside, Harry pulls Ginny’s hand until she’s splayed diagonally across his chest. She doesn’t hesitate, simply propping herself on her arm and smirking down at him. “Do I embarrass you?

“You do a lot of things to me, Ginevra Molly Potter, but embarass is not one of them.”

Fingertips teasing along his cheekbones, Ginny smiles, soft. “I s’pose I should take the compliment for what it is and not bring up a certain ill-advised Valentine’s card?”

“Young me was surprised, adult me thinks ‘adorable,’”

“Quoting ourselves, are we?” Ginny teases, before pushing up from the bed and stepping into her trainers. “Now let’s head down there before the situation turns any more Agatha Christie than it already has.”

Sighing, Harry rocks himself into a sitting position and grabs for his dry boots. “Aye, if we don’t figure out the food situation soon, Piers will start eating people.”

“I have no doubt.”

Harry’s prediction is proven wrong - slightly - since it seems Piers’ motivation for food manifested itself, but not in a cannibalistic fashion.

When they reach the foot of the staircase, the first thing Harry notes, following Piers’ conspicuous absence, is the heady scent of something definitely beef-based. He says as much to Ginny and she chuckles. “What a detective you are.”

“Never said I was a food expert,” Harry laughs, catching Dudley’s eye. His cousin seems to be on high alert, perhaps waiting on pins and needles since the Potters disappeared upstairs. And perhaps he should feel sorry for keeping Dudley waiting while Ginny had her way with him, but the beauty that is Ginny after a Detective Harry episode coupled with about sixteen years of childhood bullying alleviate Harry’s guilt.

Before they can rejoin the group, Dudley strides towards Harry. “So - what’ve you found?”

Ideally, the whole group won’t need to be kept up to speed with every detail. Especially since once they get some actual leads, he really can’t keep the lines of information flowing. Ginny, as usual, seems to cotton on to his train of thought and excuses herself. “I’ll go give the others a little bit of info, see if they noticed anything.”

Dudley leads Harry toward a little study off the front of the cabin and presses the door closed with a click. “Sorry. Should’ve thought of this earlier.”

Harry props himself on the lip of the ornately carved desk and Dudley sighs into one of the tufted chairs. Once Dudley seems to have settled himself, Harry sets a few charms around the room and begins catching him up to speed. “I got in touch with Ron - you know him from the wedding - and he’s got with Scotland Yard so they’re working things from that end. Ginny and I secured the necessary areas as much as possible and I’ve done my best to take crime scene photos so the police will have something to work with once the snow clears.”

“I doubt they’ll find anything you’ve missed,” Dudley states, without a hint of hesitation.

Honestly, if you’d asked Harry ten years ago if Dudley would ever say something so complimentary so easily, he’d have laughed in your face.

Harry runs his palms over his trousers and purses his lips in thought. “The plan from here is to keep everyone safe - it seems this was a specific crime, not some slasher waiting in the wind to come pick us off. Still, I’d like everyone to stay in groups and most definitely indoors after dark.”

After a moment, Harry releases the charms around the room and guides Dudley to the door. As they’re about to join the group, Dudley pauses and chuckles wryly. “You know I really did think this would be a nice holiday for you.”

“Trouble finds me, Big D.”

Dinner is a surprisingly enjoyable affair where Harry discovers Piers became a chef, of all things. At work, he’s probably like the real life version of the angry chef on the telly. As Harry and Ginny claim a couple of seats, he leans in close to murmur, “Piers cooking - he’ll probably poison mine, or at least spit in it.”

Ginny snorts, “I’d hope for poison; have you seen his dental hygiene habits?”

Regardless, he managed to whip up a pretty delicious meal - butternut squash soup, steaks all around, garlic mashed potatoes, and some sort of mixed fruit pie. Everyone’s pretty quiet, light chatter about passing salt and compliments to the chef. Though using that particular phrasing generally earns a wince or two, given the state of their actual chef.

Once the tea’s been drunk to the dregs and sweet seconds have been had, it’s Kate who finally works up the nerve to ask Harry about the investigation.

“So Scotland Yard is investigating?”

Harry fiddles with his teacup, righting it in the saucer, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve forwarded all the information we have as of yet to my partner in London, yes.”

Jamie props his elbows on the table, leaning in closer. “What sort of information, then?”

It’s in this instance, Harry finds himself grateful for the bureaucratic nonsense that exists in his line of work. The day has been long, somewhat disturbing as murder is wont to be, and Harry really doesn’t trust his ability to keep his temper if he’s subjected to another interrogation courtesy of Piers. “I feel comfortable saying it appears we have a homicide on our hands and that our safety is best served by remaining in groups, preferably indoors.”

Piers harrumphs, likely chafing at the idea of Harry being in charge, and Ginny bites back on a laugh. Troublemaker.

Pushing his plate away, Harry continues, “I’ll do another sweep of the cabin, inside and outside, once everyone heads upstairs.”

Fran smiles. “Thanks for doing all this on your holiday, Harry.”

“Well we do pay his salary, after all. It’s his job,” Piers grumbles.

Harry, in a feat his younger self would have either found admirable or deeply disappointing, does not answer back with a witty rejoinder or the business end of his wand. Perhaps Ginny will make good on her ‘shag the frustration away’ promises. It’s worked so far - Piers is still alive after all.

Luckily, everyone’s similarly drained from their rather harrowing day and head off to bed without Harry ushering them upstairs like an overworked nanny. Though it does sound a bit like a sitcom - ‘Harry the Harried Nanny.’

Ginny insists on trailing him as ‘back up’ offering commentary on his techniques. Generally, it’s a mix of actual, helpful assistance and notes on which search practices are most effective in featuring his ‘cute arse.’

Overall, by the time they return to their bedroom, Harry’s satisfied the house is secure (courtesy of a few carefully placed charms) and highly unsatisfied in other areas. Though Ginny seems similarly inclined, if her seeking hands and very quick fingers are any indication. And if Harry was in any way confused by the signals, Ginny’s veritable pounce once he presses the door closed would have definitely provided some clarity.

Either way, Harry and Ginny enjoy a rather lovely evening on the cosy rug in front of the fireplace before drifting off to sleep.

Harry wakes to the disappointing sound of Ginny in the shower, alone. Though the tragedy is one easily remedied, if he acts quickly enough.

Quietly, while Ginny’s still warbling her way through some new pop ditty that played about four hundred times on the way to the cabin, Harry brushes his teeth in order to present his lovely, soaked, naked wife with a minty fresh mouth. She’s only just started her routine - he can smell as Ginny works her hair into a lather with the flowery shampoo she favors.

After rinsing, Harry pulls the shower door open with a pop and slips in behind Ginny. She barely startles, settling back against him as he winds his arms around her middle. “You didn’t wake me up, Mrs. Potter.”

“You worked quite hard last night.”

“You mean yesterday?” Harry asks, nipping at her jaw.

“I said what I meant,” Ginny drawls, twisting in his embrace and letting her palms slip over his arms, slippery from the spray.

And while things start fairly innocent - Ginny providing her excellent shampooing skills in a completely selfless manner - they end up with a mutually satisfying encore to last night’s performance. Twice.

Life can’t be all fun and games, sadly, and once they’re dressed and ready for the day, Harry sends another Patronus to check in with Ron.

Ron’s answer is short, “Got your fireplace hooked up to the network, jump on in a few.”

While Ginny secures the bedroom from prying eyes, Harry rifles through their luggages and finds his emergency pouch of floo powder.

After shouting into the flames, Harry finds the worn rug of his and Ron’s shared office swirling into focus. “Alright, Ronnie?”

“Why do you do that to me?”

“‘Cause I l o ve you,” Harry says with a grin.

Ginny saunters over and squats down next to Harry. “Making a move on my brother before my very eyes.”

“What can I say? Those gangly limbs and ocean blue eyes send me .”

“I am not - whatever. Back to business,” Ron grunts, “We followed your hunch and looked into the mail carriers who’ve had that route, or anybody involved with mail processing in the area. A few of them have some minor infractions on their records. Not too much on that front at the mo’.”

“Anything on the chef himself?” Harry asks.

“Ah,” Ron says, shuffling through the file he placed at his knee, “We found an odd series of deposits into his bank account. Not overly large sums but untraceable cash.”

“You think blackmail?” Ginny asks.

Harry hums his agreement in the question and Ron nods, “That’s our best guess, so far.”

“Keep us posted.”

“Ditto.”

Just before Harry disconnects the floo, Ron pauses, “Be safe you two, eh?”

Ginny salutes, “Right-o, Ronnie.”

He groans, “I hate you.”

The flames die down and Harry pushes to his feet, waiting for Ginny to follow suit. “We’ll head to breakfast?”

