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advernia · 4 years

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around june of last year, i decided to revive my writing blog as one of the many potential stress-relief methods i could think of.... i didn’t think i’d be able to keep it active for long since work + family duties keep me preoccupied most of the time, but eyyy!!! so far i haven’t lost the motivation to keep going back to this blog, and i even managed to keep it afloat for half a year!!! amazing!!! (•̀o•́)ง

and now here we are halfway through 2020!!! it’s waaaay overdue but here’s a big T H A N K Y O U V E R Y M U C H ! ! ! to everyone and anyone who dropped by this blog last year + all them likes, comments, reblogs...... please know that i’m still i n c r e d i b l y grateful for the support & interest in the content i’ve posted up!!!! tbh my activity’s still hella sporadic so it’s really amazing for me that i even gained new followers.... i’m very honored to have all of you stick around my blog despite my irregularity!!!!!!!! (༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ)

it’s also overdue, but i slowly managed and finally cleaned up the blog like i’ve been meaning to do + changed the blog name to match my ao3 handle for consistency!!! i make no promises to be super active... but i’m sure that i still want to continue writing & keep this blog alive!!!!

again, thank you all for your time + reading my works!!!!!! ∩( ´∀` )∩ work commentary on the rest of my works last year follows under the cut!

oct 1 // hero’s journey

a drabble on blanc + oliver about the alices... now that i think of it, calling the first alice first alice is kinda funny considering that alice is really her name... or is it?

i do hope blanc’s route talks about her a bit, haha! i mean, i wish cybird remembers that they’ve been dropping the occasional background tidbits about her... like for example, her pocketwatch (that she gave to blanc eventually) having a magic crystal engraved into it.... her potentially leaving a fucking globe in the black army’s possession (like... wow... u fell with that thing????????)....

plus, i just find it interesting that she was remembered by cradle as a heck of a troublemaker lol! it also makes you wonder who among the main cast met her, blanc aside... though it’s not stated when exactly she fell into cradle, so maybe only blanc had the opportunity of meeting her...

so does blanc speak of her fondly bc she’s a woman, or is there something else??? has he been frequently visiting the land of reason pre-game??? has he found the first alice’s antique shop / met her again??? does he still try to figure out the reason why there’s a magic crystal engraved into the first alice’s pocketwatch????? hmmmmm......

on another note, it would be hilarious if cybird pulls a peter pan 2......... since we can’t pull off a mother-daughter relationship like wendy & jane’s, what if alice the second is somehow actually related to the first alice?? and while she’s completely different from her predecessor, blanc finds himself falling for alice the second........ just like he fell for the first alice? drama!

that’s just a random thought but kidding aside, i do hope blanc’s route is hella interesting bc i think he’s our mr. exposition for knowing more about cradle itself lol

oct 1 // fair (?) ladies & phony (?) enchanters

a result of going manic a few days after seeing harr’s trailer + route release.... ahaHAHA I’M STILL WILLING TO PLAY UR ROUTE IN JP HARR (if i actually had time to sit down and translate gET REKT)

i liked writing these drabbles and i think they’re cute but tbh they did nothing to ease my curiosity about harr’s route.... if anything else, it became even w o r s e haha........................

if i think of blanc to have a cradle-centric route, i do hope harr’s route is magic tower-centric! naturally it will be since he’s got history there, but i hope a lot of my questions about the magic tower will be answered.....

will harr’s perspective of the magic tower be in the eyes of a test subject or a disciple???? he was scouted by the magic tower, but it wasn’t stated what he was doing exactly..... going by hints + loki’s & zero’s routes, it’s more of him being a disciple, so there’s bound to be guilt.......

hopefully alice’s characterization in his route is good + we get a fun group dynamic with loki!!! their potential.... the most(?) notorious criminal of cradle, a sought after test subject, and that one girl who nullifies all magic; a renegade trio lurking around the forbidden forest.... what an odd bunch!

oct 4 // god is a five minute hymn

a religious themed fic with lancelot & alice - tbh i don’t even know why religion was the first thing that came into mind when liz and i were talking about cultural differences, lol.

on that note though! i personally like thinking that if ever cradle had a semblance of a religion, it would be polytheistic & nature-centric, and not strictly practiced - the stratocracy of both territories i’d like to think makes it harder for religion to have a voice, much less have one that is practiced by the general population. the only thing general about it is that the religion centers or has magic crystals as an important factor... or something. yeah.

that aside, i think i specifically chose lancelot in this piece for the sole reason that his canonically stated lack of common sense, in my opinion, gives him the curiosity of a child sometimes - there’s no sense of malice or doubt, just the pure innocence of wanting to know something....... religion does that to kids, especially when introduced to it at first.

rereading the fic makes me think of the instances where when faced with dire or unsettling situations, people turn to faith as a life line.... well, i’m not sure if i had that subconsciously in mind when writing alice, but that does give a spin to it....

oct 6 // flow like the river nile

a spontaneous red army-centric fic! it certainly turned out better than i expected... i liked the formatting i used for this one!

if cybird can give us more about the pre-game suitors it would be great, tbh! and while the stuff about them in school is interesting, i’d like to see more about when they assumed their positions + combat scenes! the neutrals are special cases, but knowing more about their living conditions + daily lives is also a treat...

i was thinking of adding one last snippet about lancelot in the eyes of the reds, but i scrapped it out and switched it to alice & lancelot’s conversation about duty - it could’ve worked better if i stuck to using the what is your duty? question, but i scrapped it eventually too. ah well. it does look good enough as it is.

oct 7 // seeking out phantoms

a mandatory(???) odd one out aka content that’s not ikerev, haha! i missed fe:a all of a sudden...

i never got around to writing properly for this fandom tho, what a shame - i’ve got some bits of pieces in my drafts that looked interesting and easy enough to pick up, and this was one of them.

robin investigating more of their plegian heritage could’ve been a good subplot tbh... i still wish there was something like a paralogue or dlc about it, bc honestly the valm arc goes a bit slow until you get to the future past revelations. ah well.

and gaius bc first husband for the win.... not like i actually had the guts to marry anyone else in my other save files lololol

nov 7 // push me off a bridge (to catch me as i fall)

my longest project of 2019, holy shit! i didn’t know i still had it in me to write something past 10k... i need more of that motivation + energy....

there’s nothing much to say about this since i blabbed about everything in the post-reading notes, but as much as i fought myself to get this done, i really enjoyed writing a long fic again! hopefully i can get myself to write another one this year...

nov 18 // beloved, beloved, let me be clear

18 sentences on zero & alice + macross frontier references! man, when i really got to the point about the earrings i was thinking of sheryl a lot....

kept it in sentences cause i didn’t have enough time to put up a decent ficlet! but i really wanted to get my screaming out of my system....... i used to do sentences + three word sentences challenges before, and doing one again was pretty fun!

but really.... zero’s route kept me happy for days???? their buildup + dynamic was something i was totally w e a k for, no joke..... thank gods the collection event was going on, bc i really made good use of my stocked chapter tickets lolol!

i was especially excited come the ball scene, and that cg..... a h a h a.... i need more of those pretty cgs where i can see alice’s face + costume change.......

nov 20 // coloring inside the lines

jonah + alice + makeup!!!! tbh this was really fun, i enjoyed writing this one - if i remember, this was a fic that i managed to continuously work on the day i thought it up!

jonah may not be my best boy but tbh i find writing him very easy - i guess it’s because i’m very fond of characters like him!!! those uptight nobles who are as prideful as hell but can definitely live up to their name + are more capable than their bragging suggests... idk if there’s a general trope name for these doods, but i especially like analyzing their motivations + convictions!!!

i liked how i ended it, but i apparently i made an actual ending that’s now a snippet in my drafts - jonah & alice head to the ball, and somewhere along some bystanders’ flow of conversation someone drops a comment about jonah’s lips looking... quite more luscious than usual, lolol. so t h i r s t y. upon hearing this, alice can’t seem to stop smiling for some reason.....

nov 27 // blue fields, verdant skies

a practice drabble set centric on a ray/alice development that i liked so much i made it into a series - plus, it’s black army content and honestly i need to write more of them! my red army bias is showing whoooooops

it’s a feudal + arranged marriage au, with the latter... being quite spontaneous. it’s those types of marriages where neither have even met - not even once - only to face each other come the wedding... so it’s a given that audiences from both parties are rather curious how this will turn out.

since i had the theme of fate in mind, ray was the automatic pick for the male lead. the rest of the black army is a given and for kicks, i added dean and dalim! i actually want to write about them + mousse, but since i’m still unsure on their characterizations i’ve been holding them off.... but i gave in anyway.....

alice is again named for word count convenience purposes since it’s in actual 100 words aka drabble form! i have planned scenes + an ending already in mind, but going there is pretty hard bc.... i still have to write the scenes in between + resist temptation to expand further on other scenes, haha....

initially i was planning to keep it updated here as well, but any more updates of this are on ao3 instead! the formatting looks better there instead of my blog tbh, and it also gives it a sort of muted tone to the story that works with me!

this is also the 31st fic in this blog, marking an end of the challenge liz bestowed to me lolol - since i brought this blog back to life around june, i was dared that by the end of the year, i should’ve posted more than 15 fics to add up to the initial 15 i had already posted before, thus the numbers on my fics back then.... now that i actually succeeded, i can stop counting lololol!!!! tho hopefully i can still be pretty active this year....

dec 22 // duck, duck, bullet

oliver & fenrir on guns... this probably wins as the most spontaneous idea i had on my head - tbh, i wasn’t even sure where i was going with it at first! but i’m sure i was suddenly thinking about that one detective conan movie.... then it became kid!oliver with a gun.....

i wonder if he tests the bullets at night, when he’s in adult form.... then again, kid!oliver with a gun still works.... say that because he’s a genius inventor, he made some models to serve as his shooting targets.... but another thought that amuses me more is.... blanc does the bullet testing for him!?

lololol i already thought about blanc being oliver’s live target, but i also find blanc with a gun very interesting.......... i mean, blanc certainly doesn’t look like he can fight, but who knows??? i mean, mousse is the former ace of hearts, but i still can’t imagine him fighting..... appearances can be deceiving....

the two aside, i wonder how fenrir even met oliver and got him working on his bullets........ was it through blanc or other connections???? how long have they been seller and buyer???? does anyone else commission anything from oliver?????? hmmmm.....

dec 23 // terms of surrender

i’ve been told by liz + luci + other friends that i needed to practice writing more.... cheesy fluff. i’m not sure if this sirius/alice piece counts, lol. in fact, i think it’s my definition of fluff i see here - and it translates to not exactly fluffy at all!

