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vampzity · 3 months

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𝙔𝙤𝙪’𝙧𝙚 𝙈𝙮 𝙀𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜

Pairing: Idol! Jongho x f! reader

Genre: fluff, one shot, Valentine’s Day, pet names (babe, darling, princess, honey, my love), valentines series, mini idol au

Synopsis: It’s a romantic Valentine’s Day to spend with your beloved boyfriend, Jongho. He had the entire night planned for you. A nice candlelit dinner at an exclusive club. Little did you know what was in store for you on this fine night.

Now Playing: My Everything - Jongho (ATEEZ)

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: And we are finally coming to a close with the Valentine’s series! (even if it’s not February anymore) I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I did. Sorry this took so long! I worked so much (ateez isn’t gonna pay itself) & had school. I can’t wait to share more with you guys :))

*not proofread*

Wooyoung's Pt. Masterlist Main Masterlist

Hearing a few honks coming from outside, you grab your keys and small purse. You walk over to the mirror swiftly, checking yourself out one more time.

He has such a way with fashion.

You thought, admiring the silky wine-red dress that your boyfriend picked out for you. Of course, he didn’t stop there as he also bought a pearl necklace to match the white heels he bought you. You were a completely different person, unlike the one you normally see in the mirror every day. It made you smile and even brought you a new sense of confidence.

You made your way out the door of your apartment and cursed at yourself for not bringing at least a jacket. Sure it was Valentine’s Day— meaning you could dress as hot as you wanted, but it was still February. Still very cold.

“Cold, Princess?”

You looked up, your eyes meeting with your boyfriend who adjusted his glasses softly. He gave you a soft smile and opened the car door, grabbing a large bag from the seat. He walked over to you and grabbed your hand, assisting you down each step until you came to eye level.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Darling.”

He held out the bag in front of you, insisting you open it right there. Big letters were written on the side, making your eyes widen a bit as you read them.

“Coach??!! Jongho, I can’t accept this.”

He shook his head and grabbed your hands, wrapping them on the straps of the bag so he could let go. He gestured once more for you to open it, smiling towards you.

“It’s yours. No ifs, ands, or buts. You know I love to spoil you.” he spoke softly.

You blushed softly and nodded your head. You opened the gift bag and moved the black wrapping paper to the side, making a small gasp as you realized what was enclosed. Pulling out a cream-colored trench coat, you immediately fell in love. It was lined with white faux fur along the ends of the sleeves, as well as the collarbone and down the opening. Jongho grabbed the jacket from you and helped you put it on, giving you a minute to process. It was warm and well-fitted. It complemented you well.

Jongho always knew the right things to get you, even when to get them. You weren’t sure of how, but you were always unbelievably grateful for it.

“You look lovely, y/n. As always.”

Your face flushed red as he opened the passenger door to the car, gesturing for you to take a seat. Jongho closed the door and made his way to the driver's side. He took a seat, fastened his seat belt, and began to drive while placing a hand on your thigh. You felt your face heat up from shyness as your heart beat out of your chest. He caressed it slightly as he drove through the streets of the city, humming a tune softly to himself.

“Are you ready for tonight, my love?”

Jongho glanced at you slightly before quickly darting his eyes back to the road. Turning your head toward him a bit, you nodded smiling, curious as to what he had in store for you. The plan was a high-class restaurant that Jongho regularly goes to with his members but this time around, he finally wanted to take you.

You felt an immense amount of joy swell within your heart over this. How the date barely even started and he’s already done so much for you, from the outfit to the wonderful gift. Now a high-class restaurant? How could you ask for more?

You softly wiped your face with a napkin, taking another sip from the glass of wine that sat by your plate on the table. Jongho held your other hand from across the table, smiling happily at the performers on stage.

The performance ended with the sound of various claps and cheers filling the room. It was a lovely evening, many people took the stage whether that was simply background music or entire performances as a whole. You could see why Jongho had enjoyed coming here. Why he felt one with the music and performers that went on. Everyone had to start somewhere right?

“Hey, I’m just gonna use the bathroom real quickly, if that’s okay.”

You looked over to Jongho, slowly getting up from the chair. He smiled and nodded pointing to where the bathroom was. You walked over to him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, surprising him. His face quickly flushed red as it was usually himself who pursued public displays of affection.

“Thank you for what this night has been so far. I appreciate it Jjong.” You squeezed his shoulder softly as he beamed up at you.

Making your way towards the bathroom, you couldn’t help but notice the people around as you passed through. You knew how high-class this restaurant would be, but you never expected it to be this high. Many of the people who sat at tables were dressed head to toe in name-brand fashions, all with the highest quality fabrics. It made you a bit nervous to think if you were underdressed.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you opened the bathroom door and walked over to the sink. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you reminded yourself of who had gotten you your outfit. Jongho would never go out of his way to embarrass you. He only picks the best of fashion for himself, why wouldn’t he do the same for you?

You shuffled through your purse to find your lip gloss and begin to touch up your lips in the mirror. A few girls entered the bathroom, discussing amongst themselves the kind of the night they’d had. They quietly lit up cigars in the corner of the bathroom as you finished touching up the remainder of the makeup needed.

As usual, you remained aware of your surroundings, being observant of the girls standing by you. They both were relatively tall, maybe 5’7 and 5’9. One girl wore a long and tight black velvet dress, a black feather boa surrounding her arms. She had a short blond bob that fell just to her shoulders. The taller girl wore a light blue silky dress, two slits coming up the sides of her legs. She had long black waves coming past her shoulders, with curtain bangs framing her face.

“There’s one performance left, right?”

You began to place your makeup back in your small purse, turning on the faucet to wash your hands.

“Ah, yes I believe so! I hear it’s a good one.. rumor has it, it’s the masked singer who’s been performing every weekend!”