Laughing, Ginny pauses with her fingers on the handle, “Ready to be interrogated?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“This is ridiculous,” Piers bursts mid bite. “Are we expected to sit here in silence like well behaved children and ask no questions?”

“I don’t believe that’d be possible since you’ve never been well behaved,” Harry volleys right back around his sandwich.

“I should have beaten your skinny arse when I had the opportunity,” Piers throws his chair back, ready for battle. However, he quickly starts to look rather confused as to why he needed to get up, gently places his chair back at the table and, flashing an odd kind of smile, walks outside to build a snowman all by himself.

His wife sounds very uncomfortable at best as she delivers a hefty explanation before running after him, “Anxiety brings out the child in him. Excuse me.”

A quick look around the table helps Harry find the culprit in the form of a chuckling Ginny, even though, to her credit, she did try to hid it behind a paper napkin. He’ll remember to thank her properly later.

“Is there anything you’re able to tell us, Harry?” Kendra breaks the awkwardness, her eyes apologetic.

“Or if we’ll be able to leave today?” Jaime joins in, hopeful. “The storm’s cleared out, the roads should be alright now.”

Harry pats the corners of his mouth with a napkin before he calmly speaks, “I should be able to explain in about 30 minutes.” Somewhat of a flex, he knows, but he’s always worked flawlessly with Ron and their combined efforts in solving a case have never failed them.

“Meet me here at 10 sharp,” he addresses the befuddled audience in a true Hercule Poirot manner before he makes his way back upstairs, to his and Ginny’s room, where - if all went well - an owl should be waiting for him.

“Brilliant as always, mate,” Harry grins as he lays eyes on a snowy owl awaiting his arrival on the other side of the window.

Rapidly he lets her inside and scratches the feathers at the back of her head, then unties the scroll of parchment secured around her leg.

“Expected as much,” he grunts, takes out a pen from his pocket and scribbles a reply on the back of the paper.

As soon as the owl takes flight, Harry starts pacing the room, putting order to his thoughts and finishing the last of the puzzle. When he’s finally satisfied with the conclusions he’s drawn, Harry steps out into the hallway and back into the sitting room. The final moment’s arrived.

Seven pairs of eyes are upon him (albeit Piers’ is everywhere, still mildly confused) and Harry wastes no more time.

“There’s no mystery that the chef’s been murdered,” he starts in force. “Thus, the real question has been a natural one: who committed the murder? Followed by the why, the reason, the incentive to commit crime,” Harry confidently states, then pauses. “I am now able to tell you who and why.”

Startled gasps and concentration fill the room. Harry looks every one of the seven persons in the eye, offering enough space and time for any possible admissions, one of the first techniques he learned while training as an Auror. When no one speaks, he sighs and continues dutifully.

“Our chef’s been blackmailed,” Harry says all of a sudden. “He has been blackmailed for quite some time, up until the money was no longer enough and the truth was about to come out. In this sense, it is somewhat ironic that the murderer was not one of us -” relieved sighs echo all around - “but the mailman. The cook’s mailman, to be precise.” Harry finishes rather pleased and waits for a wave of questions to erupt, as it always happens.

Sure enough, everybody puts forward their own question which requires an answer and Harry allows enough time for the tension to disappear and the calm to return.

He raises one hand to signal that silence is once again needed, then continues, tone professional and frown between his dark eyebrows, “As most of us do, the chef had a habit of putting his mail on hold while he was away from home, therefore informing the mailman of the exact period of his absences. It appears that it is not unheard of that mailmen seize the opportunity to make a bit of profit from the information they are fed by the unsuspecting. And by profit I mean stealing from the person’s house while they are away.”

More gasps and whispers, followed by reactions of anger at the thought that an institution they’ve been taught to respect and trust could actually betray their trust.

“At one point, however, our chef had returned home earlier than planned, only to find the mailman inside his house, helping himself to something or other. And threatened to go to the police, hence spiralling into a nasty case of blackmail and death threats. Yesterday, our culprit became restless and decided to finish the affair, knowing full well that his victim would not be alone. How? He took it upon himself to deliver Dudley’s generous invitations - as he had been doing for awhile with any correspondence involving this venue, always at watch for the best opportunity to strike.”

At this, Dudley’s ears turn red, his palms fly to hide his face.

“So he takes a ride up here, waits until there is no one else inside and pushes the chef out the window to make it look like a fall. Unfortunately for him, when he stole the cook’s car, he did not take into account that the snow might block the roads,” Harry grins. “As I’ve just been informed, it’s how my colleagues found him, the car stuck in a pile of ice and snow on an empty road.”

“Blimey,” Dudley whistles, his eyebrows shooting so high up they almost blend in with his fringe.

“What - erm, what happens next?” A distressed Palma dares ask.

“A team from Scotland Yard is on its way. They’ll need to question everyone here, then you should be free to go enjoy the rest of the weekend,” Harry smiles good naturedly, understanding fully well everybody’s hurry to be out and far away from the cabin as possible. Murder and mystery don’t mix well with winter holidays - or with any other kind of holidays, really.

His eyes dart to Ginny, who’s smiling at him, all proud and loving. And he returns the feeling, every single bit of it.

“Harry Potter saves the day yet again,” Ginny teases on their way home, her fingertips caressing the skin on Harry’s arm as he drives.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, my dear Watson,” he winks.

“Sounds to me like you should thank this dear Watson,” she suggests, a cheeky glint in her eye.

“Oh, I plan on doing so.”

As the words roll off his tongue, his hands grab the wheel tighter and swerve right, off from the main road and up a forest path. As soon as the car disappears from view, heavily hidden by the thick patch of snow white trees, Harry turns the ignition off and maneuvers his seat to lean back.

A ginger eyebrow rises in question and Harry grins wide.

“I’m feeling rather rebellious after this weekend,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “You were right, it was good for me.”

“Aha,” Ginny smirks. “I see,” she bites her lower lip as she slips from her seat and climbs up her husband’s lap, straddling him as her fingers scratch at the back of his head. “Then I better show you that,” she stops, freckled fingers curling around the hem of her sweater, slowly taking it off, “I did save that little black thing especially for you.” Ginny winks and Harry turns to mush.

Before long, there are no clothes left to tear off. There’s just them, hidden away by the steamy windows of a rented car parked at the edge of a snowy forest.

At the end of the day, Harry does specialise in finding the silver lining, even on a weekend filled with murder and mayhem.

#hinny #hinny fic #harry potter #ginny weasley #harry x ginny #auror!harry #sultry hinny #murder mystery #noir #itsblissfuloblivion writes #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves #power duo back at it!#get hyped

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batmanandguano · 5 years

Text

i could suffice for him, i knew

bruce wayne, jason todd, gen aka: bruce takes jason to a play. title taken from one of emily dickinson’s poems.

There’s something that’s bothering Jason. Bruce can sense it the moment the boy walked into the Manor.

Normally, the boy’s return from school is the highlight of Bruce’s day. While it is Alfred who picks him up, Jason has never failed to materialize before Bruce’s study to toss him a quick smile which already has the billionaire wrapped around the boy’s finger. Bruce loves having Jason around, loves his easygoing smiles and the way he dives into cakes — already the Manor is so much brighter. It’s a wonder that this child that he’s only known for a scant few weeks has this effect on him but truthfully, he thinks he’s never been happier —

And during Jason’s daily pilgrimage to see him, the boy’s shoulders are drooping although the smile that he gives is genuine.

Bruce’s always been perceptive and perhaps even more-so with Jason, if only because he feels no peace if Jason has none and when Jason’s happy, that happiness returns to him a thousandfold. Because the truth of the matter is that soft-hearted, sweet, generous Jason is his child and though Jason vehemently denies wanting a parent, his denials have grown a lot softer the longer he’s spent in the Manor and any mention of the boy’s name brings a smile to Bruce Wayne’s lips, his chest puffed prouder than any other parent.