tho if you want me to be honest about it - when i write suitor/alice stuff, how alice was characterized in the suitor’s route is still my basis for how i’ll write her, and sirius’ alice................ haha......... i think she’s the alice that’s honestly easy to write but i choose to avoid..........

i don’t dislike the sirius/alice dynamic per se, tho. i do find it cute, especially if cybird stops emphasizing the issue of maturity in the relationship on alice’s side. i understand - i really do - that it’s a potential issue in the relationship, but...... that’s not the only problem you can possibly have as time passes, right?????

on another note, it’s funny that only sirius gets to be harped about the maturity due to age difference issue - setting aside blanc, who heavens know how old he is, lancelot’s 29 and since alice is presumed to be around ray + fenrir’s age, you could say that she’s 24 or even 23 to be safe.... so that makes a 5 / 6 years difference but it’s never brought up, lol. but i guess it’s because unlike lancelot, the black army’s been making sirius’ age a running gag....

anyway, this piece is pretty decent! i was thinking of something along the lines of mornings between a “married couple”.... there were two scenarios i had in mind, and i opted to write this one out first.... maybe i’ll have the second one posted up here another day.

dec 28 // a chain of black thrones

pre-game!sirius & ray and bc i was thinking a lot about the previous chosen, the former jack of spades!!! i wonder if the armies have a set age for retirement lolol... it would be awesome if there was still a chosen who’s already past his 50s or something, haha!

since sirius was constantly badgered to take on the role of king, i was also wondering about how long the black army was ‘king-less’... i mean, if the tension between both armies was really as great as they say, having no king puts the black army at a precarious position... i also thought that ‘nah, maybe there was a king or something but maybe the black army didn’t like him or something so they insisted that sirius take it instead’ but sirius’ 1st anniv. epilogue says otherwise - there really was a period that the black army had no king, wow. how the heck did they deal with that???? surely the red army saw this as a display of vulnerability....

can the black army’s chosen choose to leave their posts when they feel like it??? when they’re defeated by a challenger, what happens to them - a demotion, or do they serve under the ‘new’ chosen??? does the black army’s chosen change constantly because of their meritocracy + challenger system??? like, how do they deal with that, and do they announce their changes in chosen each council meeting??? each new question just snowballed my curiosity, whoops...

there were so many angles i thought of but i decided to settle for addressing the king-less state of the black army... through the eyes of a veteran who’s probably served many kings throughout his time of service as part of the black army’s chosen.

i gave this jack of spades character a name, actually - garret folner. maybe someday i’ll write him again, bc i actually enjoyed thinking about the present + past chosen interactions - maybe i’d think about that for the red army, but this time i find the black army’s side more interesting for this situation.

dec 29 // steadfast tin soldier

a zero/alice piece for zeroweek - i was about to post pt. 1 as a standalone, but then i just thought about how.... zero bought alice a gown.... but never got to dance with her at the day of the ball..... so i rushed to add pt. 2 haha!

with the addition of pt. 2 it looks cut short tho - i did think of putting a scene in between, but no good ideas came into mind bc i was too fascinated with the dancing scene... i swear at some point i will find myself writing a fic or a part of a fic that’s a dance scene for the rest of the ikerev suitors + alice....

this is the kind of fluff i live for, actually... i’m totally fine with the steamy content cybird throws during events + bonus stories, but if i were to be honest i say.... where’s my non-sexual intimacy????? the simple, wholesome stuff?????????????????

man, i feel hilarious for typing that out..... but well, i guess it’s a matter of different strokes for different folks, lol!

#rundown.txt #can i spam thank yous???? seriously idk what else to say ahhhh #this! blog! shall! live!!! if i do well enough updating will become a habit!!!#i need better habits than sleeping + working + spring cleaning lololol #aHA i was thinking of changing themes again bc aesTHETIC #there wasn't one that caught my eye tho... plus coding during work... get rekt #but i fooled around with pages instead and colors!!! blue's the color of the year

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jacscorner · 2 years

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Maude Preston in Rainy Day Reds

So, wrote this little story on a whim; it was always something I've been itching to write for a while, but never got around to actually writing it until now.

This is a N/SFW Spanking Fic, so continue to read at your own risk.

It was a dark and stormy night.

This is the ideal weather for Maude Preston. She walked around in the rain, an umbrella hanging over her head. The woman had snow-white hair over her dark skin, with a pair of light-brown eyes. She was on the older side, just hitting 60 this year, but she had a certain pep in her step as she walked her way through town in a simple, black dress that reached her ankles, complemented by white ruffles and a violet corset. She wore a white bow-tie and a pair of gloves, plain jane shoes splashing with each step.

Maude didn’t quite know why she enjoyed the rain enough to walk through it, but it did make her nightly trip to the library, with a book tucked under her arm. She quite enjoyed reading ‘Tea Time Mysteries’ by Morris Hale; it was an anthology of cozy mystery novels.

Now, Maude loved a good mystery novel and a cozy mystery was such a fun time. It was calming to read about such a low-stake mystery. With less drama, but with stakes still quite high as the heroine, Hayden Joy, has to find the murderers in her small town.

Though, Maude felt that the heroine should’ve spent some time over a few laps. Such a nosy little bother she was; if some young brat found themselves peeking through her windows trying to check her things for a spanner, she’d tan her hide! At least, that’s what Maude said.

“Oh, who am I fooling?” Maude asked herself as she found the steps to the Bookworm Library. “She’d probably put me over her lap. Smack my bottom good and red until my lips were flapping like mad.”

After all, Maude Preston was intimately familiar with spankings. In her youth, she had so many trips over knees that she didn’t remember a day when her booty wasn’t hot and sore. She was spanked all the way through her basic education, from elementary to high school. Then she was spanked throughout her college years. And no matter where she worked, she was spanked as well! You’d think her favorite color was red instead of black!

But hey, now that she was retired, now she could live her life and not run into the risk of another spanking.

The thought made Maude giggled to herself as she walked up the steps with parasol in hand. Maude climbed up the slippery steps and made her way into the library with a light ringing. Thankfully, the Bookworm Library was open 24 hours a day and the older nightowl knew the night shift personally.

“Miss Preston?” The young lady at the counter was a fresh face that Maude had gotten to know quite quickly. Robin Forests was her name. She was a little redhead, standing at 5’0, five whole inches shorter than Maude. It was straight, most likely ironed, with a pair of emerald eyes and freckles dotted across her pale face.

“Correct!” Maude called as she began to walk to the counter properly. “I hope you’re having a good evening, dear. I have a few snacks if your sugar is getting low.” Maude couldn’t help but dote on Robin; she couldn’t help it, the Irish lass was young enough to be her granddaughter. And she still remembered the absolute panic that was her first night so many months ago.

“I-I appreciate it Miss Preston, but I’m okay.” Robin assured as she looked the old goth woman up and down. “But, uh, did you really walk all the way here? It’s raining cats and dogs.” Robin was in a simple, red plaid shirt and blue jeans, a rain coat hanging off of her chair.

“Oh, but I love the rain!” Maude giggled as she took her book and set it on the counter. “Besides, this book’s due today. And I never turn in a book late, so I swear on my library card for 50 years!”

“Well, that’s admirable. But the book could’ve been damaged by the weather!” Robin snatched up the book and began to look it over. She examined the cover, the back, and began to run her fingers across the pages of the hardcover novel. Maude just giggled like a school girl as she closed her umbrella.

��Perish the thought. That book is as dry as a bone.” Maude giggled as she set her umbrella down. True to her word, the book seemed to be in perfect condition. Robin was left speechless as Maude turned her back. “Sorry for the scare, dear. I’ll be more careful with them if it helps you sleep. I’ll just put some books on hold and check out when the weather lightens up.”

“Miss Preston.”

Hearing Robin’s call made the older woman spin on her heel. She looked to see Robin come around from her counter and opened the book.

“What. Is. This?!”

Maude looked over the page, squinting even. She couldn’t tell what she was staring at until she saw the upper corner of the page. The corner was bent; a dog ear.

“Hmm, odd…” Maude mumbled to herself before she snapped her fingers. “Oh my word, I

remember now! I let my little niece read the book. She’s such an active reader! I guess she’s gotten into the habit.”

“You let your little niece near your book…?” Robin was speaking through her teeth, but Maude didn’t seem to notice the unbridled fury behind her glasses. “Just how old is she?”

“Oh, she just turned five.”

“Five?!”

“I know, right?! She’s such a big girl already!” Maude giggled, “but terribly sorry about the book. I don’t have my purse on me, but I can order a new copy for the-” Before Maude could finish, she felt Robin suddenly grab her ear! It was so sudden that Maude let out a sharp gasp, as if the words in her mouth sloppily fell off her tongue like drool.

“H-hey! Ow! R-Robin, that hurts!” Maude whined as the shorter girl began to drag her back to her counter. She squirmed helplessly as the paler girl forced her to bend over, her hands flat across the countertop.

“W-what on Earth are you doing?!” The old goth woman knew what was happening. Her heart was racing and her cheeks were starting to grow hot. But it happened so fast that Maude was overwhelmed with feelings of dread and nostalgia.

“Damaging books is not allowed in this library!” Robin scolded as she grabbed and hauled up Maude’s dress! She had fully exposed her white stockings and bloomers that so roundly clung to her ass! “Someone of your age should’ve known better!”

“But-but-but-”

SMACK!

“YOW!”

The first smack was always the worst, so said Maude Preston. And Robin’s hand was surprisingly heavy as she began to land a series of firm swats across her upturned bottom. Loud claps echoed through the hopefully empty library as Maude squirmed under the relentless assault against her bouncy ass.

“Wait! R-Robin, wait! St-stop!” Maude tried to plead for her booty’s sake, but the redhead wouldn’t have it! She tried to reach back to stop the spanking, but Robin had no trouble pushing

her further down onto the table before them.

“Don’t you try to cover up!” Robin scolded, reaching over and grabbing a yardstick. “That’s a harder spanking!”

“H-harder?!” Maude cried out as she felt the sting of the yardstick strike her butt. The sharper sting of the thin, wooden tool made her jump against the table. She kicked up a leg, but it did nothing to stop the furious librarian. The claps weren’t nearly as loud, but the sharp sounds continued to bounce off the walls.

“What were you thinking?! Giving a kindergartner a book?!”

“Sh-she’s very smart for her age!” Maude tried to justify. “A-and I was just helping her foster a life-long love for reading.”