Your ears perked up at this sentence, unsure of if Jongho had ever mentioned a ‘masked singer’ to you. It sparked your curiosity and even pushed you a bit to ask the women who they talked about. Why hasn’t Jongho mentioned this to you? It was just a normal performance, right? So what was so special about it?

“What do you think he’ll perform tonight? I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. He would have to perform a romantic ballad right?”

You grabbed a paper towel to dry your hands as the girls continued to smoke in the corner. Walking over to the trash, you tossed the napkin in the bin and began to head towards the door. Of course, you didn’t want to intrude on their conversation, but most importantly, you didn’t want to reek of cigars.

The shorter girl shrugged in response, taking another hit from the cigarette, before turning to look at you. She noticed you getting ready to leave and called out for you, making you stop in your tracks.

“Hey, you! You came here with that guy right?”

You turned to them slowly and nodded your head, proceeding to twiddle with your fingers.

The girls smiled at you, making their way over to you. They looked at each other and tossed their cigarettes into the sink. The shorter of the two placed her hands on your shoulders, cocking her head at you.

“He comes here pretty often, you have a good guy! Doesn’t talk to anyone, especially girls, except his friends when he comes!”

She took a step back and admired you for a second before the taller girl began to speak. The taller girl rolled her eyes as she pushed her friend out of the way.

“Don’t take what she said the wrong way. Enjoy yourself, and enjoy your date. Anyone would be beyond lucky to have him and it happened to be you.”

The taller girl turned you around, pushing you towards the door.

“Now go!! You don’t want to keep him waiting, he’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long!”

Before getting a chance to say anything in response, you found yourself inside the restaurant once again. The lights were dimmed as people began to take their final seats and talk amongst themselves. Walking back to your table you heard small conversations of ‘the masked singer’ that you heard of previously. After that weird encounter with the girls, you too grew curious about who this 'masked singer' was. The more you hear about it, the more you hoped for the time to pass so that you could know. Not only that but as to why the women admired your boyfriend as closely as they did. Why they had admired the both of you tonight.

Was it just some weird coincidence that they happened to be in the same bathroom with you at the same time? That they just happened other recognize you just because you came with Jongho tonight?

Billions of thoughts clouded your head as you found your seat, only to find that Jongho was not there. You sat down and looked around, wondering if maybe he had stepped away for a bit, possibly using the bathroom too. However, he was nowhere to be found.

"Where did he go.?” You thought to yourself.

You grabbed your phone from your purse, sending him a quick text in hopes of a response. You didn’t like to be alone in a new environment for long.

You: “Jjong? Where did you go?”

You heard a small buzz coming from the table. Looking back at his seat, you saw his phone sitting by the glass of champagne, untouched. It lit up with a picture of both of you on the lock screen and of course, a text from you.

You sighed rolling your eyes as you put your phone down. Wherever Jongho was, you wished that he’d get here soon, as you didn’t want to be left alone. Especially in a place this big. You looked around one more time, feeling like a lost child in a supermarket as you hoped to see him approaching you from somewhere. Only to feel hopeless.

The restaurant grew silent as footsteps were heard walking onto the stage. A small light arose on the figure who stood on stage. He held onto the microphone that sat in the mic stand as he looked around the restaurant. Your eyes fixed on him; he wore a black and gold mask as if he were at a masquerade ball. His outfit was similar to Jongho’s, suit and tie with the white button down under the vest.

Your eyes widened at the realization. The outfit, the hair, the fact that he was not at all back to his seat.

That was Jongho.

A soft piano melody began to fill the entire restaurant as people tuned in towards the stage. It felt like a daydream hearing his soothing voice fill your ears. How silent the room was for him. How pleased your body felt to hear him. You knew Jongho could sing, but never like this. It was completely different. He hit every note so effortlessly, not even the slightest bit of strain within his voice.

The longer the song went on, you paid attention to every lyric. How well he pronounced them. However, it intrigued you. The more you paid attention to the lyrics, the more you began to realize that he was singing to you. It was only that clear, wasn’t it?

He locked eyes with you from across the room, smiling as he sang. You nodded in return, assuring him that you were listening not only to him but to every lyric that came out of his mouth. You held your face in your hands as you grew mesmerized by his singing. It was like you were being swooned by a siren. It seemed that Jongho was one. He lured you further in with his voice. Who wouldn’t react the same?

Your heart filled with love as you closed your eyes to take in the song. Slowing down what would be such a quick moment between you two. You knew Jongho loved you, dearly. He never failed to express that towards you. However, this time felt different. It felt like the first time.

The very first time he told you he loved you on that summer day. Where you both spent hours on the beach constantly pushing each other under the water. It’s a moment you constantly replayed in your head, only because it was so precious to you.

Jongho wasn’t one to normally express his feelings towards anyone, so it surprised you. And this? This greatly surprised you. For him to perform an entire song dedicated to sharing his feelings towards you, was surreal.

As the performance began to end, you shuffled through your purse, looking for tissues to pat your eyes dry. Rounds of applause surrounded you, as people whistled and even gave a standing ovation towards Jongho. It dawned on you knowing that this was something he did once every week. How the restaurant was always eager for his performances, why they talked amongst themselves about him.

“Tissue, my love?”

You raise your head slowly to see a small pack of tissues being held out in front of you. Jongho took out a piece of tissue and patted your eyes softly, careful not to ruin or smudge your makeup. You looked up at him as he smiled at you, feeling a sense of safety within him.

He took a seat in front of you and grabbed your hand, kissing it softly. Leaning in towards you, he locked eyes with you, leaving a small amount of space between you two. Your eyes widened at how closely he came to you. He tilted his head softly before opening his mouth to speak.

“Well? What did of think of my performance?” he asked.

Awaiting your answer, your face heated up from how closely he sat in front of you. Your eyes continuously darted away from his strong gaze, but you nodded quickly, as you didn’t want him to take it as you avoiding his question entirely.

"Good, you deserve it. Remember that for me okay, princess?"