“Is everything alright?” He turns to face him because sometimes Jason has trouble at school. While the boy is academically brilliant, Bruce also knows that in an environment where the only thing that matters is the size of your family’s bank account, Jason has a tendency to get into fights. There’s been more than one incident where both he and Alfred has been called into the principal’s office to witness Jason sitting there, smirking with a busted lip and an ice pack telling him that ‘B — you shoulda seen th’ other guy.’ And more often than not, it’s in defense of someone else because at least, and oh how he has worked to make it so, Jason bears the Wayne name now —

Jason doesn’t look any worse for wear this time. His tie’s askew and the upper button of his shirt’s unbuttoned. He nods his head and grins. “Yeah,” he says before dropping his backpack onto the ground and props his feet onto the coffee table. It’s a little ritual which used to be a little fight between them but Bruce’s absolutely lost the will to tell Jason to take his feet off the table. “You don’t have any meetings, do ya?” he asks and when Bruce shakes his head, Jason pulls out a book from his backpack and starts to read. Two days a week Jason comes over and reads until Bruce’s finished with work and they go out to dinner. There’s a slip of pink paper being used as a bookmark and Bruce turns his head to look at the piece of paper —

Right as it’s snatched back by Jason. “Sheesh, privacy B!” he says before quickly stuffing the page back into his backpack. There’s something uncharacteristic here because Jason’s always been careful with his things, especially papers from school. It draws his curiosity though for now, he’ll let the boy keep this secret. Bruce logs off his computer, tells his secretary to go home early for the day, and grabs his coat and Jason’s backpack.

They don’t call his alter ego the Greatest Detective In The World for nothing and after making a few discreet inquiries to the trophy moms who make up the PTA of Jason’s school, Bruce’s learned that auditions are being held for the school play. Auditions are held the week following the next and practice, in order to placate the academic rigor of the preparatory school (or to keep the kids busy while their parents are closing billion dollar deals or gallivanting off to the Maldives), is held from six to nine in the evenings.

Combine that with Jason’s tendency to sing show-tunes when he thinks nobody is listening and the mysterious piece of paper that’s set him on edge — it’s not hard to deduce that the boy wants to audition. And because Bruce Wayne has no subtly, he brings it up at breakfast. “I hear that they’re holding auditions for Les Miserables,” he says, casually.

Jason sets down the cereal in his hand. “Has anyone told you that your tendency to figure everything out is actually really creepy?” he asks, before picking up the milk.

“Creepier than going out at night dressed like a Bat?” Bruce teases back, before his tone turns pensive. “Do you want to audition?”

Jason waits for a moment before replying, hand twirling the bowl of cereal. “I think it’d be kinda cool,” he admits. “You know — the Jean val Jean’s a complicated character and requires a big vocal range. Though I’m pretty sure that Jeremy’s going to bribe the Drama Head since he’s applyin’ to Tisch this year and need it for his portfolio. I’d like to play Enjolras though,” He’s grinning, despite himself. ”I think he’s got some wonderful ideas B, like overthrowing the bougerois — and the fact that he looks out for everyone there. He’s also got the best song, “Do You Hear The People Sing” is an absolute masterpiece — though I dunno if you like the part about angry men, an’ ”

But then Jason shrugs again, “It conflicts with our other job, an’ it’d probably be awkward telling Miss Brown that I can’t come to practice because the Joker’s escaped Arkham again or that the Penguin’s planning on turnin’ Gotham Park into his personal ice rink. Plus I don’t need to play hero when I actually get to be one,” He offers Bruce a lopsided grin before digging into his breakfast with gusto.

But Bruce doesn’t miss the way Jason’s breath quickens when he speaks about Enjolras and the play. He doesn’t miss the fact that Robin’s prone to theatrics and that there’s a ten page, single-spaced essay that Jason’s wrote last year on classism in Les Miserables which had earned the highest grade in the year. The want in the boy’s eyes as he speaks about plays and musicals and books during the early mornings — the fact that at the very least, Jason deserves to be a child.

In a sense, Bruce knows that bringing a child into his battle against the darkest corners of the night is folly; he’s witnessed that after seeing Dick nearly get shot by one of the Joker’s henchmen. He should not have brought another child into this life and some nights Bruce could not help but worry, even though he knows that Jason loves being Robin. Knows that Jason’s no less capable than Dick Grayson despite the differences in their fighting styles, the way that Jason’s laughter and quips are always tinged with vengeance and pride, different from Dick Grayson’s youthful insouciance.

There’s always a part of Bruce who thinks that perhaps he should tell Jason (and Dick before him) to focus on his studies. That the boy’s seen enough of the rougher side of Gotham and that Batman doesn’t need a sidekick in his war — but he knows how Jason would take it. Jason, despite everything, still feels a need to prove himself — Bruce’s seen the gleam in his eyes, the words made in jest said too sharply, he knows Jason’s fears, of blood trumping nurture, the way he stares down criminals with eyes too old for his age. He knows that Jason wrestles with fears of inadequacy and perhaps it’s Bruce’s own fear after dealing with Dick’s anger, but he knows that he cannot lose Jason, that he cannot let Jason go —

What he wants for this boy is to give him the world.

What he can do is this.

It’s a small sacrifice that Batman’ll have to make but Bruce Wayne’s a father.

“Hey, Jay — have you ever been to a theater?”

They take a trip to Metropolis’ Broadway District where Les Miserables is playing. It’s a new showing, the lead’s quite a famous musical actor and while tickets have already been sold out, there are certain advantages in being Bruce Wayne. Namely the fact that he ends up with the best seats in the theater with complimentary champagne and a meeting with the cast during intermission, plus one.

Jason’s been growing so they take him for his suit fitting and it’s a testament to his excitement that he doesn’t complain even once during the entire process even though Bruce knows that he hates wearing suits. He says that they’re constricting and uncomfortable. Jason does get to pick the tie though and when Bruce sees his choice — a red, silk tie with diminutive little birds — he can’t help but smile. They’ve slicked back his hair and to anyone else in the world, this is Jason Wayne — the second and much loved son of the scion of Wayne Industries and he feels a rush of pride. Bruce wants nothing more to proclaim to the world that this is his son and isn’t his boy wonderful? He swallows down his pride instead because he knows that any mention of father and parent still sometimes sets the boy on edge and claps him on the back instead.

He expects Jason to immediately start chattering and is not disappointed when Jason turns towards him, eyes wide and smile huge as he starts telling Bruce about the various facts he’s learned from the internet and from reading the brochure. “Did you know that the musical requires over five thousand individual pieces of clothing, B? Imagine how hard it would take to wash everything,”

“I assume they send it out to a subcontractor,”

“Yeah but B — it’ll probably have a ton of chemicals. I hope the actors are okay. Oh, and this takes place in 19th centuryParis — you’ve read the book, right? A lot of people think that it takes place after the French Revolution, in English Lit, Conner wrote his report about how the revolution impacted the attitudes towards the French aristocracy during that time but he was wrong. This June Rebellion was before they started chopping off all the heads,”

“The heads of the aristocracy, hm?” That’s one way of putting it.

Jason tries to roll his eyes, but the effect was ruined by how widely he’s beaming. “Don’t worry B — I’ll protect ya,” he grins, magnanimous. “If we were around during that time, I’ll figure out plans to sneak us out even though I’m pretty sure you’d have been on the Marat’s Most Wanted List. Though,” he pats Bruce on the cheek. “I think they’ll take a bit more kindly to Batman, he seems more of a man of the people type — “

He’ll play along. “And how would you orchestrate your escape now that you’re also a part of the ‘One Percent’ as you so like to call it?”

Jason scrunches up his nose. “I have friends, B — plus, I wouldn’t be a useless aristocrat. And neither would you, I feel. You’d be like the Marquis de Lafayette or a Revolutionary version of a Musketeer except far less corrupt. And I could teach you argot probably, that’s the Paris dialect that Eponine speaks in the books. I think I’d like to learn — do you think Mademoiselle Dufarge knows?”

“Didn’t Victor Hugo call argot ‘the language of the dark night’?”

“Yeah and I’m pretty sure — “ Jason leans in close, his eyes shining clandestinely before wagging his eyebrows. “If anything our friend, the Dark Knight, should know how to speak it and should teach it to his brilliant, precocious, and clever ward with a affinity for languages,”

“You mean Dick Grayson?” he teases.

“Bruce! That’s it! I’m not saving you and your batty friend’s ass again — ”

There’s a few people that Bruce had to meet, business associates and the director of the theater who’s here to personally thank Bruce Wayne for his generous donation — it’s tedious work, smiling until his cheeks hurt but Bruce’s played the vapid, doting billionaire patron of the arts for long enough that it’s second nature. He laughs at all the right times and tells a few jokes which sends the gaggle of society matrons and academics into peals of laughter. But the thing with Brucie Wayne is that he never says anything of substance. Bruce’s always been intelligent but Brucie isn’t — a few superficial remarks and some razzle dazzle normally holds enough for him. They’ve been talking about adding him to their board and he’s already running out of things to say when he sees a flash of red tie and curls.