“Then buy her a book from somewhere else!” Robin scolded, “or get her her own library card! This book is your responsibility, and thus, you should’ve made sure to bring it back in the same condition you brought it!”

“I-I, I-I know but-AAAH!” Maude cried out as she felt Robin grab her bloomers. Without another word, she felt Robin pull them down, exposing her cheeks. They were already turning a hot shade of pink. “R-Robin, wait! St-stop!”

“Silence, Maude!”

Maude yelped a bit at the sudden command; not to mention that she used her given name. It was so sudden and forceful, it sent a shiver up the old goth’s spine.

“We’re in a library. So you’re not going to scream and shout the entire time.” Robin told her as she lowered the bloomers down to her knees. “You’re going to take your punishment like a good girl.”

“B-but-”

“No butts. Or should I go fetch Ol’ Agatha?”

Maude felt herself lose her breath. Everyone knew that ‘Ol’ Agatha’ was the library’s paddle, kept in the back. If you were called to the back of the library, you weren’t leaving without a smarting bottom and a new vow of silence.

The old woman looked back and hurriedly shook her head no, much to Robin’s approval.

“Good.” Robin took her elongated ruler and tapped it against Maude’s upturned bottom, making the goth flinch. “You’re going to quietly take 30 licks. If you yell, we start over. Mess up three times and we go see Agatha. Am I clear?”

Biting her lower lip in anticipation, Maude nervously nodded her head.

“Okay. Brace yourself.” Robin pulled back the yardstick as Maude grabbed onto the edge of the counter for dear life. Much like a saber, the yardstick cut through the air and cut into Maude’s ass.

Maude bit down harder, but managed to endure the first swing without making too much noise. But it was only the first of many.

SWISH! SWISH! SWISH!

The yardstick sliced the air like butter before landing true across Maude’s ass. Each swing landed a meaty ‘THUD’ across Maude’s bare flesh. It sent ripples of heat throughout Maude’s rump before it traveled up her spine. When the 10th swing struck her rear, Maude couldn’t help but give off a sudden gasp from the constant sting.

“Strike one.”

Looking back, Maude looked at Robin in distraught, looking ready to shout, but Robin (thankfully) cut her off.

“That was too loud.” Robin said, taking the yardstick and pointing forward. “From the top. Face forward.”

Maude gulped nervously; this was gonna be harder than she thought. She leaned forward, sticking her ass up in the air again. There were menacing red marks across her cheeks that Robin was approving of. She pulled her arm back and began to cut the yardstick against her cheeks again.

The older goth felt as though her ass was already on fire. Her ass bounced with each sting and Maude could barely bear it. She dug her nails into the table below as she began to sniffle. She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as the yardstick began to ring in her ears with each swat.

Another crack of the yardstick, but this one landed lower across her sit spots. Such a sensitive spot made Maude shoot up and rub the spot with feverish hands as she whimpered

pathetically.

“Strike two.”

“W-what?” Maude squeaked as she looked back at Robin. Robin was unfazed by the pathetic look on her face; with mascara starting to run down her cheeks.

“You know better than to look back.” Robin told her, “assume the position. One more time and we will go see Agatha.”

“N-no, please! A-anything but that!” Maude pleaded, her voice cracking as she put her hands together. “P-please, Robin, this is torture! I-I can’t take it!”

“Strike two and a half…”

Maude was sweating bullets, but did as told. She bent back over the counter, trembling in dread. This was her final chance and she was gonna have to take 30 whacks when her best so far was 12!

And like clockwork, Robin started again. Another crack across Maude’s cheeks and the older woman was now standing up on her toes. It did little to relieve the sting and Robin would simply land another round of hard swats across her tender flesh.

Each smack came down across her voluptuous ass. They were hot and fast, but Maude could do nothing but grit her teeth and endure it. She could barely breathe through her nose, just barely managing uneven huffs before taking long drags.

Her lips were cut and trembling, her eyes turning red as the tears flowed freely across the countertop. Too afraid to even whisper, the only noise Robin could hear was the sound of her breathing.

Then, another crack against her sitspots. Maude gave a quiet gasp as her legs began to shake like jelly. Her nails were turning white with pressure as Robin continued to lash at the lower half of her ass. The elongated ruler itself began to feel hot and brand itself into her cheeks. Maude was sure that her ass would be decorated with little red numbers for weeks to come.

And then, nothing.

Too afraid to look back, Maude just stood there, staring at the pool of salty tears and thick mascara gathering below her crestfallen face.

“Okay, Maude. We’re done.”

Did she really hit 30? She couldn’t recall, it didn’t feel like 30. But, at the same time, it felt like 100; she had stopped counting after 12 as everything felt like a burning haze.

When the realization finally hit her, Maude collapsed against the table, gasping for air. Her lungs were on fire, and so was her ass. She felt too weak to even stand on her own.

“Now then,” Robin cleared her throat, “since you offered to pay for the damaged book and took your spanking, I won’t give you a strike.” The Irish Librarian put the yardstick down beside Maude, making the woman jump and stand up straight.

“Th-thank you, Robin.” Maude nodded as she started to wipe her tears against her sleeves. “I-it won’t happen again. I-I-I promise.”

“Good.” Robin smiled, patting Maude on her shoulder. She gave the older woman a smile and said, “now then, I don’t hear the rain anymore. You should probably pick out some books and hurry on to bed.”

Maude nodded her head; the nostalgia felt strong. How many times was she in this situation? How was it even at 60, she was getting her bottom spanked? And to salt the wound, someone who was less than half her age was talking to her like a little girl. It was like the roles were swapped!

♤♡♢♧☆

She examined her booty in the mirror and looked at her poor ass with a sigh. Once Maude returned home, she had washed her face of makeup and put away her dress. Now in just her bloomers and a white bra, she was rubbing her glowing red rump.

“Seems some things never change.” Maude sighed as she pulled her bloomers back over her ass and waltzed her way back to her bed and flopped against the ebony mattress. “And a yardstick? Haven’t gotten one of those in a long time. Libraries are supposed to be my sanctuary away from spankings.”

She looked across her nightstand and looked at her latest haul of books. They’d be nice to read, but she was not in a reading mood. She tried to get comfortable while lying on her belly, but then looked at the book at the top of her stack.

‘Coffee Shop Murders’ Another book by Morris Hale. Then she remembered the book she returned and her thoughts before she reached the library; how she felt the protagonist of his book should be spanked.

“I guess I got what was coming to me.” Maude mumbled as she grabbed her laptop and opened it up. “But maybe that was the kick in the pants I needed. I mean, I think people would get a kick out of a spicy little web novella about a woman being spanked.” She giggled a bit as she opened up her typing app and began to jot down her title. “I don’t think there's a lot of heroines my age, actually. Maybe I can do something about that!”

‘The Crimson Diaries’ by Maude Pres-

She stopped and looked at the screen. Then, she shuddered; perhaps using her real name wasn’t for the best. How was she supposed to explain to people she knew that she was writing spanking-themed adventures based off of her own unfortunate misadventures?!

Maude mused for a bit before noticing another item on her nightstand; a bottle of wine that she hadn’t touched since she brought it up from her cellar. With new inspiration, she began to rewrite her title again.

‘The Crimson Diaries’ by Clara Vice.

“Much better.” Maude giggled, “Now, what to call my naughty heroine?” She tapped her chin a bit before giggling to herself. “Ooh, I know!” Her fingers began to work as she spoke aloud.

“It was a dark and stormy night. This is the ideal weather for Mindy Hammers…”

#JAC Lit #Spank #Maude Preston #N/SFW

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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years

Text

Dru meets Ash (Fan Fic)

This is Chap 6 of “Welcome to Faerieland”, a sequel to my Kitty Fan Fic "To never being parted" although it can be read as a standalone story.

Dru meets Ash (again, although she doesn’t know they have already met) in this Chapter.

AO3 Link here.

*****

Jaime and Dru landed a little away from a clearing where a revel was being held. Jaime hastily slipped the Eternidad back into his pocket. He would give it back to Cristina eventually, but in the meantime, he knew she had no trouble being escorted in and out of the Unseelie Court whenever she wanted to. Perks of being the King’s girlfriend.

Jaime and Dru had both dressed in faerie clothes, in order to blend in. Dru was wearing a long azur blue dress that brought out the color of her eyes. It fell just above her ankles, revealing high-heeled boots (conveniently hiding a few daggers). An upturned collar and long sleeves covered the marks on her neck and arms, though the low-cut neckline would inescapably draw anyone’s attention to her cleavage. Her dark brown hair was efficiently pulled into an elegant bun. Where Jaime and Dru’s skin showed, both had covered their marks with concealer.

As they walked toward the revel, and the music grew louder, Dru turned to Jaime. “I have to go find a friend of Nene’s. She may help us locate Ty and Kit. It’s better if I go alone, she knows the Blackthorns very well but she’s a bit wary around other Shadowhunters. Don’t stay too far, though. And of course, I don’t need to tell you not to drink or eat anything.”

“No, you don’t,” Jaime answered a little harshly. Blackthorns knew a great deal about the Fair Folk, but so did the Rosales, he wanted to remind her.

When they had finally joined the party, Dru waved at a faerie woman with blue hair and purple eyes who was standing next to a tent, in deep conversation with a kelpie, and left Jaime to stand awkwardly at the edge of the forest.

He had not been there five minutes when a fey swooped in to offer some refreshments.

“No, thanks,” he replied immediately, lifting one of his hands reflexively to prevent the fey from coming any closer.

“Are you certain? Mundanes are particularly fond of this one,” he said, pointing to a blue drink, “it makes you look younger. Not that you need it, of course.”

“Huh. Is there a drink that makes you grow like two years older, without altering your appearance?” The faerie stared at him aghast. Jaime couldn’t blame him. “Never mind, very stupid question,” Jaime mumbled.

Dru appeared then, her eyes glowing in excitement. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the forest.

“So... any information on where we could find your brother and Kit?”

“Have you ever been to a revel before?” She replied, ignoring his question.

“Hum. No, but Cristina told me a bit about them…”

“Come over here,” she said as she drew him further into the forest. She stopped in front of a tree, put both her hands on his chest and pushed him against the trunk. His back hit the wood with a loud thump but it was mostly drowned by the sound of his heart beating in his chest.

Her gaze was intense, dark eyelashes batting seductively over her blue-green eyes. Jaime swallowed.

“Er- Dru, what are you doing? Aren’t we supposed to go hunting for Ty and Kit?”