You smiled and nodded softly, looking away from him.

He placed his hand under your chin, cupping it. Moving your face to meet his, he leaned in a bit which caused you to do the same. You two shared a passionate but short kiss, leaving Jongho to place small kisses on your cheek and forehead right after.

Getting up from the chair, he grabbed your things and held a hand out for you to take, signaling that it was time to leave. You put back on your jacket and grabbed his hand, making your way out of the restaurant and back to the car. Jongho held the door open for you as you got in, placing your purse on your lap. He walked around the car and came over to the driver’s side to take a seat. Closing the door, he fastened his seatbelt and started the car while putting a hand on your thigh.

“I love you.”

You looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. He remained facing forward with a small smirk appearing on his face. Your face flushed red as you placed your hand over his, giving it a small squeeze. He turned to face you, his smirk now turning into a gushy smile.

“I mean it, y/n. I really do love you, with everything in me.”

You brought your hand up to his face and caressed it softly with your thumb. You titled your head at him as he rested his in your hand.

“I love you too Jjongie. Thank you for everything today. It means so much.”

You paused and placed a soft kiss against his forehead, going back to holding his hand on your lap. He sighed in relief and glanced at your features once more before preparing to start driving.

“You’re my everything,” he spoke, squeezing your hand subtly.

divider creds: @cafekitsune

A/N: i’m SOOOO sorry for how long it took to upload this! It was a very stressful 3 weeks to say the least 😭. But we’re finally done! I hope you guys enjoyed. I will be working on more content soon❤️ leave requests if you when any!

taglist: @skzline @evidive @kittykat-25 @amuromio @xoxkii @losrpark @classyrbf @sundaybossanova @owmoiralover @vrtualsins @sanslovesblog @honeyhwaaa @mingisbbokari @scarfac3

*comment to be apart of future taglists!*

#—♡vampzity #—♡︎vamp’s valentines #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez atiny #ateez oneshot #kpop #ateez fluff #atiny #fluff #ateez jongho #jongho x reader #choi jongho

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ange-la-ange-ootd · 3 months

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Feeling scatterbrained recently.

A la Carte Tea Time Salopette - Angelic Pretty Bat Lace Underskirt - Lady Sloth turtleneck top - Big Bud Press beret - handmade bow & necklace - Liz Lisa a little tied up earrings - Kikay matrixxx shoes - YRU

[ID: A bittersweet lolita fashion coordinate. The main colors are black and coral pink. The main piece is a sweets-themed black jumperskirt with donuts, cookies, strawberries, bows and hearts. It's layered over a coral pink short sleeved turtleneck top and paired with black tights and black platform sneakers. The accessories include a beret decorated with a burgundy girly kei style bow, a faux pearl and heart charm necklace, white bow earrings, and a grey scrunchie worn as a bracelet. A close-up photo shows the dress print, accessory details, and an anime character nui plush keychain attached to a grey mini backpack.]

#ootd #outfit #jfashion #angelic pretty #egl fashion #bittersweet lolita #casual lolita

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ollieofthebeholder · 7 months

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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 71: March 1998

Gerard likes to think of himself as reasonably fluent in Latin. At the very least, he can translate a good number of the texts his mother puts in front of him these days, and he’s written out his fair share, too, and they’re more or less understandable by anyone with a working grasp of the language. His pronunciation is decent and, when his mother reads aloud to him, he can usually comprehend it well enough.

He has, however, no clue what the old man in the frock coat is saying.

Well, that’s not…entirely true. He’s following along, for the most part. But it’s just off enough that it’s like the guy is speaking a different language. At the very least it’s a dialect he’s not familiar with, and does Latin even have dialects? He supposes it must have, at one point, just like every other language does—the Roman Empire was big enough, and lasted long enough, that there must be variants all over the place—but he’s never learned anything but the scholarly, textbook variety, and he’s not sure what’s going on.

He realizes he’s focusing on something supremely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. If he worries about how the man is saying what he’s saying, he doesn’t have to think about what he’s saying, or why he’s saying it. He can pretend everything is normal.

To his left, Melanie stands unusually still for once. Her black crepe dress with the white lace collar fits her way too well to have been recently purchased—Roger almost always buys things Melanie is going to grow into—but her patent leather Mary Janes must be new, since he’s never seen them before and they’re far too shiny to have been worn much; they haven’t even picked up much of the dirt. She’s taken her hair back with a faux pearl clip, silver stars wink in her recently pierced ears, and at her throat is a cameo necklace on a black velvet ribbon. Her face is drawn and pale, and she’s clutching an honest-to-God handkerchief trimmed in lace, which might have been white once but is currently the same ivory color as the cameo. She stares straight ahead, not moving, except for the fingers that keep twisting and twisting the handkerchief.

Gerard’s eyes rove over the crowd. It’s mostly older people, a few people he recognizes vaguely from seeing around the neighborhood and one or two who’ve come to Pinhole Books on occasion, but for the most part they’re all completely unknown to him. (He’s learned by now not to use stranger in a benign context.) Roger, standing on Melanie’s other side, seems to be polishing his square spectacles rather a lot, and Gerard’s not about to look at his mother, because he doesn’t want to know what she’s looking at and doesn’t want to get in trouble if what she’s looking at is him.

Unfortunately, that only leaves him two places to look.

He lets himself, reluctantly, look at the folding chair placed just ahead of them. It’s almost entirely empty, except for two figures. Aunt Lily has gained back some weight in the last year—a lot of weight—and now has to use a cane everywhere she goes; her hands, covered in black kid gloves, are folded neatly over the carved wooden handle, except when she raises one to cough discreetly into a handkerchief—like Melanie’s, except hers is trimmed in black. She honestly looks like she’s just stepped out of an Edwardian fashion plate in a magazine instructing people on proper mourning attire. For fuck’s sake, she even has a hat with a veil.