“Hey Bruce,” Jason strides towards them with a glass of — oh, is that champagne? The boy’s much too young to be drinking; they’ll be having this conversation later —

As if Jason could sense Bruce’s thoughts, he holds up the glass and thrusts it in front of Bruce’s nose. “Grape juice. Sparkling,” he says. “There were blueberries in there, but oh — “ His eyes widens comically. “Miss Simone,” he says, turning towards one of the women Bruce’s been speaking to. “I’ve loved your collection of essays on Euripides’ Orestes — and I think you totally deserved that Guggenheim Fellowship more than that bastard Lobdell, honestly — I think we could do with less works analyzing manpain,“

“Oh, I completely agree,” The lady smiles, indulgent. “And who are you, young man?”

Jason holds out his hand before flashing her a toothy grin. “I’m Jason. That guy’s basically my dad,” He says, poking Bruce on the shoulder. That mention of ‘dad’ brings a fierce wave of joy to his chest and he turns and ruffles Jason’s hair free from its gel. Jason, predictably, makes a face. “There’s a business guy looking for you, his name’s Judd or something and it’s regarding Wayne business,”

Bruce nods but not before shrugging helplessly, and dashes away like a — ha! — bat out of hell. “Sorry guys — business calls. I’ll give you the number of my secretary and maybe we can set something up,”

The last thing that he hears is Jason’s voice. “Miss Simone — I hear that you’re writing a criticism on curricular constraints in high school academia? If you need a case study, I’ve been taking this one Milton class but it’s honestly academic censorship at its worst — “

They’re finally seated.

This time Jason’s actually holding a glass of champagne. He’s allowed one glass, it’s high society tradition after all — any more and Bruce’ll actually have words with him but he seems to be enjoying himself, holding onto his pair of tiny opera glasses with the other. Bruce’s not sure what — or who he’s watching but it’s a traditional part of attending a theater production and so Bruce instead leans back and steals a green macaron from Jason’s package of sweets and waits for the curtains to rise. All the people below them look tiny, insignificant from their vantage point and instead he watches Jason, watches as his expression changes to one of awe as the lights dim and the curtains rise.

They launch into a song about the drudgery of the 19th century and he catches Jason mouthing the words, sitting up close in their box. The boy’s practically vibrating with excitement and Bruce knows that he’s made the right decision. He picks up his own glass of champagne and turns towards Jason, clinks their glasses together and goes to enjoy the show.

After Jean valJean ascends to heaven in Fantine’s arms and the final chorale sings of a world freed, Bruce finds himself clapping as loudly as the rest of them but perhaps still a bit quieter than Jason. There’s nearly tears in his eyes and Bruce feels a rush of fondness for this boy because Jason who’s never cried even after nearly getting shot, cries after musicals and after particularly moving books. Bruce, normally not one for musicals or plays or ballet, has enjoyed himself immensely and turns to see Jason watching him carefully.

“Hey B — you alright?” He asks softly, looking suddenly a little bit hesitant. “Hopefully that wasn’t too boring, since I know that’s usually — ” He’s fidgeting with one of his buttons. “What Brucie does and well, I just wanted to say that I’m grateful, I’ve never done this before but it’s well, always been one my dreams growing up. So thank you, B. ”

Bruce reaches over, runs a hand through his hair, easy and proprietary. “I had a great time with you” he says. “And I was thinking that if you wanted to try out for the school play, I think we can push back our hours a little bit. Just for this quarter,”

Jason pauses.

“B, didn’t you say that nothing’s more important than the mission, though?” Jason asks. “I mean that is why you brought me here right,” he adds; at this rate, the button’s going to come off. “With everything here, it’s just — everything’s a disguise for the mission. That’s what you’ve told me, before — ”

Oh, is that what Jason thinks, even now? There’s a sharp implication there that he’s feared. But he needs — Bruce needs to be honest.

There is a sharp awareness in Bruce’s voice. “Jason — I — I want you to be happy,” he murmurs. Words have never come easily to him, he’s always been more of a man of action. “I — “ He could not push the boy away, but he’s already committed to it. He would see this through and it’s a terrifying thought, how much Jason already means to him. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but I — I think of you as my son. I want you to be happy Jason and I want to be the one to make you happy,” He’s tripping over his words now and Jason’s eyes are very wide. “I — you are happy here, right?“

But the thing about Jason is that he’s a quick study. He looks at Bruce and perhaps there’s something wet in the corner of his eyes but he reaches over and pulls Bruce into a hug because he’s always understood. There’s sticky hands wrapped around his neck and Jason smells like chocolate and fresh air and Bruce leans into the hug, pulls his arms around Jason and finds that his cheeks are hurting from smiling so much. Bruce doesn’t miss the quiver in Jason’s voice, doesn’t miss its open vulnerability.

He thinks -

“I love you too, B —” Jason’s voice shakes.

(He’s going to keep the boy for as long as he can.)

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hollyhomburg · 6 years

Text

BTS as your boyfriend

A/N: Is there supposed to be an order to reactions? some of these features specified occupations of the reader and there are touches of smut and angst but this is mostly fluff

W/C: 2.1k

Seokjin

Takes cooking classes with you but half of the time the two of you get distracted (you tease him by grabbing his thighs and he retaliates by gripping a handful of your ass)

“This tastes good- but not as good as you” is one of his favorite things to say and you’ll often take turns saying it, (ie you’ll say it over breakfast, and then he’ll say it a few days later at dinner.

Doesn’t let his family intimidate you by bringing you around for a surprise visit so that you can see his parents in a more natural form and not their “Miss Korea and CEO” glory. Because to Seokjin- they’re just mom and dad.

Will literally drop everything if you say that you just need to get away for a little while. The two of you will often pack a suitcase and just go to the airport for a weekend- not quite sure where you’re going to go until you get to the airport

king of pet names.

Is literally the most caring prince whenever you get sick, rubbing down your sore muscles with his strong hands aided by vapor rub

Called up your mother to find out how she used to make soup when you were sick.

Regularly makes you apart of his Vlive’s.

The fans request that you two do a competition of who can stay silent the longest and you make him laugh within seconds.

So Seokjin has to make you your favorite meal because you won and the entire Vlive is just you making puns out of things in the kitchen

You hold up an onion and say “onion-haseyo” to greet the fans.

You Throw a roll at him “I’m on a roll”

hold up a piece of meat “the tur-KEY to cooking is a good attitude!”

You distract him so much that the sauce burns.

Wakes up early to cook you breakfast foods.

Yoongi

Both of you keep really strange sleep schedules.

Some nights you’ll call him up and you’ll go to the Local Park and play basketball together to work off some of your energy.

And he thinks it’s hilarious and adorable how competitive you get

Hears you humming one morning while you’re getting ready and records the sound on his phone only to use it as the hook on his next song (And it ends up being kind of an anniversary present)

Sometimes when he’s away and he can’t sleep and you’re not awake because of the time difference he’ll just play it to hear a little bit of your voice.

And it will lull him easily to sleep.

Complains about how needy you can get but at the end of the day it’s always him making grabby hands at you for cuddles or holding your hand tighter in crowds.

Puts his hand on your thigh while he’s driving. lots of back hugs.

God forbid any man show interest in you he’ll let all his Dageu swagger show.

lovingly calls you “punk”

both you and Yoongi enjoy quite a lot- you both have a tendency to get overstimulated and overwhelmed by the world.

When you’re having a bad day you’ll curl up on his couch in his studio and he’ll turn the lights down low and pull you into his lap,

And you use his soundproofed headphones to block out the noises of the world while he works on his laptop.

And Yoongi can periodically comfort you by running a hand down your calf and watch as you slowly relax, your body becoming jelly next to him.

He’ll wake you up with soft kisses on your cheeks and his low grumbly voice asking “better?”

Hoseok

Will try to teach you how to dance no matter how many times you’ve kind of…failed at being taught? Hoseok loves to spend time with you regardless.

Loves to guide your body into movements, he’s got a thing about control

Defiantly one of the kinkier ones in bed, he has a little thing for bondage and sensory deprivation; both giving and receiving.

He is absolutely whipped for you and would do anything to please you.

He likes to buy you flowers, sunflowers most of the time.

Spends late nights with you staying up talking about your future, he’s actually the one out of all the boys that will probably ask about marriage first. (After Namjoon and Jungkook)

Thought it will be more of a thing that the two of you discuss rather than him just springing it on you.

He’d want to make sure you were on the same page as he was; every step of the way.

The two of you talk about everything- and plan out your future meticulously even though you know things rarely ever go to plan.

You go back and forth arguing about whether you’ll want a modern vs American style house,

about possible pets and how big of a backyard you want (though you defiantly know you want enough space for a garden.)

You argue about kids’ names and whether or not you’ll try to push music and the arts on your children.

You know it might be foolish to dream, but Hoseok tells you that it’s just as foolish not to daydream, - without a plan for your future how do you know where you’re headed?

but Somehow Hoseok thinks he’d always know the way to happiness if you whereby his side.