“Relaaax. What happens in Faerie stays in Faerie, doesn’t it?”

She bit her lower lip and he gasped.

“God, Dru, those lips…” Jaime choked. His thoughts were becoming more and more incoherent.

“Can I… kiss you?” she asked.

“God, yes. Please.” Jaime slumped against the tree trunk, feeling all the tension leave his body at once.

Dru closed her eyes and he did the same. As she pressed her full lips against his, he could feel blood burning through his veins like wildfire. Yes, yes, finally. He could be struck by lightning - he probably would - he didn’t care. He would die a happy man.

She bit his lower lip and he could taste his own blood, but he didn’t mind. Feisty little Dru. He brought his hands on either side of her face to cup her cheeks, but instead of soft skin he felt a very light... stubble. He pulled away immediately and found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes, the colour of a summer sky. Kit Herondale was smiling at him, his grin as mischievous as ever but somehow it looked wrong. All wrong.

“What does your heart truly desire, little Shadowhunter?” he said, cocking his head, and it was not his voice, but a woman’s voice.

From one moment to another, Kit’s blond hair and blue eyes were replaced by a faerie woman with gray fine hair drifting around a pale face, her skin smooth and ageless. He was staring at a leanansidhe. He cursed himself. What a fool he had been.

He stepped back, feeling sick, and hit something hard behind him. He was about to turn when he was dealt with a blow on the head. His sight blurred and he barely had the time to blink before he fell into unconsciousness.

****

As she was talking to Nene’s friend, Dru saw Jaime disappear into the forest with a faerie. What the hell was he thinking? They weren’t here to have fun.

She thanked her contact, who unfortunately didn’t have any information, and moved to where Jaime had vanished inside the forest.

The tree trunks were spaced, but their branches leafy and close enough that it was difficult to see beyond a few feet. She cursed Jaime silently as she got deeper inside the woods, the sounds of the revel now receding and being replaced by the sounds of nocturnal animals and insects. She thought about all the horror movies that warned you from doing just that.

If it wasn’t for her years of Shadowhunter training she wouldn’t have heard the soft footfalls behind her. She stepped further into the forest until she was at an advantageous position for a fight and whirled to face her stalker. It was a very tall faerie knight dressed in elegant velvety clothes. Probably gentry and part of the King’s guard. He smiled at her and she kept herself from shivering from the coldness of his grin.

“What are you doing here all alone, little girl?”

He probably thought she was a helpless mundane with the Sight. Admittedly, she didn’t look like the Shadowhunter women type, with her curvy figure.

“Minding my own business. As you should.”

“Do you know there are dangerous creatures lurking in these woods?”

“I definitely do. And let me tell you a secret…” She cupped her hand around her mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. “I am the scariest one of them.”

The faerie knight laughed.

“I am Ruadhan Fairburn. I used to be one of the best knights of King Kieran’s guard, and I have met him personally once. I am also acquainted with Gwyn ap Nudd, of the Wild Hunt. You certainly don’t frighten me.”

Oh, no. He did have a reputation as one of the realm’s best fighters, before King Kieran had suggested he retire, probably due to his attitude.

She mimed checking her watch (although she wasn’t wearing any). “Oooh, so it’s already time for a bit of name-dropping? Sorry, none of these ring a bell.”

No need to tell him she had seen Gwyn cry in front of Love actually a week before, on Friday’s movie night, and that she affectionately called King Kieran Kiki.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. When I am done with you, my name will be printed in your memory.”

“Hmmm. Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll pass.” She started running her hand through her hair casually, intending to pull out her hair stick made with adamas. It was a gift from Jem who had it made by Sister Emilia.

The faerie’s expression turned furious. “I am not really giving you a choice,” he said in a clipped tone.

An audible sigh had them both whip their head toward the general direction of the sound.

A few feet away, up a large tree, a boy - or rather a young man judging by his frame and the length of his long limbs - was lounging on the thickest branch. He was reading, holding his book high, so Dru could not see his face, only white blond hair tucked behind pointy ears. He was dressed in stunning finery, all black, his collar turned up. He was wearing dark silk gloves and his long fingers were splayed across the cover of his book. He was most certainly part of the gentry, or even royal blood, Dru thought.

“You heard the lady,” he said in a bored voice, and Dru could not help but startle at the sound. It was a beautiful, lyrical voice. “She is not interested. Now, move along. Go hump a tree or something.”

“Excuse me?” the faerie knight spluttered, his delicate features set in a mask of shock. “Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t know who you are, but I know what you are, and that’s enough to convince me not to develop our budding relationship any further,” he answered, turning a page.

The knight started to advance on him, but the blond faerie didn’t even lift his nose from his book. With a flick of his hand, he had the faerie knight hauled away like a puppet, as if a giant invisible hand had grabbed him from behind.

“Don’t move any closer. What did I just say about me not wanting to develop our relationship further? Have you never been taught how to take no for an answer?”

The faerie knight was seething but he backed away, walking in reverse, before he whirled and disappeared inside the deep forest.

“Thanks, I guess.” Dru said, relaxing her stance. “Although we could have avoided the drama. I had the situation quite in hand before you intervened. I could have knocked him out before he had the chance to spell out the word asshole.”

The faerie laughed, and it was a beautiful chime sound.

“Ladies shouldn't have to dirty their hands,” he said, as if she had not just uttered the word “asshole”, disqualifying her as such.

“What century do you live in?” she asked, shaking her head. “Anyway, I am a Shadowhunter, dirtying my hands is part of the job description.”

She saw his whole body suddenly tense. Slowly, he brought the book down, just enough to reveal a pair of green eyes under delicate blond eyebrows. As soon as he caught sight of her, his eyes widened in surprise and he let the book fall on the ground, the resulting thump muffled by the grass.

In a single swift and elegant motion, he had jumped from his tree and was standing a few feet away, facing her.

Up close, she could see his eyes were a clear emerald green. It made her think of grass fields glowing under the spring sun. His features were sharp and ethereal, his white blond hair tousled as if they had caught wind. Physically, he was the opposite of Jaime, all pale white and thin silvery curls where Jaime had brown golden skin and dark thick hair. They both had a lean figure and a debonair manner, but where Jaime was almost gangly, the faerie was all graceful moves and regal stance.

He is absolutely gorgeous, Dru admitted reluctantly. And he was watching her as if he knew all the secrets of her heart, as if he had always known her and was merely returning to her after leaving for a short while.

Although she was almost certain she had never met him, something about him struck her as oddly familiar. She was idly wondering whether her mind had conjured up one of the princes of her books. Maybe, he was the product of her own fantasy and he would disappear from one blink to another… But no, she had not been the only one to see him. Get a grip, she told herself.

“It’s you,” he breathed.

Dru tried to regain her composure. She straightened up as she answered. “It’s definitely me.” She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night,” he whispered in a daze.

By the Angel, his voice. Everything about him ensnared your senses, enticed you to love and worship him. But Dru knew better than to let herself be fooled by men’s - especially faerie men’s - spells and enchantments.

She swallowed and answered in her most detached voice. “Shakespeare. Romeo meets Juliet. Act I Scene 5. Already bringing out the heavy artillery, I see. Do you always quote other people’s work to make yourself interesting? Or do you actually have a personality?”

The strange prince was taken aback for a second. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. He was breathtaking when he smiled.

“Oush,” he replied, miming a sword stabbing through his chest. “That went straight through my heart.”

“This line may work its spell on the naive and gullible girls you usually manage to sweep off their feet, but it definitely doesn’t work on me.” Dru sniffed.

The fey cocked his head, as if he was inspecting a strange wild animal.

“You assume that I am trying to seduce you?”

She rolled her eyes and whirled, avoiding to stare at him for too long. He was quite intimidating. And she needed to find Jaime.

“Don’t be a jerk, in addition to being a cliché,” she said without a backward glance, as she walked away. She could hear the sound of his laugh behind her, echoing in the forest like ringing bells.

****

Tagging @gabtapia sorry I’ve been so busy lately but I am definitely back now with more chapters.

#cassandraclare #cassandra clare fan fiction #the wicked powers #the dark artifices #jaime rosales #drusilla blackthorn #ash morgenstern #ash and dru #dru and ash #ash x dru #dru x ash #tda fanfiction #tsc fanfiction #the shadowhunters chronicles icons #the shadowhunter chronicles

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emsylcatac · 4 years

Text

Compatible

Summary:

When Ladybug brings some of the old magazines she used to read as a teenager to a sleepover with Chat Noir, they end up doing an 'Adrien Agreste compatibility test', something that she has done more than once as a teenager.

There's no way her partner could beat her at it and get a higher score than her. No way.

Read it on AO3

Ladynoir identity reveal commission for @multibug ♥ | Donation drive @mlbforblm

Thank you so much again for beta-reading this, @rosekasa ♥

The proceeds of this commission go to Color of Change, a racial justice organisation centered on the Black Lives Matter movement!

You can learn more about MLB for BLM & the different contributors on the blog, and you can view info for commissioning me for art or fics here!

You’re of course very welcome to commission any of our talented contributors and donate if you can! Otherwise you can help us to spread the word by reblogging the different posts from the blog! Thanks for your help ♥🤜🤛

* * * * *

Ladybug looked around the room at the mess she and Chat Noir had left from the evening before. Scattered UNO cards on the table, empty glasses and half empty bottles of wine and cider, a plate with only three or four cookies left, and abandoned game controllers on ottomans in front of the small TV.

They always left a mess when they had a sleepover together; always because they went to bed way too late and were too tired to clean it all.

She loved that.

She turned her head to look at her partner half-sitting beside her on the sofa bed. The sheets were pulled up his waist, and he was wearing a dark grey t-shirt v-neck as a pajama that suited him particularly well. She herself was wearing a red with tiny black polka-dots tank top, and a pair of small black pajama shorts.

Chat Noir was smiling at whatever he was reading on his phone. Ladybug propped her head on his shoulder, but kept her gaze away from the device.

“What are you looking at?”

He kept silent a few seconds, still grinning, before answering. “I told my best friend about what my supervisor said to me yesterday. He’s telling me he’s gonna buy an electric racket for mosquitoes and slap him with it.”

Ladybug chuckled. “I like your friend.”

Chat Noir was doing an internship somewhere in the city, and while it seemed like he enjoyed it, his supervisor sounded everything but kind to him. Something Ladybug couldn’t understand, knowing how nice her partner was.

“I thought you would,” he replied, turning his phone off and putting it on the nightstand.