Of course Martin stands next to her, slightly behind her. He looks smaller than usual, like he’s crumpled in on himself. His black suit jacket is just a little too big for him, hanging loosely on his shoulders and covering half of his hands, but he’s finally grown into the Norfolk cap he’s owned as long as Gerard has known him. Because of where he’s standing, Gerard can’t see anything else, but he knows he’s wearing a pair of too-long trousers that cover his smart black school shoes. He can, however, see his face, and it makes his heart hurt. It’s beyond upset, beyond even devastated. Martin looks…lost.

Gerard looks away, and of course in doing so his eyes lock onto the box just behind the priest. For some reason, the box bothers him more than Martin’s face, even though it’s closed. Maybe especially because it’s closed.

He keeps telling himself the old man isn’t really in there. That it’s just a box, containing an empty shell. That they know the old man is dead and beyond the reach of the Fourteen. The body he viewed last night, dressed in a dove grey wool suit and fingers folded over the rosary his parents brought from Poland, isn’t really the man they all knew, it’s just a husk. That man is gone, somewhere they won’t see him for a long time, if ever. Gerard isn’t terribly sure what kind of an afterlife there is, if there even is an afterlife, and he’s not sure he’ll ever earn a place in the same afterlife as Alastair Koskiewicz if there is. But wherever it is, it’s somewhere better than this, it has to be.

It doesn’t help much.

It’s not just the fact of the coffin, the idea of being shut up in a box and dropped in a hole and covered in dirt forever and ever, and how horrifying it would be if he wakes up and can’t get out. Gerard’s read stories about that happening and it’s kept him up at nights sometimes, although not as often as thinking about the casual comment Martin made when they first met (why didn’t he ever tell Alastair about that, why hasn’t he told someone, is Martin still being punished like that, what if Martin wakes up in that coffin someday). It’s the whole fact of him being dead. Death is one of the Fourteen, after all, so even being dead doesn’t mean he’s completely safe. Gerard’s not sure how that works and he’s kind of afraid to ask.

Tiny cold fingers slide into Gerard’s, and he squeezes back on instinct. That’s all Melanie needs, apparently, and she clutches his hand so tight he almost expects his fingers to pop off. For a skinny little twig like she is, she’s got a really strong grip.

The priest recites a phrase, and even if it doesn’t sound exactly like how Gerard learned it, he at least knows what it means: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He then nods and gestures at the coffin.

Six men, five strangers and Roger, step forward and each take a handle of the coffin, then carry it over to the hole. A man, probably an employee of the cemetery, directs them, then signals for them to let go. For a moment, the coffin rests on a series of straps before the pallbearers lower it into the ground.

At his side, Melanie gives a low whimper and turns away for a moment, pressing her handkerchief to her lips, before straightening and facing the grave again.

At another signal from the priest, Aunt Lily hefts herself to her feet and limps forward, Martin trailing after her. She takes something from the priest and throws it into the open grave, then steps back. The priest beckons to Martin, who also comes forward and hesitantly lets something fall from his hand into the grave. Unlike his mother, though, he doesn’t stand back, just stays where he is. The priest ignores him in favor of finishing the ceremony.

Once the final amen is said, the crowd drifts away from the graveside and back towards the road, probably intent on heading back to the old man’s house, where a reception has been laid out. Roger moves over to assist Aunt Lily to her feet, and she leans on both him and her cane as she struggles forward. Gerard’s mother focuses on an awkward-looking young blond man standing off to one side, gives a sharp, sweetly poisonous smile, and heads in that direction. Martin remains where he is, staring down into the grave, even as the gravediggers uncover the pile of dirt under the tarp and begin spading it back into the hole. Gerard can hear the rattle as it rains on the lid of the coffin. Melanie flinches at the sound, then suddenly yanks her hand out of Gerard’s and rushes over to Martin’s side, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

He doesn’t react. Gerard’s heart constricts.

Hesitantly, he crosses over as well and puts one hand on Martin’s shoulder and the other on Melanie’s. He’s taller than both of them, for now anyway, tall enough that he can look over their heads and see into the grave as the smooth, polished wood gradually disappears under the dry, brittle soil.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to steer Melanie and Martin away. “Let’s get back to the house.”

Melanie starts to come without too much resistance, but she stops dead in her tracks when Martin doesn’t budge. He keeps watching as the coffin is slowly but steadily obscured.

He’s not crying. Gerard doesn’t like it. He understands Melanie—he’s never seen her cry, no matter how upset she gets—but Martin wears his heart on his sleeve, and the fact that he’s not crying for his grandfather is…worrying. As is the way he’s just…staring at the hole, and the box.

“Martin,” Gerard says, a little more insistently. He holds his shoulder a little tighter, shakes him a bit, trying to get his attention. The fact that Martin still doesn’t react scares him more than he’s willing to admit, and before he can stop himself, he slaps the younger boy across the face. “Martin!”

Martin jerks and stumbles back from the edge of the grave. Gerard takes advantage of him being off-balance to grab his arm and drag him away; Melanie loops her arm through his other one and helps, although she’s not much help. Actually, Gerard has to admit that if Martin wasn’t already off-balance, he wouldn’t be able to move him either. Martin is chubby, to put it politely, and probably weighs as much as both of them put together, and he can be quite difficult to move when he wants to be.

The village cemetery is probably a good mile from the house, but most of the cars have already left by the time they manage to wrestle Martin to the road. Gerard reckons that’s probably not the worst thing in the world—the walk will do them good—but before he can even bring that up, a woman comes over to them. She looks to be about the same age as Gerard’s mother, a sweet-faced woman whose thick braid of hair is more white than black but whose dark blue eyes shine with innocence, and she’s dressed in a black skirt suit that looks more like an everyday work outfit than something bought specially for a funeral.