Namjoon

Loves going to cafes to read with you. Takes picnics in the park just so you can sit and draw’s each other (even though he can’t draw for shit)

He keeps one of the doodles you drew in his wallet; right next to a picture the two of you took in a photo booth.

Takes pictures of things when he’s away and sends it too you with captions like “this reminded me of you.” sometimes it’s a cute animal and he says “this is you in pet form!”

Likes to do little crafts with you once he realizes finds pleasure in working with his hands- it helps him learn to control (no god of destruction tendencies anymore) and calm down his over-excitable nature.

Helps you repaint one of the rooms in your apartment and ends up having a paint fight with you. (Gives you handprints on your ass)

Always leaves a romance novel with you before he goes away for a stretch of time with a little notes saying that the romantic lead will keep you company until he gets back.

Loves to hear you singing in the mornings softly under your breath- almost like you don’t realize you’re doing it.

Pulls some strings and gets you to meet your favorite author for your birthday.

You spend half of your time hiding behind Namjoon too nervous to meet them, but afterword’s you end up launching into a discussion about charters with the author and completely forgetting your boyfriend next to you

But at the end of the day, that’s why Namjoon loves you-you're so passionate.

Jimin

This boy loves matching everything! Matching pajamas, matching designer shoes, he’d even tried to convince you to dye your hair pink with him once but that was where you drew the line.

Gets matching couples necklaces.

He’s your best hype man, taking photos of you for your Instagram and always making you feel praised.

Jimin loves how you’ll blush and get embarrassed- maybe a little too much, he has a little bit of a praise kink himself.

Does this thing where he’ll put his full weight on top of you and then refuse to move, saying that you’re too comfy.

He’ll start to fake snore, and then giggle and thrash when you start to tickle him- queue a mutual tickle fight that he always wins.

Secretly Kind of loves the jealous looks people give the two of you- because you’re the “it” couple and you both know it.

You guys don’t talk about your feelings much, but some night’s he’ll come in from a particularly difficult day and he won’t be able to meet your eyes when you say his name.

You’ll drag him into the bathroom. Sometimes you’ll shower together and other times you’ll just slowly clean his face of makeup and run a cold cloth over his arms.

You’ll stand in between his legs and tell him about your day, and by the time you’ve applied his skincare regime he’s lost that far away look in his eyes.

Then the two of you will spend a little while winding down watching a movie or something before you fall asleep against his chest. Listening to his heartbeat.

Jimin wonders what he did to get someone as caring as you in his life.

Taehyung

Asked you out during the Seoul lantern festival, you were all bundled up in his jacket and his scarf. He loves seeing you in his clothes

Wrote, “I wish you’d be my girl” on a lantern for a wish, and then slowly turned It so that you could see it while hiding his face.

When the two of you let it go he watched you with baited breath, until you nervously pulled him in for a kiss.

Asks you to put on fashion shows for him. but always end with him sighing and saying, “I still think you look best in your birthday suit“ and you’ll slap his arm but let him pull you in close for a steamy kiss.

Make out sessions everywhere- backstage, in the studio, in the hallway closet.

Will buy expensive lingerie for you literally just to make it dirty

Supports you in designing your own clothes and making alterations to make it fit you and your style.

You’re kind of known as the hot topic fashion designer with the idol boyfriend.

Wears one of your pieces to an event and when asked who he’s wearing he proudly proclaims “my girlfriend!”

Can be the tiniest bit possessive of you- and if you ever get angry at him he’ll just put his hands on your waist and say

“Do you think the Louvre would ever let a Picasso go? The world treasures and protects masterpieces babe which is why I feel the need to treasure you.”

Absolutely loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, you’ll go to his performances and he’ll get all sweaty and between sets

And all you have to do is run your fingers through his hair and he’ll get this pulse of sexual energy

Fansites will be talking about it for weeks. And meanwhile, you’ll know that every smirk was just for you.

Jungkook

buys you a lot of makeup (practically all of Sephora) and all the fragrance collections- though he does have his favorites.

He often pulls you close and smells your neck and asks, “Which one is this? You smell like candy!”

But loves how you smell after sex- how you smell like him- the best.

Really supportive of your choices and your hobby of making makeup tutorials on youtube. And you end up becoming a Makeup Mua (one of the most popular ones in the world)

Even does a video with you where he lets you do his makeup? And it ends up being one of your more popular videos.

And then he does a video where he tries to do your makeup and he does a terrible job but you just end up laughing.

He see’s a tutorial “how to make your girlfriend a makeup bench” on youtube and tries to make it for you, almost staples his hands and ends up getting sawdust everywhere.

And ends up asking for your help picking glass out of his hand- he broke a light bulb.

And you’re torn between being serious about the glass or laughing over his pout- because he really wanted it to be a surprise but he’s in so over his head as he has zero experience in carpentry

You think it’s so sweet that he would try to make it himself instead of just buying it for you.

Harmonizes with you when you sing in the shower- no matter what song it is- even if it’s let it go from frozen he’ll put Elsa to shame.

Sings you to sleep at night when you can’t sleep.

He’s also one of those boyfriends that’s just a stereotypical gentleman

Always holding open doors for you, hand on the small of your back, offers to carry everything for you

It’s not a misogynistic thing he just does it because he just wants to treat you how you deserve.

Proposes to you on your first anniversary, “I might not be good at making things, but I know something that was made for me when I hold it. I was made for you and you were made for me- I’m sure of it, there is not a woman in the world who could make me happier.”

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rkyohan-blog · 5 years

Text

* what does the ghost say?

halloween starter for @rkjinhyuk !

yohan used to be a “creative kid”. as a pre-schooler, he was encouraged by his parents to express himself however he wanted to, leading to many masterpieces being found on different walls and surfaces of the house until his parents reigned him back a little bit. as his drawings became less scribbles and scratches and more shapes and recognizable facial features, they started to feature more and more on the family’s fridge. for a few years, the fridge stayed covered, until slowly some things started to come down and be replaced by more practical things, like a white-board to-do list, motivational poster magnets, the cool bottle-opener-slash-wine-screw shaped like a duck that came in dad’s stocking one year. his mother always told him that they still kept everything, in a very special box up in their room. little philip didn’t really care much as he got older, instead finding more enjoyment in keeping stuff in his own sketchbooks. of course, for a while he still showed off pretty much everything to his parents seeking validation in ooh’s and aah’s but eventually, when doodling was no longer a popular thing for a middle-school star athlete to do, he stopped caring.

he eventually grew out of the whole visual art thing entirely -- well, he took one class in high school, but switched into the health and fitness class at the encouragement of his friends -- and his creative side was buried deep underneath dreams of hockey championships and trap beats, left about a hundred pages back into the half-filled sketchbooks that sit rotting in yohan’s anchorage-based storage unit.

it’s been a long time since he’s put any creative effort into a halloween costume. besides all the partying, there hasn’t been much in it for him when it comes to halloween since he became too old for free candy; though he secretly admired people’s costumes; it wasn’t cool to get super decked-out in sfx makeup for halloween in high school unless you were, like, an art or theatre kid. yohan and his popular friends typically flexed their non-chalance and innate coolness by wearing as little as they could get away with to the halloween parties.

he doesn’t look back on it fondly. almost every year, his friends would bug him to dress up as PSY. which, looking back on it, was pretty weird and kinda rude, but yohan didn’t think much of it at the time besides being mildly annoyed when his classmates would ask him to sing the song and yohan would have to tell them each time that he doesn’t actually speak korean and literally, if you try to sing it you’ll still probably pronounce it better. on god. ( that wasn’t entirely true. by then he’d gone to korean school for a little while and actually secretly enjoyed the hell out of it, but he always felt uncomfortable talking about it with the more well-meaning, but ignorant of his classmates. )

his costumes have graduated from sunglasses and suspenders, at least, but when he can get away with not wearing anything special, he will. yeah, he has ideas, yeah, he’s a little jealous of how confidently people walk around on halloween night decked out in even the most riduclous costumes, horns reaching like five feet in the air and capes trailing behind them and the like. every halloween night, he thinks okay i’m tired of being lame, next year i’ll do something awesome, but every halloween morning, he realizes he’s forgotten that he wanted to care again and he winds up throwing on a shirt that he already has and coming up with something on the fly.

and thus, he’s settled on Alvin again, which is actually not a terrible costume when he actually has the other two chipmunks with him, but he doesn’t at the moment. yugyeom is going to be theodore, and apparently they’re stealing a dog? but for now, he’s just a tall boy in a regular red sweater with a yellow cardboard ‘A’ taped to it, and hasty eyeliner ‘whiskers’ beside his nose. he’s shown up to this event mainly to see what goes on, as he didn’t really research any of the information beforehand, he wanders around a bit, eyeing the food -- but not for too long, the jell-o brains make him feel a little queasy -- and then stands for a while beside a small group of zombies, opening up his phone to scroll through his apps absent-mindedly.

a few minutes later, he hears someone clear their throat ahead of him, and yohan realizes too late that he has 8 white-contact-clad eyes staring at him -- a quick glance around and he realizes he’s accidentally been standing in line for... something. oh, fuck me.