After defeating Hawkmoth four years ago, Ladybug and Chat Noir had both taken a break to focus on their studies. He had been somewhere abroad from what she gathered; she had studied in another city. Now they were both back in Paris and had been for a year; a new threat needing the heroes had arisen.

It had been good to see her partner and best friend again after all this time, a deliverance of sorts. Being older opened up to a lot more freedom than they had as young teenagers: they were more lenient regarding their identities, for one. Ladybug even offered more than once to reveal each other, but Chat Noir told her he was not quite ready yet. It had surprised her a lot, but if he needed time, she would let him take it.

Still, it hadn’t kept them from getting even closer than they used to be.

Ladybug wished they could be even closer. She suspected that Chat Noir probably did, too, yet neither of them pushed for it. The very comfortable friendship they had now established was both a blessing and a curse in that regard.

While it was easier for her to stay at her parent’s house for now, Chat Noir had had a new personal studio. It wasn’t big; just the kind of place you’d expect from any average student having to rent a far too expensive place for what it was, courtesy of living in Paris—but it was enough. It was great to plot against their enemy… or for sleepovers, a habit they had taken soon after he got it.

Chat Noir looked at the pile of old magazines she had brought—they were the ones she read as a teenager, the ones she gossiped about with Alya during their sleepovers. She had thought it could be fun to try that with him, even if they were definitely not up to date.

“We forgot to read those!” he exclaimed, getting up.

She watched as he closed his eyes to pick one at random, and brought it back to the bed.

“Which one did you get?”

“Let’s see… oooh, ‘Clara Rossignole is looking for a Ladybug and a Chat Noir for her next music video’”, he read aloud. “Wow. How old is that stuff?”

“Er, I think I must have been fifteen or something so… Seven years old?”

“Amazing! Exactly what I need to keep up with the latest juicy gossip!” He grinned.

Ladybug laughed and leaned on his shoulder to have a better look at the magazine. She remembered that one with this cover very well, it was the one where there was a personality test about—

“‘How compatible are you with teen model Adrien Agreste’, page 21.” Chat Noir fake-gasped. “Spiiicy! Let’s do it!”

As he opened the magazine, Ladybug hoped that it wouldn’t be too obvious to see how easy it was to find the page right away. Despite the years that had passed, the page was still bearing the marks of having been opened and opened again and stared at for far too long, more than any other.

If he noticed, Chat Noir chose not to comment.

He grabbed a four-coloured pen on his nightstand. “Wow, my Lady, that’s a lot of ink on there! We can barely see the little symbols in front of the answers.”

Well. She had had to take the test more than once to get a better score. She’d been aiming for a hundred percent compatibility, a hundred-and-one if she was lucky, or over-compatible—as she should have been back then according to herself.

Not that she would admit that to him.

“I had done it with friends. That’s why it’s so… inky.”

Chat Noir hummed, suspicious, but didn’t push further.

“And it doesn’t work with symbols, it’s a points system. So we can’t cheat,” she added.

She would know. She had tried.

He snorted. “You remember this surprisingly well, Buguinette.”

She didn’t comment on that very accurate observation. Instead, she dropped a kiss on his cheek.

“Why do you want to do that test anyway?”

“Because it’s fun! And to see if I can get a better score than you,” he said.

She scoffed. “As if you would win! I’m unbeatable at this.”

That made him snicker. “Unlike with UNO?”

She glared at him at that and pulled her head away from his shoulder. He brought her back with an arm around her, and kissed her temple apologetically.

She begrudgingly accepted the kiss. Very begrudgingly. (She couldn’t help but smile at the contact of his lips).

(She also couldn’t help but snuggle closer to him).

“So,” Chat Noir went on, “what do we have for the first question… Oooh, ‘which colour is your favourite? Green, Blue, Pink or Red?’,” he raised a brow. “That’s not a lot of choices in my opinion.”

“Blue,” Ladybug automatically answered.

Chat Noir snorted. “No, yours is pink Bugacheat, I know that well enough,” and he circled the answer in red. “However, mine is blue.”

“Maybe I changed favourite colour.”

“No, you didn’t,” he replied flatly. She pouted. “Next question. ‘What is your favourite season?’”

Ladybug pondered. She liked all seasons, after all; they each had their charm.

“Can’t we pick all of them?”

“Well, apparently you can’t because, according to this very accurate magazine, Adrien Agreste has only one favourite season.”

“Write ‘autumn’, then,” she decided.

He circled it in red for her, and circled spring in green for him.

“Okay, ‘how many times do you blink in the span of a minute? Fifteen, eighteen, twenty or twenty-two”, he frowned. “Where did they even get these information?”

“They have very good sources.”

“Sure,” he snorted. “Does Adrien Agreste himself even know the answer to that?”

“Well, of course, it’s in the magazine,” she laughed.

She knew it couldn’t really be trusted, but she liked to take these facts as straight science when she was younger.

“God, these tests are so bad,” Chat Noir shook his head. “How is that suppose to tell you if you’re compatible with him or not?”

“Hey! Don’t criticise my magazine or you’ll offend mini-me!”

“Well, Babybug, I think the questions from your magazine are dumb. And I’m answering… I don’t know... eighteen maybe?”

“Put twenty-two for me,” she said proudly.

She remembered the answer corresponding to Adrien’s to that question, but he didn’t need to know that.

They went on like that through the rest of the test, from morning routine to favourite scent—“Ew, why are one of the answers camembert?”— and gut reaction when faced with an akuma—“you would jump off of a building, Kitty”. Ladybug tried to answer what ‘Adrien’ would do instead of herself, and Chat Noir corrected her each time—“I choose passion fruits!” - “there’s a reason you always take strawberry ice-creams, my Lady. You can’t fool me!” — until they arrived at the end of the test.

“Aaaaand I’ve got a score of…” Chat Noir paused, looking and calculating the results, “eighty-six percent! While you, on the other hand, despite trying to cheat on at least five questions—”

“Hey!”

“—have a score of… Aw, only forty-one!”

“What?!” Ladybug all but screamed.

“Ah, yes, it looks like I beat you Buguinette!” The little shit sounded so proud with himself.

“There’s no way your score is higher than mine,” she said, snatching the magazine from his hands and scrupulously recounting the points herself.

There was no way, indeed.

And yet.

Chat Noir knew how to count, alright. Ladybug was silently fuming.

No, it didn’t matter anymore whether she was compatible with her old crush or not. And yes, the magazine was probably incorrect anyway.

And sure, Adrien was twenty-two now, not fifteen, so his answers would probably not be the same anymore, but still.

She had to defend young-Marinette’s honour.

And in honour of young-Marinette’s past struggles and unconditional love, there was no way Chat Noir of all people could be more compatible with Adrien than herself.

Chat Noir’s laughters brought her out of her shocked horror.

“Aw, don’t pull that face, Bugachups, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose! Maybe you’ll beat me to the next! Say, they don’t have a compatibility test with Chat Noir by any chan—”

“You cheated.” She stated it calmly but coldly. She had to be calm about it. “You must have.”

Chat Noir guffawed. “I’m not you! Also why so upset? Afraid I ruined your chances with…” he took the magazine back from her hands to read the caption under the test’s title, “...Paris’ favourite teenage boy?” He frowned. “Hey, shouldn’t that have been me at the tim—”

“No, I’m not afraid of anything like that,” she grumbled. “It’s just that… I used to know everything there was to know about Adrien Agreste back in the day.”

He blinked. “Everything?!”

“Everything,” she repeated. “Also, I don’t need to do a Chat Noir compatibility test to know that I’d get a hundred percent at it.”

He snickered. “I sure do hope that you’d get a higher score with me than that poor forty-one percent.”

She hit him with her pillow. For making fun of her, and for not having taken the bait.

“Yes,” she insisted, “I’d have a better score and I’d get the highest, thank you very much.”

He gently pinched and squished her cheeks while nuzzling his nose against hers teasingly. “Aaaww, of course we would be the most compatible Buguichou, we’re made for each other!”

Better.

Still, they had become so comfortable with each other now that it could mean everything and nothing.

“Chat Noooiiiiir,” she whined in lieu of pushing further, “stop annoying me!”

He released her and laughed. “You love it when I annoy you!”

Yes.

“No.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Anyway.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “What was it about you knowing everything there was to know about teen model, Paris' darling extraordinaire Adrien Agreste?”

She groaned. “Please can we not?”

“No. I want to know more about the boy I’m eighty-six percent compatible with, Bugaboo! And who better to teach me all I need to know other than the finest expert you aaaaar—”

She snatched the magazine back from his hands and swatted him with it.

“You’re” —swat— “not” —swat— “more compatible than me” —hit— “with Adrien” she had him pinned on the bed and he was giggling, trying and failing to push her away, “because I had the biggest crush” —swat— “on him and I was” —swat— “in love with him, do you understand?”

She stopped hitting him to throw him her deadliest look.

“Wait, what?” he said, still grinning from the fight. “You were in love with him like… in love love?”

She crossed her arms. “Yes, I was in love love with him.”

He snorted. And then, slowly, his body shook more and more, the laughters coming from him getting louder and louder.

“You—,” he choked, raising a finger in her direction, “you were in love with Adrien Agreste when we were fifteen.”

She sighed. “Yes, I was in love with Adrien Agreste. Go on, laugh all you want, ‘ha-ha-ha, Ladybug was in love with Hawkmoth’s son, ha-ha,’ so funny.”

“Oh my god, yes, Ladybug in love with our enemy’s son,” he kept laughing. “Waaait, wait wait, hold on, that’s excellent but… when you told me you were in love with someone else, back then…”

Her stomach fluttered at the memory that yes, Chat Noir used to be in love with her.

“...Does that mean that he was the boy you were referring to?” he looked at her expectantly.

She didn’t reply.

“He was?!" he exclaimed. “Ladybug, that’s… that’s… that’s hilarious!” and he was back laughing, even louder than before.

She glared at him, before grabbing her pillow once again and hitting him with it.

“No, no—I’ll stop, I’ll stop! But you don’t understand, this is so funny!”

“I really don’t see why.” And with that she lay down on the bed and turned around, her back to him. “Adrien is a very sweet person, I had great taste.”

Today, however, by loving Chat Noir? Maybe not so much, she decided.

A warm hand settled on her arm.

(She still had great tastes).

“Say, my Lady… if you were to meet that Adrien boy today and he were to ask you on a date… would you say yes?” She could still hear the remainder of his amusement in his voice, but he seemed to have calmed down, now.