“It’s Martin, isn’t it?” she says in a soft, gentle voice. Martin recoils, shrinking back, a naked terror suddenly replacing the half-blind look that was in them before, but nods once. The woman doesn’t seem to notice his fear. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather, dear. I used to work with him a long time ago. He was a very, very good man.” Turning to Gerard, she adds, “And of course, you’re Eric’s son, aren’t you? Gerard? We used to be colleagues. I was saddened to hear of his passing.”

Passing. Like it was an easy thing and not the work of his mother and a pair of hedge clippers. Gerard swallows down that response and only says, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Turning to Melanie, the woman’s smile softens. “And who are you, sweetling?”

Melanie surprises Gerard. She looks up at Martin briefly, then back at the woman, but doesn’t answer. Gerard figures she’s just shy for some reason, or too upset to talk, and steps in. “This is Melanie. She’s our friend. Her dad was one of the pallbearers.”

“Of course, of course. Are you a friend of the family, then?”

Gerard starts to answer, but Melanie shakes her head and pulls on Martin’s arm. “Gerry, you know we’re not supposed to talk to strangers. C’mon, let’s go home.”

“Oh!” The woman gives a silvery laugh, then instantly sobers. “I’m so sorry, I forgot entirely! Of course none of you know me. My name is Emma.” She looks around the parking lot and adds, “It looks like everyone else has left already. Why don’t I give you a ride back to the house?”

“No.” That single word, laden with terror and cracked with tears, explodes out of Martin’s mouth as he takes a step back. It shocks Gerard, who suddenly realizes it’s the first word out of Martin’s mouth since Alastair died, but also because Martin is never rude to grown-ups. Or anybody, really, but especially not grown-ups.

He’s right, though. Gerard was on the verge of accepting the ride, but it dawns on him just how stupid an idea that is. They don’t know this woman, and for all she claims to know both Martin’s grandfather and Gerard’s father, they can’t prove she actually does. Did. She could be trying to kidnap them, or worse.

With that in mind, Gerard tosses a hasty, “Thank you, ma’am, nice to meet you!” over his shoulder as he heads up the block, arm still looped through Martin’s. It’s hard to say who’s dragging whom.

It takes them almost half an hour to get back to the house. The drive and street are clogged with cars, including the one belonging to the woman called Emma—so at least she’s actually here—and a few shadowy figures pass by the windows. Gerard figures they’ll slip inside, grab a plate each, and find a quiet corner to tuck into.

Martin surprises him again. He bypasses the house entirely, sliding his arms from Melanie and Gerard’s without a word, and makes straight for the grove of cherry trees, currently bare and only just beginning to think about budding; they won’t flower for at least another month. He doesn’t stop there, either, just reaches up and seizes a low-hanging branch and hauls himself into one of the older and sturdier trees. Martin might be plump, but he’s strong.

“Martin! Jesus.” Gerard looks at Melanie, who gives him a worried look in reply. Bowing to the inevitable, he goes over to the tree with her and boosts her up. Once she’s managed to pull herself onto a branch, and while she’s trying to figure out how to climb a bit higher to reach Martin, Gerard turns and heads back into the house.

For a wonder, he manages to elude both his mother and Martin’s, retrieve a few snacks he can secrete in his jacket pocket, and slip back out again without anyone being the wiser. Getting himself into the tree is harder, but with the assistance of the split-rail fence and a bit of effort he manages it. Martin has climbed as high as he possibly can before the branches won’t hold him anymore, and Melanie has managed, with some difficulty, to get just a couple branches below him. Gerard makes his way up to join them, then fetches the food out from his pocket and passes some to Melanie and some to Martin. He takes it mechanically, but doesn’t eat.

Finally, Gerard breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for telling that woman your name, Neens.”

“I don’t mind. She knew yours and Martin’s, it’s only fair she knew mine, too. I just wasn’t going to talk to her.” Melanie peers up at Martin. “You didn’t like her, did you?”

Martin shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. The sausage roll hangs from his hand, and he’s staring vacantly at something far away. He looks a lot older than nine years old and Gerard doesn’t know how to fix it.

Before he can figure out what to say, or even if he’s going to say anything, he hears voices and looks down. The woman from the cemetery is passing under the trees—which she has no reason to do, they’re not between the house and the cars—along with two other people, neither of whom look so old. Gerard can’t tell genders from this angle, only that one has curly blond hair and the other has sandy brown shingled hair. They’ve obviously all been at the funeral, or are trying to blend in with it, and are apparently mid-conversation.

“—know him?” a man’s voice asks. “I guess she must have, if you did. Shame she couldn’t come.”

“She’s very busy.” The older woman’s voice doesn’t quite have the same soft, gentle tones it did when she was speaking to the three of them, but it still sounds very sweet and pleasant. “That’s why she sent us, to pay her regards.”

“I have to say,” says a woman’s voice, “the, er, bereaved didn’t seem particularly upset.” The person with the shingled hair stops and puts hands on hips, so Gerard presumes she’s the one speaking. “Not until you mentioned the Institute, anyway.”

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” the man says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I—I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I mean, if her father worked there…”

“Worked, past tense,” the unknown woman points out. “Why did he leave, anyway, Emma?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma says, a bit vaguely. “It was so long ago—it wasn’t very long after I started working for Gertrude myself.”

“Was he in the Archives, too? Did he know Eric?” The man’s voice is a bit eager.

“Gracious, no, not the Archives. Alastair was a practical researcher. You’ll find his name on several of the catalog entries for the older artifacts, if you know where to look.” Emma sighs. “But yes, he knew Eric, too. And Fiona—you never met her, of course, she sadly passed away before your time—”

“Didn’t I get hired to replace her?”

“—he was always so patient with her. The rest of us thought she was a bit of a fuddy-duddy, honestly, but I suppose she reminded him of his own mother.”

“You must have known him well,” the unknown woman says shrewdly.

Emma shrugs. “Not very, honestly. As I said, we were in different departments. He usually brought down information for Gertrude from the other departments, and they’d chat a bit, but I was always so busy I never had much time.”