“huh?” he says dumbly, cheeks heating.

“how many in your group? two?” the staff member is polite, but looks a little exasperated, gesturing at him, and then to his side.

yohan, still looking stupid, repeats himself: “...huh?”

one of the zombies pipes up politely: “we need groups of six to go in, so they’re looking for two people,” and it takes a second to see that the zombies are a 4-person group and yohan is standing directly after them.

“oh-- no, sorry, it’s just me,” he says, awkwardness clear in his voice. oh god, what is he even in line for?

in an attempt to figure out what to do, he looks around again, this time looking to his side and back a bit. immediately, his eyes land on the other person closest to him, the one that the staff lady thought was in his group or whatever. he gives him a once-over and a small nod.

"hey, olaf.” he turns back.

wait, olaf. i know that olaf.

“jinhyuk?” spinning around once again, his eyes widen, and he blinks several times. though his face smiles, his heart drops. happiness at seeing his old friend is very overshadowed by the guilt he feels when he's reminded of how long ago he meant to message jinhyuk to tell him he’s back... “hey man, it’s been a while, ahah--”

the voice of the attendant interrupts, tearing yohan’s attention back to the front of the line. “okay, so you’re both solo! perfect, you can both come on in,”

staring into the darkness of what he assumes must be a haunted house or something, he realizes that facing the people he’s ghosted is far scarier than any ghosts that these people could show him.

#( this . is way . too long . as always )#( i hope its okkkk )#rkjinhyuk #( * r: threads )#rkzombienight #( * what does the ghost say? )

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hati-skoll · 6 years

Text

Fuck(!) Divine Intervention (2/3)

[AO3] [Part One]

The astrals may denounce him an unruly, ungrateful bastard – and they're well entitled to their wrong and completely hypocritical opinions – but let it never be said that Ardyn Izunia (previously Lucis Caelum) is a sad, boring dullard of a villain.

If there's any bigger insult to the way they've ruthlessly stripped him of his birth right and cast him aside as one would soiled diapers, it'll be to pigeonhole him in the role of the pathetic, maniacal incarnation of pure evil, bent on total destruction for no reason other than just that. How trite. How mundane. How dreadfully lazy.

No, Ardyn's had centuries, twenty of them actually, to help that stuffy prick Bahamut set the stage for a brilliant grand finale. It will be glorious, a beautiful, tragic swan-song that'll go down the ages. But then of course, it only takes the gods ten minutes to derail the carefully crafted climax he's been meticulously planning for ten years.

"I see you're still struggling with human colloquialisms, my dear," Ardyn says, when Shiva appears in his office on the top floor of Zegnautus Keep, unannounced – no appreciation for locked doors, that goddess, "There's no shame in that, I consider modern language rather tricky myself. But I'm sure you meant to say, 'it's a pregnant moment', as opposed to 'he's pregnant'."

Shiva narrows her eyes at him, slighted by the correction no doubt.

Ardyn continues. "You see, the former would mean that you are emotionally invested in the outcome of your little King's pathetic struggling. And the latter would mean-"

"He is with child," Shiva says.

"Well, yes," Ardyn waits for Shiva to tell him he's right, waits for her to avail him with divine knowledge of whatever has brought her to his little shoebox of an office and when none of that is forthcoming, he resists the urge to stamp his foot. "He is a boy. How is he with child?"

"The oracle-"

"Put a baby in him?" It must be Jester's Day; the astrals must be playing an awfully tasteless joke on him, there must be some other reason for Shiva's visit other than the ludicrous notion that the Chosen King is pregnant, "I've always been under the impression that females carried the offspring."

"I'm afraid my brethren misconstrued Lunafreya's intentions when she prayed for life."

"They thought she wanted her husband-to-be pregnant," Ardyn says, voice uncharacteristically flat.

"By his lovers, yes, you can see how the vague wording allows room for misinterpretation."

No, no he doesn't see how the vague wording allows room for misinterpretation, not when Noctis is, for all intents and purposes, a boy – as in male, as in lacking the right organ for childbearing purposes hereafter referred to as a womb.

Shiva continues talking, perfectly reasonably as if the gods haven't just made the most colossal, imbecilic gaffe known to Eos in the past five centuries – only rivalled by the time one of Ardyn's own grandnephews thought it possible to drink the sea dry (he wonders how they've managed to keep their rule for so long). "I understand your agenda involves delivering the Chosen King to the crystal. Should you wish to see your plans to fruition, it would be wise to keep in mind that he is… less sturdy than you might have imagined."

"Can't you… magic the foetus away?"

"Not at the moment," Shiva says, "Not without great risk to the Chosen King."

And with that she vanishes. Without so much as a by your leave. How unspeakably rude. But then the gods were never one for niceties.

Right scoundrels they were, going around impregnating people and leaving others to deal with the repercussions, like… like deadbeat fathers! Oh, that was a thought. Ardyn almost feels sorry for his great-grandnephew. He may even be developing some unwilling sense of solidarity, since they're both being made to host foreign, life-draining entities in their bastardised bodies.

Between the two of them, they've a wailing bundle of petrifying, nightmarish terrors and… a fairly decent cacophony of daemons.

Ardyn is very nearly certain that Noctis has drawn the shorter stick on that count.

He spends the next couple of days corralling his scourge-infected and magitek underlings in the facility, because it won't do to have the Chosen King… expire from shock or whatever it was expectant fathers do.

It's a terrible pain, to have to rework his intricately planned masterpiece almost in entirety, but needs must. The Snagas will almost definitely have to go – they're notoriously dreadful at listening to instructions. There's a possible correlation with their scourge-shrunk stature and diminutive brain size, although there hasn't been enough research in the area to prove the theory factually sound.

He's right in the midst of sending those ankle-biters out when he's rudely reminded that Aldercapt and Ravus are inconsiderate buffoons who have the absolute worst timing ever. An altercation in the throne room, Shiva's disproportionate tits, on a weekend? They're not even paid for overtime!

Aldercapt sends Ravus flying a few stories down, just before Ardyn arrives on scene. The old man always had a flair for cheap theatrics, nothing as polished as the beautiful punchlines Ardyn delivers. But one can hardly expect perfection from a mere mortal, especially so deluded a one. Ravus is struggling to stand as Ardyn approaches him. And Ardyn briefly considers sticking to his original plan of ending the Oracle's line, but… the Chosen is now pregnant, and unfortunately, Ravus may still be of some use.

"At last you've arrived Noctis," Ravus says as Ardyn draws near. Hm, not very lucid, he's probably lost one too many brain cell in that fall. Maybe Ardyn ought to kill him after all. Let that annoying brat of a great-grandnephew find his almost-brother-in-law's corpse.

Ardyn calls a blade to his hand, before remembering that mood swings may be debilitating for pregnant mothers according to the internet, and they shouldn't be subjected to unnecessary emotional upheaval. Ugh. Bahamut's puny balls.

He dissolves the blade and offers Ravus a jaunty wave instead. "High Commander, I'm afraid I don't have the time to deal with your adorable little rebellion, if you could have it rescheduled to next week that would be just lovely."

"You-" Ravus starts, hackles rising, but it only takes a casual flick of his wrist, and the Oracle's boy slumps like a puppet with its strings snapped.

That ought to do it. Ardyn casually steps over Ravus' prone form, humming that incredibly catchy victory tune that's been stuck in his head for weeks- a veritable hit in the daemon's Billboard charts, that one, perhaps they've come to associate it with absolution. He none-too-gently prods Ravus with the toe of his boot and Ravus slides sideways, head thumping against the metal railing at an odd angle. The lad's going to get a crick in his neck sleeping like that. A terrible, terrible crick.

A pain in the neck for his pain in the neck. Oh, how delightfully, poetically evil. Slightly cheered, Ardyn heads back to his Snagas.

And then the Chosen King is on his doorstep, separated from his Shield, his Hand and his armiger, and looking rather miffed. Ardyn hasn't seen fit to dismantle the Wallbreaker Wave, not when one of his great-grandnieces somehow induced an early labour by warping too much. He is not about to take that risk with Noctis. This leads to Noctis flailing about and swearing like a sailor, when Ardyn recalls too late that in his haste to clean out the keep, he's swept all the extra daemons just outside their door, so the welcoming party for Noctis and his band of merry men is… a bit… much.