She turned around to face him. He was lying on the side, propped on one elbow with his head resting on his hand. She pondered his question a few seconds. She hadn’t seen Adrien in a while, after all.

And… there was someone else now. She wasn’t fifteen anymore.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

He was rubbing small circles on her arm.

“Oh?” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “What would fifteen-year-old-Bugbooboo think about that?”

She snorted. “She wouldn’t believe I’d ever say that. She’d think I lost my mind.”

He chuckled with her.

She frowned. “But… well, we all change when we grow up and… Adrien is probably still a great person. And I mean, with what he had to go through, I admire him a lot. But also, there’s some—… there’s… there’s...”

“There’s what?”

You.

“Chat Nooiiir,” she tugged at the kwagatama around his neck instead, and raised her eyes to his. She bit her lip. “You know.”

She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. Even after all these years, confessing was still something she found herself struggling with. But she kept his gaze as he silently searched hers; she wouldn’t back away or hide from it.

She kept it as he slowly took the hand that was fiddling with his necklace and lifted it to his lips. Kept it as he gently kissed the tips of her fingers. As she felt a shiver and the heat rising to her cheeks and was sure he could see it, too.

And she still kept his gaze as he lowered their hands on the mattress, and caressed hers with his thumb.

He knew.

And he reciprocated. She put a hand on his cheek, and slowly brought her face closer to his. She was about to close her eyes and the gap between them when a finger on her lips interrupted her.

Chat Noir closed his eyes, letting a small smile tug at his lips. Took a deep breath. Exhaled.

Opened his eyes again and looked right into hers.

“What if…” he said nervously, almost as a murmur, a deep contrast to his amusement from earlier. “What if I told you that… that you could have both? In one person.”

Her eyes widened. She sat up suddenly and grabbed his face. Did he mean that—

“Chaton?!” she said surprised —questioning. Her eyes frantically searched his.

He took one of her hands and brought it to his mask. And slowly nodded.

Carefully, shaking, she removed the home-sewed mask from his face.

His eyes were closed, but it was the unmistakable face of Adrien that met her. And older Adrien, an Adrien who was still the same but also so different.

An Adrien who was Chat Noir, and had always been—an Adrien that she knew more than she could have possibly thought.

As he opened his eyes to look at her, she took both his hands and kissed them. She noticed that she was crying when she saw tears dropping on his ring. She didn’t care.

It suddenly hit her that this boy had had to fight against his own father—and that it was certainly why he hadn’t been ready to show himself before. What he just did now, finally revealing himself to her—this was huge.

But looking at his gaze, soft from her actions, and feeling his hand wiping her tears away, she decided that it was probably not something he wanted to discuss now. And she didn’t want to ruin their moment, their reveal, with pity and talks about his father: the very thing he had probably tried to avoid when he was still insecure about who he was under the mask.

She giggled through her tears. “You’re beautiful,” is what first made its way out of her mouth.

That made him laugh and oh god, she was making him cry too now.

“Take off my mask. Please,” she whispered, kissing his fingers once more.

He sat up next to her, are gently put a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Then, he did as she told—and gasped.

“You—you’re Marinette!”

She giggled again. “And you’re Adrien!”

“I was thinking about you the other day. I was wondering how you were doing and…” he trailed off.

“And now you know!”

“And now I know!” he grinned. “You’re wonderful… I missed you so much but… it also sounds weird to say that now, doesn’t it?”

“Well… we could still catch up, around a coffee and uh… is this date with both Chat Noir and Adrien still on the table?” she asked.

Was she being a bit too straight forward? Probably. But she had troubles to control her mouth right now.

“When will it not?” he breathed.

She squealed and wiggled on her spot, grabbing his face. But before she could come closer to him, she faltered and stopped, remembering his finger on her lips a few minutes before.

“Uh, can I kiss you this time?”

He chuckled, a soft blush gracing his cheeks—and kissed her in answer.

She immediately closed her eyes at the contact of his lips and kissed him back—slowly, deeply, tasting him as much as she could. He tilted his head to give her a better access, and she climbed on his laps to be more comfortable—and closer to him.

Marinette lost count of how many times they came back for each other, of how many times their lips met, or their tongues. She felt so happy and so good—so in love.

When they separated and looked at each other, shy and giddy smiles on their faces, she couldn’t help but drop another tender kiss on his cheek, and caressed it afterwards.

“Now I know what you found so funny earlier,” she told him.

“It’s hilarious, right? We were so dumb!”

“We still are,” she added.

“We definitely still are. I can’t believe I didn’t know that Marinette was in love with me in collège, wow.”

“Is in love with you,” she corrected, still caressing his cheeks. “Present tense.”

She would always remember the look on his face when she said it. He was in love with her too, there was no doubt about it.

Suddenly, she was hit with a realisation and looked at him in horror. “Wait a minute. That means… That I have only forty-one percent compatibility with Chat Noir?!”

Adrien burst out laughing. “My Laaaady, you can’t seriously believe these tests, right?”

“Well, no, but we still should have way more compatibility than forty-one percent. Who even has that with their super-hero partner?”

“Marinette,” he said, amused, “my Bugabisous…I don’t even have a hundred percent with myself. It would be hard to live in my own head.”

She blinked. “You’re right. That test is dumb. But how do we know if we’re the most compatible then?”

Adrien chuckled, and put his hands around her waist, bringing her closer to him. “Well, you’re the Guardian, I think you can make up the rules for that.”

She put her arms around his neck. “That’s true. Then I decide that we’re a hundred percent compatible.”

“A hundred percent, uh?”

Their foreheads were touching now.

“A hundred-and-one,” she whispered against his lips, and she kissed him.

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fangirlings-things · 3 years

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Ocean Eyes II

OCEAN EYES MASTERLIST

Word count: 5.4K

SET ON 5x12/5x13

A/N: hiiii guys!!! new chapter is finally here!! thank you guys for all the positive feedback, this story means a lot to me and I'm glad you're all enjoying it as well!! hope you guys like this one, let me know your thoughts, lots of love 💖

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The morning was cold. The sky was heavy with clouds and the breeze seemed to chill everyone's bones.

You were walking around the royal villa, talking to some of the common people and buying a few things from traders as you usually did. Those moments outside the palace, where the ones you felt like you could really breathe and think. Away from all the power and responsibility that came with the position your family held in society.

"Do you think the King would like this, Eldara?" you asked your handmaid, helding a black stone in your hand. It was so dark and beautiful, it reminded you of your brother's eyes. Sunlight seemed to shine upon it and the effect was amazing.

"I think he would, my Lady. It is a beautiful gift" Eldara smiled dearly at you and you could not help but smile right back at her. You considered her to be the closest to a real friend you ever had. Being a Princess since you were born, stopped you from having many things. Things you would have preferred instead of jewelry and power.

"Very well then, I will take it" you looked at the very old men who was trading the stone and placed two coins in his hand. The smile he gave you in gratitude enlightened your day and made you run your eyes through the other stones he had to offer, searching for another with the thought that perhaps your mother would like one of those, in mind.

You eyes ended up falling upon a large stone, that had a deep blue coloration. Such a clean, light blue that it remided you of the eyes of the Northman you had seen from up close in the night before. The one who had held you in place and asked for your honesty.

A little disturbed for your own thoughts, you thanked the old man for the stone and started to walk away with Eldara following closely behind you, while helding some of the other things you had bought, like paint, as your mother had asked you to.

You kept on walking around the villa, until you saw something that caught your attention. The Lady Elsewith, walking without her usual servants to one of the stables, inspected the royal villa with her eyes as if she was hiding something.

It made you frown, as she disappeared inside it in a clear rush. Only a few instants later, Bjorn Ironside entered the same stable without bothering to even look around. Oh no, he would not. He was too proud for that.

"Eldara, take all this back to my chambers. I will take another look around before returning to the palace" you gave her the stone you had just bought to Alfred, and she placed it inside the basket she carried with your buyings. Bowing in respect, she turned around and walked back to the palace just as you had ordered her to.

Sighting heavily, now completely alone, you recognized your fears for what you had seen and allowed them to show up in your expression. You were afraid of being right about the matter as you made your way towards the stables. With every step, you wished to turn around and pretend you did not see anything. But you knew you could not. It was too important to just let go.

You had to know.

You realized your fears to have been right placed as you watched in horror, Elsewith and Bjorn Ironside kissing each other hungrily inside the stables, away from other's stares. In secret, where no one else would know. The sound of their breaths hissing made you warm with anger, that you felt for both of them. Both of them were betraying Alfred, your twin in that moment and he did not deserve that. Not at all.

When they finally pulled back from one another Elsewith left the stables without saying a word, but with a smile on her swollen lips. You let her go without seeing you, as you had got into the stables through another entrance.

You thought about following her, confronting her and accuse her of such an horrible thing to do with your brother. The King! But you declined that idea the moment you saw the convinced smile that curved Bjorn Ironside's lips up. To see him so proud of himself about that made you realize that he was the one who needed confronting, not Elsewith.

"Is it your wish to break the alliance my brother has made with you?" you stepped out of the hidden corner where you had been standing and walked over to the Northman with determinion, one that always took a hold of you when angered. One that made you not hesitate before doing things and jump into decisions.

"Do you often spy on people, Lady (Y/N)?" he stared down at you, the irony in his voice as clear as a bright sky.

"You may be a living legend Bjorn Ironside, but here you are at my brother's service and mercy. Under the command of the King of Wessex. And that woman" you raised your right arm in the air with exasperation and pointed to the space through which Elsewith had gone out. "is his betrothed. So you stay away from her"

He analyzed you deeply, carefully. There was a spark of interest in his eyes as he did so, as if that argue between you two was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in the past days. "Are you threatening me?"

"No, I am warning you" you clenched your jaw and dig your finger nails so deep into your palms that they ached in pain. "I will forget that this has happened. But you stay away from the Lady, Bjorn Ironside, or this alliance will have no future"

"It already does not. My brother and my mother might believe you, but I do not. I am not a fool" he took a step closer and you took a step back in reflex, which you instantly regretted because his smile got bigger. "Alfred will kill my people, just like King Ecbert did. And if that comes to happen, I will do to him what I did to Ecbert. You want to know how your grandfather died?"

"Don't" you took another step back, suddenly more than afraid of him. Horrified. No, you did not want to know. Had no interest in it. You had already suffered enough without knowing the circumstances of it.