“Ms. Robinson must have been busy, too,” the man says, sounding defensive.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t, Michael dear. Only that I didn’t make the time to make as many connections as she did.” Emma sighs—a bit theatrically, Gerard thinks. “It’s something I regret in my old age.”

“You’re not old.” Michael, or at least Gerard assumes he’s Michael, touches her arm urgently. “You’re still quite young, honest.”

Emma laughs that same silvery laugh. “You’re so sweet.”

Michael sighs. “You know who I feel bad for, though? That little boy. Is that—was that Alastair’s grandson?”

“Yes, that’s Martin. I wanted to speak a bit more with him, but he’s understandably upset. He must have loved his grandfather very much.” Emma clucks her tongue. “The poor little thing.”

“His grandfather loved him, too,” the unknown woman says. “I didn’t see a single picture of his mother anywhere in that house, but that little boy was all over it.” She sighs. “Come on. We’d best be getting back. I’ve still got to follow up with a couple of people.”

They move off, and for a few moments, there is complete silence. Then something wet hits Gerard’s hand. He looks up and sees Martin, still staring fixedly ahead of him, but with big, fat tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Martin.” Abandoning safety, sense, and sausage roll, Melanie pulls herself to a standing position and lunges forward to wrap her arms around Martin’s middle before Gerard can tell her be careful. She buries her face in his side and just holds on for dear life.

“I can’t remember his face,” Martin says, his voice small and fragile and choked with tears. “I, I didn’t—Mum said, she said I wasn’t allowed to look if I couldn’t see on my own and, and I was too short, so I didn’t see him last night, there was just the picture, but he was so young, he wasn’t—he wasn’t finished. It wasn’t his face. But I can’t remember what he looked like. He loved me so much and I can’t remember his face…”

Gerard swallows hard. He can empathize with that, a little, anyway. He barely remembers what his own father looked like, and…well, he assumes his father loved him. He remembers loving his father, anyway. Martin’s had nine years with his grandfather and only just lost him. That has to be disconcerting.

He could describe it to him. Tell Martin what his grandfather looks like. He could also reassure him that even if he had been able to look into the coffin last night, it wouldn’t have looked like his grandfather, not with all the makeup and the weird slackness that death adds to a face.

He doesn’t. Instead, he puts one hand on Martin’s leg and the other on Melanie’s waist and summons up every ounce of authority and assurance he can.

“You don’t have to,” he says.

Martin blinks and looks down at Gerard. “Wh-what?”

“You don’t have to remember his face,” Gerard repeats. “Is that what’s important? Or is it important that he loved you, and you love him? You can remember what he sounded like when he told you stories or taught you poems, right? What it felt like when he hugged you? What the cherry pie he made specially for you smelled like?”

“Yeah…?”

“Then that’s what matters. Faces change. Yours isn’t finished yet either, or mine, or Melanie’s, and if you didn’t see us for years and years and then one day you saw us again, maybe you wouldn’t remember what we looked like, but you’d remember we’re your friends. Love doesn’t have to look. Love just has to be.”

Melanie and Martin both stare at Gerard, who tries not to look embarrassed. He’s almost twelve, and love isn’t a word he throws around a lot, but for these two, he’ll do it. He’s never had a brother or a sister, but he feels like he’s got one now. And Alastair treated him like another grandson. He’s, he was, a good man, and Martin deserves to not feel bad for remembering him in whatever way he does.

“Besides,” he adds, to lighten the mood a little bit. “He looks a lot like a cross between your mum and a bulldog with big dangly jowls and a walrus mustache. You don’t want that image in your head all the time.”

It elicits a tiny giggle out of the other two, and Martin starts to wipe his eyes with his sleeve before Melanie hands him her handkerchief. “He’s right,” she tells him. “Not about your granddad, not exactly, but—I don’t remember what Mama looked like either. Not really. The only picture I’ve got of her is from after she got sick, and that didn’t look like her really either.”

Martin dabs at his cheeks. “But…but what if I do forget?”

“Then we’ll remind you,” Gerard says. “That’s what family is for, right?”

At that, Martin finally smiles and nods. “Yeah. That’s what family is for.”

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#gerard keay #martin blackwood #melanie king #martin blackwood's mother #death #funerals #burial #implied/referenced child abuse #mention of murder #forgetfulness #grief

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skylineheights-if · 11 months

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Florence Kade - 21 - Kind - Candid - Outgoing

"I've never really had a best friend before. People tend to get to know me and decide that I'm too much for them."

x ... x | Pinterest

➳ Cult Leader - King Mala x

➳ Boyfriend - Dove Cameron x

➳ Palm Reader - Dreamers, Big Boi, Upsahl x

With her radiant smile and vibrant personality, one would assume that Florence Kade is surrounded by a large circle of friends. Unfortunately, the reality is far from that. Her straightforward and assertive nature often rubs people the wrong way, a fact that she is acutely aware of and feels self-conscious about. Nevertheless, she refuses to dim her inner light, holding onto her mother's wise words: "Anyone who truly deserves to be a friend won't be bothered by it."

Florence grew up in a loving household with both parents and two 14-year-old twin brothers. However, their family was struck by tragedy when her mother passed away when Florence was only 17. Healing from this loss took a significant amount of time for them.

Despite her warm and welcoming nature, Florence can initially be shy when meeting new people. It's a result of numerous past friendships that didn't work out, but once she feels comfortable, she quickly opens up.

One distinctive trait of this fiery redhead is her inability to hold back her opinions. She is known for speaking her mind, particularly when someone upsets her or harms her loved ones.

Appearance: 5'9", tan skin, deep green eyes and long, wavy deep auburn hair. Florence normally keeps her hair either braided or loose, depending on what she is doing and how she is feeling. Her wardrobe ranges from leggings and an oversized shirt/hoodie paired with Converse, to jeans paired with a blouse, heeled boots, cardigan, and several accessories. Her wardrobe is full of earthy tones and pastels, and it's a common occurrence to see her pair the two.