No matter, Noctis manages to tuck roll his way through the mess. Ardyn is reluctantly impressed, how is the brat not hurling yet? He's practically turning cartwheels and he's pregnant!

Thankfully, Noctis ends up in the somewhat safer confines of Gralea's imperial facility none the worse for wear, although clearly out of breath. Ardyn waits as his great-grandnephew pants and curses and pants some more, it goes on for about a minute- does pregnancy affect one's stamina? He'll have to search that up on the internet later. Assuming the servers are still operational. Although, he supposes it's just the extra weight around the middle that might throw someone off. But Noctis… Ardyn squints at the surveillance feed, hm… doesn't seem to be showing yet.

Oh, now he's dry heaving. And he's taken to abusing a trash can.

Ardyn's been expecting some moping, some tears maybe, but he hasn't expected a tantrum. "Step away from the innocent trash can, Your Majesty. I assure you it has nothing to do with your current affliction."

"It's just the flu," Noctis snipes, not very convincingly.

"Flu? Your Majesty, I'm sure you mean the morning sickness – very common symptom in the first trimester of your pregnancy. Do they not teach you these things in Lucis? What happened to all that extra government budget your father pumped into the education sector?"

"I'm not pregnant!"

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You-" Why is he arguing with the brat like an astral-forsaken five-year-old? Ardyn sighs, "Oh, you don't have to keep the bun in your oven under wraps, Shiva's told me in no certain terms that I'm to be mindful of your delicate condition."

"Bun in my- what?"

"The baby," Ardyn says slowly, "In your womb. Magical, astral-blessed womb."

Noctis is beginning to look rather pale again and Ardyn's about to politely suggest the brat visit the bloody toilet before he pukes all over Ardyn's shiny, clean floor when an awful, brilliant thought strikes him. "They haven't told you."

"They- You're lying!" the brat accuses – which is rather rude, really – but Ardyn sees the flicker of uncertainty on his face and he knows Noctis is slowly joining the dots to reach an altogether impossible conclusion. Oh, this is amazingly dastardly. It truly is. The astrals are simply masters at being callously cruel brutes. Ardyn's thought he's gotten the hang of their wicked ways, but no, no, the Six are just so effortlessly vile it's utterly spectacular.

"Why don't you put on that ring of yours, O Chosen King, and ask daddy dearest yourself?"

The brat makes a face like he's considering tossing the ring just to spite Ardyn, but his better sense eventually wins out, and he petulantly removes it from his pocket – oh such indolent disregard for millennia-old family heirlooms – and shoves it on his middle finger, pointedly at the camera.

He zones out for exactly eight minutes and thirty seven seconds.

After which, he's kicking the poor trash can with renewed vigour.

"You're not taking news of your pregnancy very well," Ardyn observes.

"I-" the brat starts, before doubling over and gagging with a hand over his mouth.

"Room to your right, first door on your left," Ardyn tells him and the brat actually listens for once.

He makes it to the toilet bowl just in time, regurgitating water and stomach acid. The brat ought to be grateful that Ardyn has had all the toilets cleaned spotless just prior to his grand entrance. But of course his pampered, cloistered great-grandnephew takes things like properly sterilised sanitation facilities for granted. And oh, fine, if Ardyn's giving him the benefit of the doubt, he may be a little too preoccupied with puking his guts out to marvel at the perfectly polished porcelain surface of that toilet bowl he's intimately making an acquaintance of.

"You know, this wouldn't have happened if you'd just kept your legs closed," Ardyn says as his pregnant great-grandnephew clings desperately onto the toilet bowl.

"Are you," the boy gags and coughs for several seconds before he continues, "slut-shaming me?"

Slut-shaming… he's unfamiliar with the terminology, but it's clearly a complex predicate of slut and shame, which makes it fairly self-explanatory. Noctis is a slut, and he's shaming Noctis – that seems accurate enough. He quite likes the word, actually. "Yes, I am."

"I'm going to kill you," the brat yells into the toilet bowl, "You tricked my dad, you hurt Luna, you stole our crystal, and now you're criticizing my sex life!"

"Oh astrals, do refrain from hysterics. It's bad for the baby."

Ardyn's supposed to be having the time of his life, watching the astral's pathetic Chosen scramble through Zegnautus' winding pathways like a rat in a maze, but instead, he's babysitting an increasingly testy, pregnant great-grandnephew, who's making excruciatingly slow progress because he's rushing to toilet every five minutes.

"I thought they'd invented this nifty thing called condoms. Apparently, you put it on your penis – or well, you have your lovers put it on theirs, since you're evidently not on the penetrative side of things – during intercourse and it prevents unplanned pregnancies. Also the transference of sexually transmitted diseases, a serious concern considering your obviously promiscuous lifestyle."

"Who's pregnant?"

"Why, you are," Ardyn sighs, "Is memory loss a symptom of your pregnancy or have the gods sent an idiot to fight for their cause?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Ardyn double-takes at the screen, belatedly realising that he has it switched to the wrong feed, so it's Noctis' paramours who are staring up at him through the cameras, from all the way on the other side of the keep, looking both mortified and aghast.

"Oh. Wrong number."

It's thoroughly satisfying to watch the confusion and horror dawn on their faces as they began to 'demand you tell us what that means, at once!' He's chortling to himself as he turns his attention back to Noctis.

"I may have accidentally let the coeurl out of the bag, so to speak – about your being pregnant, to your paramours."

"Paramours," the brat repeats, making a face.

"Ah, I forget you younglings speak in a completely different vernacular, I believe the term you use is 'main squeeze'."

The brat shudders and looks ready to vomit again. Oh, dear.

"The nearest toilet is down the corridor to your left," Ardyn supplies helpfully.

The brat glares at what he thinks is a camera, but is really just the automatic air freshener, and enunciates very pointedly, "Fuck you."

What an odd way of thanking someone. Honestly, the younglings' slang is growing more inconceivable by the day.

If anyone were to ask Ardyn what he considers the three most romantic words in all of Eos, his answer will likely be– no, not the entirely overused, plebeian 'I love you', he'll have to go with the much more unconventional, 'blast the astrals'. It perfectly encapsulates the passions of his vengeful, scourge-riddled heart. But at this precise moment, he'll make an exception and say, 'blast Gargantuas'. Which is only two words, but conveys his passions just as thoroughly.

He swears he's gotten rid of that Gargantua. Seriously, he has, right with that last group of axemen he shepherded out just the other day. But here it is, clumsily slashing at his pregnant great-grandnephew, who's now falling a hundred feet or so, oh good gods. Who in the name of Ifrit's burning asshole let that bloody thing in again? He'll find them and kill them, but they're probably already dead what with the chaos going on outside.

Nevertheless, this is an excellent time for Ravus to make an appearance. He knows he's kept the Oracle's boy alive for good reason. With a flex of his magic, he propels Ravus awake and up, while changing Noctis' trajectory through a stitch in time, just so that he'll land right… there. Right in Ravus' open arms, beautiful, he really couldn't have timed this better – only the force knocks Ravus off his feet, so they both end up skidding across the metal walkway for a few metres, before coming to a halt in an ungainly sprawl. Well.

At least Noctis appears to be properly cushioned by Ravus' fancy robes.

"Ravus?" Noctis groans, "You're hurt!"

Yes, clueless great-grandnephew mine, that's what happens when people fall from an indeterminate height, after which they're assailed by random kings falling from platforms of other indeterminate heights.

"My thanks," Ravus says stiffly as Noctis cracks an elixir over him.

Noctis shrugs – good gods, has no one taught this boy basic royal etiquette. "No problem. And, uh, thanks for catching me. And for keeping dad's sword safe."

"Now that we've all shaken hands and put the past behind us, perhaps we'd like to make haste back towards the elevator, preferably before Noctis requires another detour to the toilets," Ardyn suggests.

His great-grandnephew clambers up to his feet clumsily, oh dear astrals, he's not miscarrying, is he? Or throwing up? No? Ravus steadies the Chosen King with a firm hand on his elbow, just as Noctis waves an angry fist at… he's not sure what Noctis is waving his fist at, but it's about thirty degrees left to where the cameras are actually placed. "You said you'd cleared that floor of daemons, you liar!"

"I did," Ardyn sniffs, affronted, "I've no idea where that one came from. Stubborn thing. I just shooed it out two days ago!"

"I knew you can't be trusted."

Ravus looks at their Chosen King, and then at the cameras, before turning back to the fuming king at his side, and questioning, "Noctis?"