Your visible fear gave Bjorn more encouragement than he already had. "He died in his roman bathing house" he started, enjoying the moment and you desperately wanted to leave but for some reason, found yourself unable to move. "He cut his own wrists and bleed out like a goat in a sacrifice" tears were already streaming down your face by then and your vision was so blurry that you did not notice the Northman was so close until he whispered his next words in your ear. "There was no honor in his death. Such a great King, had a miserable, little end"

And then he was gone.

You just stayed there, crying as you thought about your grandfather. How he had felt. What would have been his last thoughts or wishes. All those feelings overwhelmed you and made you feel like a child again, wanting nothing more than your grandfather's care. One you could not have.

Your steps out of the stables were taken slowly, one after the other. You could not see a feet away because of the tears in your eyes. Honestly, you did not care. All you wanted was to keep crying.

You almost fell to ground when your body collided with a much larger one and you would have, if the man's arms had not been closed around your arms and held you up. Blinking to make the tears fall and your vision to be clearer, you saw Ubbe staring down at you with a deep frown of confusion. He semeed almost... worried.

"What has happened?" he asked, still without letting go of your arms. In that moment, your mind was too far away to even enjoy the warmth of his touch like you had in the previous night.

Forcing your way out of his grip you ran away from him and the royal villa. Your red dress, waved behind you like a cloth lost in the wind.

─━─━─━─「⊱✠⊰」──━─━─「⊱✠⊰」━─━─

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Alfred was sitting at one of the tables of the room, signing a few documents that were to be delivered to the Lords of the Witan, matters of the crown you absolutely did not want to know about. At every five seconds, his eyes would go to you before going back to the documents. He had been concerned ever since he saw your face was a little red, which indicated you had clearly been crying.

"It is not something you should worry about, brother" you smiled at him, turning another page of the book you were reading. It was the middle of the afternoon and even though Bjorn Ironside's words were still in your mind you had been trying to push them away, to be fine in front of others. Your brother needed you beside him with the current mess that was Wessex and you refused to break down and disappoint him. That would not happen. "You have more important matters to attend to"

"You will always come first, sister" you smiled at each other at that and then, the doors were suddenly opened and Aethelred rushed in with a dangerous expression on his face. You had seen that expression before and did not like it at all.

"Bishop Cuhtred is dead!" he instantly announced, going towards Alfred's table and stopping in front of it. His eyes sparkled with anger.

"What?" was all Alfred could mumble out through the shock that hit him and you in that moment.

"Cuhtred is dead, murdered!" Aethelred's voice got higher and more urgent as he spoke.

"Murdered?" Alfred frowned. "By who?"

"By Lord Heahmund" your older brother's voice was lower now, as Alfred got up at hearing that answer. "In the cathedral"

You placed your book down at your lap, closing it. Alfred's reign was so new and yet had more problems than your grandfather's had in years. You could see the pressure on his shoulders by how they hanged low, and the way his eyes seemed to deepen in his skull by each day.

"Where is Heahmund now?" your twin asked, and his voice was now stern as well as dangerous. You could see the fury building up inside him. You knew why. On the other day, he had refused to give Heahmund his old title as Prince of the Holy Church, since it had been already been given to Lord Cuhtred. Clearly, Heahmund had taken matters into his own hands.

"Here. In the chapel" as soon as those words left Aethelred's mouth, Alfred stormed out of the room. You knew he was going to the chapel. Aethelred turned around to follow him, but you quickly got up.

"Aethelred?" you called and he stopped, looking at you for the first time since he had entered the room. "I want to apologize for the things I said before. They were cruel and I regret them. I truly am sorry"

He did not smile, just nodded his head and then rushed after Alfred because he clearly also wanted to confront Heahmund.

You sat back at your chair, sighting without knowing if you had been forgiven.

─━─━─━─「⊱✠⊰」─━──━─「⊱✠⊰」━─━─

"My Lady" the guard at the door bowed slightly as you approached the door he had been ordered to guard.

"Let me pass" you said, holding firmly the metal plate you had in your hands. The guard seemed hesitant only for a moment before stepping to the side and opening up the door to you. As soon as you entered the room that was illuminated only by a few candle lights, he closed it again.

Your eyes instantly fell upon the man you had gone there to see. He was sitting on the ground, a book in his hands as a calm expression filled his face. When he saw you standing there, he instantly frowned. You clearly were not someone he had expected to see.

"Lady (Y/N)" he said in surprise, closing the book slowly as he probably tried to understand the point of your visit.

"I brought you some food, my Lord Heahmund" you sat down on your legs on the ground close to him, then placed the plate in the space between you. You saw how his eyes went to the food with urgency but still, he did not move to take it. "Please, eat"

"I hope you do not find me rude for asking why is the motivation of this kind visit, Lady. I am sure the King has told you what I did to be here now, imprisoned" he smiled minimally. For himself or for you, you did not find out.

"He did tell me and that is exactly why I am here" as you spoke those words, you remembered the earlier discussion between your brothers. You and your mother had watched it without much interference as their argued about what should be the fate of Heahmund, after the declaration that the murder had been committed because of a conspiracy, in which Cuthbert was the heart. That had filled you with fear for your brother. "I need you to look me in the eye and tell me if you were being honest, Lord Heahmund. That if the King were to restore you to your title as Prince of the Holy Church, you would get to the bottom of this conspiracy and name the other members"

The hint of the previous smile disappeared from Heahmund's face and something very serious took it's place. Leaning slightly forward to get closer to you, he fixed his dark eyes in yours. "I swear in the name of God, Lady, that I will stop this conspiracy. I will give to the King the names of the traitors so that Wessex's Witan can be freed from this evil people"

Perhaps it was the so seemed honesty in his voice and expression, or maybe the urgency and fear you felt, that made you so quickly believe him. That made you decide to side with Alfred to the idea of actually restoring Heahmund to his previous position in the Church. Keep your brother safe from danger was the most important thing in the world for you and if that depended on that man of God, who had killed a fellow holy man inside the house of God, so be it.

"In that case, if you are really being honest, I will vouch for you, Lord Heahmund. I will advice my brother to restore you to your title and position" you were the one who leaned forward in that moment, wishing to be able to see his soul and his thoughts. What he was really made of. "But remember this, you have sworn in the name of God. If you are lying, your Lord will punish you severely"

"Your Lord?" he said, in an echo of your own words and you then realized to have said too much. Luckily, he did not insist on the matter and proceeded. "I am aware of the oath I made, my Lady. I can say for sure that I will face no punishments as I was speaking the truth. I want your brother to stay in the throne and rule Wessex. I believe he will be a great King, like your grandfather, King Ecbert, was"

You smiled a little at him, then got up to your feet, fixing the cloth of your dress minimally for a second. "Eat the food. I will send someone later to bring you more and some wine"

"Thank you, my Lady (Y/N)" he also smiled, bowing with the same amount of respect he always showed the members of royalty. He was an intriguing man, Heahmund. You did think that.

Once again in the corridors after leaving the room where Heahmund had been imprisoned behind, a million thoughts ran through your mind in a rush.

Bjorn Ironside's cruelty when speaking of your grandfather. Ubbe's worried look when you bumped into him in the royal villa. Aethelred's distant look when you apologized. The conspiracy to overthrow and assassinate Alfred.

"Lagertha" you said her name slowly, when she came face to face with you, going to the way you had just left.

"Lady (Y/N)" she said with a little smile and a deep northern accent. She had a beautiful voice, with such power and impact. It resembled herself a lot. "Are you well?"

"Yes" you answered and only after you did, the sudden question made you frown. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you ask?"

"Ubbe told me about what happened at the royal villa this morning" Lagertha took a few more steps in your direction, her white hair amazed you under the candlelights. Being so close to such a strong, incredible woman and she knowing that you had cried in public, made your cheeks red with embarrassment. "He is worried about you"

That made your shame slip away and focus only in what she had just said. "Is he?" it came out as barely a whisper, but she heard and nodded in confirmation. You could see her inspecting you with utter attention, as if trying to understand who you were and your intentions completely. "I ask you to thank him for the kind concern, but I am well. Nothing has happened"

"It is a lie" she said and your eyes widened for the sudden affirmation, made with such confidence. "Something has happened and I think it is related to my son"

"Why would you..." you began, but she interrupted you almost at the very same moment.

"I know my son. When Ubbe spoke about you and what happened in the royal villa, how you bumped into each other, I saw Bjorn's face. I saw the smile he carried and I knew he was involved" you looked down at your feet, feeling embarrassed again and even more than that, you felt how he had deeply hurt you with his words earlier. How he had told you something you absolutely did not wish to know. "Listen to me, dear child" Lagertha placed her hands on the sides of your face and made you stare at her in the eyes again. Hers were blue, but not as blue as Ubbe's. No eyes were like his. "My son is a difficult, stubborn man and I suppose me and Ragnar are the one's to blame for that. Bjorn can be reckless and rough, but believe me when I say that he wants this alliance to work. He knows it's value and he is thankful for the King having stood by us but his pride, makes it almost impossible to be seen"

"Thank you, Lagertha" you said, trying hardly to believe her words. You wanted to belive that Bjorn Ironside was not a horrible person. But after that morning, you found it to be very difficult. The North woman smiled and then walked by you, continuing on her way, the one you had just come from.

You knew, in your heart, that she was going to see Heahmund.

─━─━─━─「⊱✠⊰」──━─━─「⊱✠⊰」━─━─

"Hello, grandfather"

You were sitting in the stairs that led to the altar where King Ecbert had been buried. You had your back to the altar and your eyes in the doors you had closed after entering that place, alone. Your arms rested in your knees and your hair fell upon your shoulders and chest, because you held your head down. In that place, away from everyone, you felt like you could show some real fragility.

"I am sorry for disturbing your sleep, again as I have done before, but I had to talk to you" you swallowed hard and sighted. "There is so much going on. Alfred is sitting in the throne and trying his best to keep it, but the Witan seems to hate him. I fear for his future and the future of Wessex" a cold breeze entered through one of the open windows and a shiver run down your spine. "Also, the Northmen are here. Not a raiding party, just a small group. Two of the sons of Ragnar are here. Bjorn Ironside and Ubbe, I believe you met them before..." your voice died in your throat and you had to take a moment to find it again inside yourself. "Bjorn spoke about your death, grandfather. Even though I did not wish to hear it. He said you killed yourself in your bathing house" the tears came, as you expected them to. It was no surprise when they started to fall down your face. "I know you loved that place. You would spend hours in there" you laughed a little, thinking about it and sighted. "I hope you found peace, grandfather. I know the faith you had in God and I hope you are with him right now, showing him your wisdom"

You fell silent. There was so much to say and yet, so little. You wanted to talk and talk with your grandfather like you used to, but it felt wrong to disturb him. So you turned most of what you wanted to say away, but there was one thing you could not ignore.