Florence has a faux pearl necklace that she inherited from her grandmother right before she passed away. She only wears it for very special occasions, being too scared that something will happen to it otherwise. Also has a pair of golden aviators that she will wear during the Spring and Summer, and swaps them out for a dark chrome pair during Autumn and Winter.

Likes: Sunlight, orange cats, tea, coffee, her friends, autumn, the ocean, butterflies, heights, astrology, tarot, crystals

Dislikes: Harlowe, negative people, sand, people who dog-ear book pages, grapefruit, kiwi, bullies, heartburn, fireworks, Christmas

Asks pertaining to her will be under #shif aa: florence

#interactive fiction #if game #interactive games #choice of games #interactive novel #choicescript #skyline heights #skyline heights if #cast #skyline heights: florence kade #shif cast #florence kade

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dysaniadisorder · 2 years

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[ID: eight traditional doodles of redesigns of danganronpa v3 characters. The first is Kaede, she has curly hair. She's wearing a pearl necklace, a blouse, a tie with a brooch, a tailcoat jacket, a frilly skirt with music notes, tights and mary jane shoes. The second is Maki, he has very short hair and scars. He's wearing a shawl with faux fur lining, black shirt, overalls, and high boots. He has a backpack on under the shawl. The third is Himiko, they have curly hair and freckles. They have on the galaxy hoodie from their beta design but they wear it as a cape, a witch hat with bunny ears on it, a frilly blouse with a black sweater vest, a skirt with frilly petticoats, and her canon boots but taller. She's holding the staff from their official art, and their hat has small charms hanging off of it. Theres a note pointing to them that just says 'tired'. The fourth is Miu, who has messier hair and tattoos. She's wearing heart shaped goggles with spikes, a cropped jacket, a zip up bodysuit with a heart zipper, the overalls from her beta design, and intense high heeled boots from her beta design. She has partially fingerless gloves and long nails. The fifth is Angie, who has vitiligo, and very curly hair with black roots. Sie has a large paint splattered jacket and a sleeveless bikini top Sier wearing sier regular skirt, but much longer, and sandals. There are hearts around her. The sixth is Tenko, who has very short hair tied back in braids. Her hair bow is tied to look like cat ears, and still has her choker with the bell. She's wearing a gi, the top has a floral pattern, and the pants have a cat pattern, and she has on socks with sandals. She's shown yelling, and above her is a note that just says 'catgirl'. The seventh is Kirumi. She wears a blouse with puffed shoulders, a tie, black vest, black knee length skirt with a spider web pattern, black stockings, and black dress shoes. She also wears black lipstick and a frilly black headband with a veil. The last is Tsumugi, who wears xeir hair in pigtails, and has big round glasses. Xe wears a short sleeved blouse with puffed shoulders, suspenders with lots of pins, a knee length dark skirt with striped stockings, and Mary Jane shoes. end ID]

The redesigns from this post by @insomniac-jay becuz. I couldnt resist. Angie is my favorite

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theoldvintageco · 1 year

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Goldtone Necklace Lot of 3, Vendome Flapper Chain, Coin Dangles, Pearl.

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itriedwritingandhereiam · 1 year

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I chimed in with a 'Haven't you people, closing the goddamn door?" ~ a miraculous fi

The skies couldn’t be brighter for the occasion. It was supposed to be rain scheduled for the afternoon but oh well, who could really trust the weather forecasting system? On the bright side, less rain meant the mood should be lighter.

Ha.

no.

“ Hah, ” the ravenette exhaled, staring up at the structure. ‘ This was ridiculous ’ she thought to herself as she stared down at her outfit.

She’d spent over two months on it which was quite some time, considering the plan itself had only been formulated three months prior. She’d exchanged the original blood red coat for a much paler shaded pink, silver shoulder pieces topped all off.. The vest below her silver accentuated coat was a dull grey, frills working their way up her neck from the white dress shirt below. And finally, was a pretty silver bow-tie around her neck. She’d better get her money’s worth from these clowns.

“Alright,” she looked down at her watch, “we have two minutes to reach inside before we’re considered fashionably late,” she grinned. With a gesture of her gloved hand, her companions enthusiastically walked ahead of her, the arched doors burst open. She just hoped her heels wouldn’t kill her during her number.

“Let’s go defang a snake,”

It's a picturesque location for the ceremony. A church standing tall and proud in its grandeur. The inner walls are decorated with themed gold ribbons and roses. With her d.i.y. cane in hand, she strutted down the main hall.

His leg was shaking as he stood at the altar. He’d managed to keep his shoe from making those tap-tap noises they were making before but now, he had the urge to wipe his brow as the priest was making his declarations. A piece of hair kept dangling in front of his eyes, refusing to stay slicked back like the rest of his hair and it was frustrating the hell out of him. Was it normal to feel butterflies on your big day? He didn’t do well with nausea.

Then there was his bride. His beautiful beautiful bride. Her bronze skin practically glowed as she smiled brightly at him. Her olive eyes gleamed in the light. The dress was, in his honest opinion, rather excessive. With a plunging neckline and low shoulder straps, the skirt flared outwards with a train at least seven feet dragging behind her. The entire bodice was covered in lace and intricate pearl beading, on her neck was what he would only assume was heavy, a large diamond embedded necklace, matching the flower patterned ones on her ears. Her hair was rather simplistic compared to her dress, in a neat braided bun, her veil attached to a tiara.

On the bride’s half of the benches were many faces he had yet to be acquainted with. What baffled him, was the complete absence of everyone he’d invited, (All of which accepted mind you)

The benches were barren and the present guests were becoming impatient.

Then the music started,it started off with an instrumental of strings. It echoes through the room and whispers follow.

“Oh…well imagine,” a sweet and hushed voice sounds.