Ardyn rolls his eyes. "Oh, don't worry, he's the real Noctis, albeit an overly emotional Noctis due to the hormonal fluctuations that come with pregnancy."

"Will you stop announcing to everyone that I'm pregnant?" Noctis snaps, just as Ravus says, "I'm to be an uncle?"

Noctis gives him a look.

"Well, if you're pregnant, it stands to reason that the baby must be Lunafreya's as well."

"Tenebrae didn't invest much into sex education," Ardyn stage whispers over the speakers.

Noctis groans and makes a helpless sort of gesture at Ravus. "I'm a guy. Guys don't get pregnant."

"I know," it's Ravus' turn to sniff with affront, "But the gods will what they will, and my sister had been soliciting their blessings."

"Wow," Noctis says.

"Oh my," Ardyn says, "You're being remarkably level-headed about this, High Commander."

"I am of the blood of the Oracle."

Ardyn purses his lips, before adding gleefully, "Then you must know it is not the Oracle's child His Majesty bears."

"You have been unfaithful to my sister?" Ravus accuses.

Noctis glares at the not-camera, before making a face at his almost-brother-in-law. "Technically, yes, but wait, hear me out. I told Luna, before… before everything happened. And she encouraged me to-"

"Cheat on her?"

"I was going to say 'follow my heart', but if you want to put it that way… Well, yeah."

Ravus stares hard at him for several seconds, before sighing. "As much as I'd like to rake you over the coals, that does sound like my overly generous little sister. And you have always been rather naïve and impressionable-"

"Hey!"

"So it thus falls to me, your only living male family member, by marriage in spirit if not in name, to champion and reclaim your virtue from the knave who has so ignominiously trampled upon your trust and good faith outside the sanctity of holy matrimony."

"Knaves," Ardyn corrects, at his great-grandnephew's frustrated cry.

"Astrals," Ravus says, "I… am terribly sorry, Noctis."

"Why."

"For so many of your people to harbour designs on the purity of their monarch, and worse, to act upon those baser desires of the flesh, it is the gravest felony imaginable. Tell me who the riff-raff are and I shall deliver justice expeditiously."

"Uh, okay," Noctis stalls, "Yeah, um, you don't need to do that," Ravus raises a brow and Noctis quickly continues, "Because! Because… they, uh, the fall! Yeah, when Insomnia went down-"

"They ferried His Majesty away like the good paramours- ah, I mean, crownsguard, they are, in a fancy automobile dearly deceased Regis relinquished, to embark on an incredibly licentious road trip en route to His Majesty's wedding in Altissia."

Ravus snarls. "You have been canoodling with Scientia and Amicitia!"

"And the blond one," Ardyn says.

"Prompto," Noctis corrects, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

"A commoner is mayhap not taught to be reverent of his king's chastity, considering the state of Lucis' public education, but a nobleman has no excuse for such insolence!"

"I like them insolent," Noctis petulantly mutters.

"And for the matter, where are they?" Ravus huffs, "How are they to protect you, as is the duty of Shield and Hand, when they are not present and accountable?"

Ardyn takes that as his cue to hurry the duo along. They've spent far too much time arguing about the Chosen King's virginity – or lack thereof. But it's been so terribly amusing he'll have to forgive the delay in his timetable. With a few quick adjustments to several buttons and switches on the main console, he has a new path made available to the last scions of Lucis Caelum and Nox Fleuret. "Up the elevator, gentlemen."

Noctis and his paramours are reunited in a gloriously demonstrative, maudlin, sentimental episode that'll thaw the weariest of hearts – save for ones ravaged by daemons over two thousand years and counting, or ones set on protecting the questionably-existent virtue of the Chosen King. There are hugs all round, and several misty-eyed confessions, maybe a tear or two, slightly wet laughter and quiet, discreet kisses which fail to escape Ravus' unrelenting eagle eye.

The Oracle's boy holds out for all of nine minutes and fifty three seconds, just enough time for them to infiltrate the throne room, shut down the Wallbreaker Wave with extreme prejudice – honestly, great-grandnephew, what has that machine ever done to you – and trace their steps back to the hangar where Ardyn's originally planned a grand confrontation.

Seeing that Ravus is still alive and untainted by daemonic scourge, the confrontation has unfortunately been shelved indefinitely. Ardyn's mourning the death of his ingenious masterplan, when Ravus bursts out, "You… You three have impugned the King's virtue, and I am unable to hold my silence any longer."

Oh, this is… this is an acceptable substitute for the woeful, heart-rending battle that's supposed to take place. Ardyn leans forward in his seat and pulls up the feed across multiple screens. Now, if only he had some popcorn, but the downside to having devastated an entire city is the sad lack of easily available sweet treats.

There's a length of stunned silence, before Noctis' paramours rally around him.

"I assure you any act of intimacy between Noct, Gladiolus, Prompto and myself has only been completely consensual," Ignis Scientia says, slightly defensively.

"Yeah, he wanted his virtue impugned," adds Gladiolus Amicitia, to Ravus' mounting fury and his lovers' obvious exasperation.

"Not that there was any impugning at all, Gladio means," Prompto Argentum squeaks, "No impugning whatsoever."

But the damage is done, and Ravus points an armoured finger at them. "We will duel at dawn."

"I'm not sure if that'll be forthcoming anytime soon," Ignis mutters, and Ardyn finds himself unwillingly amused, ten points to Scientia. "What I mean to say is, Noctis' conduct is outside your purview, Prince Ravus, although your opinions have been duly noted."

"Outside my purview? He was to marry my sister, as his brother-in-law, I find it a mild concern that he is carrying another man's child!"

At that entirely explicit confirmation of Noctis' condition, the three fathers-to-be, defilers-of-monarchs, plunderers-of-royal-virginity gape at Ravus, then at their king's torso with varying looks of bewilderment and resignation.

"So Noct's really pregnant?" Gladiolus balks.

"I'm too young to be a dad!" Prompto wails.

"For once in my life, I'd like my suspicions proven wrong," Ignis says.

Noctis crosses his arms in front of his mildly swelling pecs – his great-grandnephew is going to start lactating soon at this rate – and pins them with an impressively stony glare. "If you don't want the kid, I can take care of him myself."

"Aw, of course, we want the kid, buddy!" Prompto quickly reassures.

"Yeah, we'll help raise the sprog, what sort of fathers do you take us for?"

"I would love any child of yours, Noctis, no matter who his or her other parent may be."

Oh, astrals, Scientia. No. Ardyn quickly grabs for the mic, poised to say something witty, or scathing, he's not sure, just anything to distract the brat before… oh, Ramuh's inappropriately sexy beard, now he's done it. The brat's blubbering like how the little menace pressing on his bladder is going to blubber, whenever they deliver him to terrorize all of Eos. Noctis reaches out to grab whoever's standing closest to him – which turns out to be his Shield – and hiccups. "I love you guys so much."

"We love you too," Prompto replies.

Then they're all holding him and petting him, with nary a care to the exceedingly chagrined Prince of Tenebrae not five metres away, or the impressively intellectual, illustrious Imperial Chancellor who's been guiding them the entire time they've been in this bloody keep, watching them over the cameras – which is terribly insulting, Ardyn thinks.

Titan's shapely butt-cheeks, now there's tongue – he doesn't need to see this – way too much tongue for a two-thousand-year-old great-granduncle, or well, any person remotely acquainted with any of them. Good gods, have some dignity, boys, you're the astrals' Chosen. "Gentlemen," Ardyn coughs into his mic, "You have an audience."

They're still kissing. Why. Why are they doing this? Gladiolus rucks Noctis' shirt up above his swollen nipples, and Prompto slides a hand in between their bodies to palm Noctis' arse. Ignis is placing reverent kisses along his king's jawline and down the line of his neck. Ardyn turns up the volume of his mic. "Boys, that's enough. We know that's how you made the baby."

Astrals, are they unbuckling his belt? And is Noctis smugly grinning at the cameras? He… He is. Oh, that infernal brat. Ardyn's absolutely had enough of this. He slams the heel of his palm down on the giant 'DO NOT TOUCH' button in the middle of the console, and all too suddenly, daemons flood into the hangar.

"Oops. Perhaps His Majesty should run along to the crystal while the rest of you clean up over here."

There is an expected amount of grumbling from Noctis and his paramours, although Ravus looks entirely grateful for the interruption. Clothes righted, his great-grandnephew speeds away to the hangar's exit and Ardyn feels an inexplicable twinge of worry at all that excess warping Noctis is using to get to the doors, while he prepares to leave for the crystal's chambers. Well, then, as amusing as it's been, they both have a long overdue date with destiny.

#ffxv #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #prompto argentum #chocobros #ardyn izunia #fanfiction

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