The doors burst open and a collage of colours moved forward.

“What the fuck,” his bride cursed, sneering at the scene.

‘ There went composure.’ he thought, ‘Though Lila had always been hot headed,’

First, two pin-striped men on stilts ducked down and entered, bowing with tipped hats and walking forward.

“As I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor and I can't help but to hear, no I can’t help but to hear an exchange of words,” the singer continues.

Behind the men on stilts, two girls dressed in unitards cartwheel in. Felix squinted, trying to make out their faces at the other end of the room and Kwami bless him if he was wrong. The one on the right dressed in a black an white suit with a faux fur neckline was Chloe bourgeois.

“What a beautiful wedding!” the other exclaimed.

“ What a beautiful wedding says the bridesmaid to the waiter,” the original singer continues.

“And yes, but what a shame,”

Chloe poses, “what a shame the bride’s groom is a whore,” she grinned, feigning surprise and holding a hand to her mouth. Gasps arised from the seated crowd at the foul language and blatant insult. Even Felix's eyes opened widely at the proclamation.

Three more rows of pinstriped and unitards wearing folks danced into the hall and then confetti popped. The circus act parted and there, in the centre of the chaos stood a female figure with a top hat obscuring her face.

“ I chimed in with a ‘Haven’t you people ever heard of, closing the goddamn door?” she sang.

“No, It’s much better to look at these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality,” the second ‘trapeze artist’ added, unlike Chloe her face was completely painted with red and gold. Her costume follows the scheme with red ruffles in her skirt and gold accents.

“Oh…” her bee themed counterpart cuts her off.

“ Well in fact, ” the ringmaster removed her top hat. Below, hidden by wildly curled raven hair was a familiar parisian. Even from far, it wasn’t difficult to make out her exaggerated eyeliner and red lips.

“ MARINETTE?” Lila shrieked, her expression, horror struck.

“Marinette what are you doing,” Felix growled at the same time.

Much to his aggravation, she ignored his protest and continued her lyric, “Well, we’ll look at it this way,”

“I mean technically our marriage is saved,” one of the pinstriped men stepped out of the crowd, taking the ringmaster by her hand. He wore a comedy mask, Thalia was it called? And his attire was much more formal than the others. Behind the mask was untamed blonde hair and green eyes-

Fucking Adrien Agreste.

“Well this calls for a toast! So pour the champagne,” he pulled out a bottle from seemingly nowhere.

“So pour the champagne!” the crowd of hooligans repeated.

And on command, multiple bottles appeared in the performers’ hands and popped without warning.

It sprayed everywhere.

In a moment, the bride started crying .

“Lila-” Felix tried, his hand reaching out to comfort her, but she slapped his hand away and ran. She ran off the altar and through the side exit.

But. But! To his furthered despair, a man from her side of the benches jumped over the chair and ran after her. The English man just stood there, dumbstruck and bemused. Felix just looked at the crowd of circus themed intruders and cried, “What the hell are you all doing!”

The ringmaster walked towards him, all eyes on her. Staring into his despair-filled gaze she offered a lopsided smile. Then she grabbed his hand without warning and dragged him toward the door. Without word, she placed a finger over his lips and quietly creaked the door open.

“It’s alright Lila,” the man from earlier hushed her. Felix practically fumed at the sight of the two. The man, a tall brunette with the dullest grey eyes he’d seen to date, was embracing his bride-to-be while she cried into his vest. Felix watched silently as he caressed Lila’s cheek and pulled her in for a kiss.

“What a shame the poor groom’s bride is a whore,” Marinette shook her head disappointedly.

The lovers jumped apart in surprise.

“F-Felix?” the italian stuttered, scrambling to compose herself.

The blonde inhaled deeply and walked up to the two.

“ Felix I love you, ” he imitated.

“Fe-”

“ Felix you’re the only one for me, ” he ignored her.

“Please let me explain-”

“ Felix, Yes! OF course I’ll marry you! ” He sucked his teeth.

He stopped short in front of the stuttering green eyed snake and grabbed her hand, yanking off the ring she’d so boldly wore and walked away.

“Haven’t you people ever heard of, closing the goddamn door?” Marinette grinned at the lovers before running after Felix.

It took her a minute or two, but she managed to catch up with the groom. It wasn't hard to find a black-suited blonde in a park full of casually dressed people. He’d been hunched over on a wooden bench, wiping his eyes.

“Ello there,” (she cringed at her poor attempt at a British accent)

“Here to break my heart again Dupain Cheng?” he asked sarcastically.

The ravenette frowned and sat down next to him.

“Now that’s not fare, it was Chloe who called her a whore first,”

A choked laugh escaped his lips.

“I suppose so,” he hummed. Silence settled and Marinette decided to be bold. Taking off her pink coat, she draped it hopelessly over his shoulders (in retrospect, considering he was sizably larger than her, she should have known it wouldn’t fit)

Taking the coat tail, she wiped his face and-

“Goddamnit Felix you got makeup on my costume,” she cursed.

“No one told you to use it as a rag Dupain-Cheng,” he retorted.

She flicked his head in retaliation and pouted.

“And here I was trying to comfort you, I’ll have you know I spent two all-nighters giving this coat its flare!” he hummed in response. The two stared off into the scenery. There was nothing extraordinary about it, there was dull grass and the midday sun, one or two families in picnic blankets and kids running around. Somehow, Felix’s head found its way onto Marinette’s shoulder despite her being a head shorter.

“Take a nap vanilla-cracker, it’s the on and off switch of the human body,”

With a sniffle he replied, “I just might,”

Author's note: Hi Hi! so um, I wrote this on a whim and it's not beta read AND I'm not used to posting on tumblr, you can also find this on ao3. I'd love to hear your opinions on this short fic

#platonic felinette #felix graham de vanily #felix fathom #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #lila rossi #wedding au #ao3fic

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