"If you are really in heaven, grandfather, are you also with my father, Athelstan? I believe so, because you always told me that you two were close. So if he is there, please, ask him why does he not love me. Why he keeps not showing himself to me like he does to Alfred" you thought about the other night, how you had called for him but still, there was no answer at all. "What have I ever done wrong to deserve such thing?"

Suddenly the doors to the room where opened and as you cleaned your tears and tried to look serious and presentable, a guard came in. "My Lady, I am sorry to disturb you"

"It is not a problem" you sighted and got to your feet, fixing the cloth of your dress so that it would look as it should, and not so kneaded. "What is it?"

"Ubbe, the son of Ragnar Lothbrok, has asked to speak with you" the guard said, his voice without any emotion as it was typical of the royal guards. They did not show feelings or talked with nothing more than respect towards the royal family.

"With me and the King?" you said, surprised with that statement.

"No, my Lady, just you"

"Oh" you could not stop that sound from leaving your mouth. The fact that the Northman wanted to see you and you only, made you feel nervous, but not in a bad way. You truly realized in that moment that you did not fear him. Not Ubbe, who had been nothing but respectful since you met. "Where is he now?"

"Waiting for you in one of the private rooms in the south side of the palace, my Lady. The one next to the Chapel" he explained, as you walked down the few stairs and in his direction.

"Thank you" you smiled at him in gratitude and he flushed in surprise and embarrassment. Some of the guards would always do that when you were actually kind to them and payed them some attention, something the other members of the royal family were not used to do, not even your twin.

─━─━─━─「⊱✠⊰」─━━─━─「⊱✠⊰」━─━─

Only when you stopped at the doors of the room the guard had said the Northman was in, you realized how hard your heart was beating inside your chest. It felt like at some point it would just break it's way through your ribs.

After taking a deep breath you opened just one of the doors and looked inside almost shyly, as if that palace was not your house but his.

Ubbe had leaned his back against one of the stone walls and had his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze was glued to his feet as he seemed to be lost in thoughts. When he saw you standing there, he stood straight and joined his hands in front of his body, respectful as usual. "Lady (Y/N)"

"Ubbe" you got in, closed the door behind you and then slowly made your way towards him. You stopped a few steps away from him, in an acceptable distance, not even close to the proximity you two had shared in the other day, in the dark corridors. "I have been told you wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes" he took a deep breath, as if gaining courage for what he had to say. He averted his eyes from yours and began to feel worried about what he had to say. But then, his ocean eyes found yours again and the expression in his face was agitated, but not necessarily meant something bad. "Me and Torvi, my wife, we accept the King's proposal" he took a few seconds to say the word wife out loud. "We will become christians"

Instantly, your face lit up in a big smile. The sadness you felt before almost forgotten now, after hearing, such unexpected and yet incredibly good for the future, news. "Ubbe, that it's incredible!" you could not contain your excitement and took a few more steps in his direction. "By doing that you are lifting a heavy burden from my brother's shoulders. With the doing of this, the lands of East Anglia can be given to your people in a short time"

"I hope so" he said, squeezing his lips in a thin line. You could see how difficult that was being for him, to accept the deal and become a Christian, renounce his Gods in public. That only made his sacrifice even greater.

"I will inform the King of this great news immediately" you smiled and motioned to walk away, but before you could one of Ubbe's hands closed around your arm. His touch was the same from the other day. Not too hard, just enough to keep you in place. Gracious, gentle even. You frowned at him, surprised and confused.

"Why were you crying this morning?" the Northman asked, searching for the answer in your expression and eyes. There they were again, those deep blue ocean eyes so close. "You bumped into me and I saw that you were crying. Now, you seem like you have been crying as well. What is it?"

"I am fine, Ubbe" you averted your eyes from his, wanting to escape but not really though. You wanted him to stop seeking those answers, to forget what he had seen. And yet, you did not want him to let your arm go and walk out of that room without saying more.

"Does it have anything to do with my brother, Bjorn?" you sighted and kept your gaze away from his, the warmth of his touch once more giving you chills. Suddenly, he raised his other hand and gently placed it under your chin, making you raise your head and look him in the eye. The proximity, the moment, his breath that almost touched your face, it was all too much.

"What...?" you began, but he interrupted you soon enough.

"I saw him leaving the stables before you" Ubbe said and as the expression in your face became incredibly sad, something seemed to grown inside his chest. "Did he hurt you?"

You saw something there, a little spark that you did not know what meant. "No. I mean, yes" you motioned to get out his grip and away from him and he did not stop you, just watched as you stopped again a few meters away, your back facing him. "He said some hard things"

You heard Ubbe move behind you, but did not turn around to look. You did not want him to see you like that, so vulnerable. Almost no one ever saw you in such a way.

"What did he say?" he spoke again and in the same moment, you realized how close he stood. If you took just one single, short step back, your back would probably hit his chest. You could feel him there, ghosting, looking you from above like he always did.

"He told me how my grandfather died, even though I did not wish to know" you chuckled sadly, not a single drop of genuine humor in it. "He made it a great speech. About lack of honor and shame" your whole being burned in anger and rage tears fell down your face. "It was horrible. Perverse and cruel. Just... cruel"

Ubbe sighted heavily behind you, the tension in the room so heavy that the air seemed not to be enough. Slowly, he raised his hands and touched your arms upon the sleeves of your dress, for what purpose exactly, even he did not know.

Unlike before though, when he touched you, a rush of thoughts ran through your mind. He was a Northman. You barely knew him. He had taken part in the death of your grandfather. Why did he touch you like that? Like he cared? Why was he so kind to you even though he had no reason to? Just why?

You jumped away from Ubbe's touch, only then turning to look at him. You took in the confusion in his eyes only for a moment before looking away. "I will inform the King and have the ceremony prepared for you and... your wife" like him, you took a few seconds to say wife out loud.

And then, you stormed out. ─━─━─━─「⊱✠⊰」─━━─━─「⊱✠⊰」━─━─

"Before being received into God's Holy Church, you most renoune your former errors"

You saw Ubbe's jaw clenched when Bishop Heahmund said those words. Hear his Gods called erros felt extremely wrong, even for you. Alfred, who stood beside you, looked at you with a little nervousness. The Lords of the Witan were around, their hatred for the Northmen clear in their features. Also, their hate for Bishop Heahmund who by your brother's determination, had been restored to his position as Prince of the Holy Church.

"I renounce my belief" Ubbe said, his voice clear and confident for everyone to hear. You wondered how much those words would have weighted to be said. "In Odin and all the other pagan gods"

You heard a grunt to your left and from the corner of your eye, you saw how Bjorn Ironside's face was twisted into anger. The Lord's rage was nothing compared to the one that Bjorn showed. Beside him, Lagertha's face was stern and incapable to read.

"I renounce my belief in Odin and all the other pagan gods" Torvi, Ubbe's wife, said as well.

They were both inside the lake to where the court had gone for the ceremony, with water to their knees. Heahmund was there as well, performing the ceremony.

Slowly, Heahmund approached Ubbe, moving water as he did so. He raised his hands and placed them on each side of Ubbe's neck, his thumb stopping close to his ears. He made Ubbe bow his head a little and then, Heahmund breathed to his forehead, his eyes closed in concentration.

"With my breath, I do exercise this evil spirits which inhabit you" Heahmund said his blessing in latin, first to Ubbe and then towards Torvi. You watched how uncomfortable they seemed and felt some regret, for having them renounce their beliefs like that. "Amen" Heahmund finalized his prayer.

You heard someone spit and turning to the left, you saw Bjorn leaving the place with heavy steps and rage escaping him in every move. You knew he was incredibly mad about the consilium, about his brother becoming a christian. Well, now, it was too late. You could now see that written in Lagertha's stern features.

As the ceremony was almost finished, Ubbe and Torvi turned to look at Alfred. They stared deep into the King's eyes, the unspoken words there more than clear. We did our part. Now do yours. Your brother moved his head in affirmation, and then Ubbe's eyes fell on you. The conversation you had shared in the previous day ran through both of your minds. While you remembered his touch, he remembered how sad you looked.

And the consilium seemed to be over in that very moment, as you forgot about everyone else and stared into his ocean eyes.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #vikings imagine #vikings #history vikings #vikings fanfic #vikings series #series #ubbe ragnarson #ubbe ragnarsson #ubbe #ubbe x reader #vikings ubbe #ubbe imagine #ubbe fanfiction #ubbe smut #ubbe lothbrok

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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A Very Strange New Year’s Eve

An Ikemen Vampire fanfic. Approx 6K words. This was supposed to go up for Jan 1, but I didn’t finish in time. I considered just not posting, but went ahead and finished it. So . . . 3 months past the holiday, but hey!

The mansion was bustling with activity on New Year’s Eve. It was tradition in this time for men to go from estate to estate, drinking and dancing, singing and carousing. Few ever made it out as far as le Comte’s country home, but Sebastian wasn’t about to let that excuse him from preparations. And you got recruited to help.

First there was the front courtyard, now a wonderland of ice sculptures and colored lanterns. Red ribbons graced the bare branches of trees, and winter flowering plants dotted the path to the door. The entry way was a ballroom, cleared of furniture and hung with garlands of ivy and mistletoe. Then there were the refreshment tables with carefully crafted centerpieces . . .

“Sebas. Comte says no one comes out this far. Can’t we just call this good enough,” you whine. “I’d really like to just enjoy the rest of the holiday.”

Sebastian moves faster than you’d expect, given he’s like you - just human. But there’s no way you could dodge the thump he lands in the center of your forehead.

“Ouch! Wh-what was that for?”

“You should start the new year as you plan to continue. Do you really want to spend it lazing around instead of getting things done?” Sebastian’s mild frown is almost worse than the sting on your forehead.

You sigh. “Fine. Yes. So what else do I need to do?”

Sebastian gestures with his chin toward the stairs. “Comte needs someone to bring him the case from the study. Why don’t you do that and see what else he needs, since you’ve no head for decorating.”

“Alright.” You hurry up the stairs.

Comte is already in the study, case in hand. He notices you come in and his lips curl up in a wistful smile. “Did Sebas chase you away from his masterpiece?”

“Yeah. I’m not . . . enthusiastic enough. Anyway, he said you needed some help up here?”

Comte nods, gesturing to some books. “You can carry those for me. Come along.”

The books are obviously old, the bindings a thick leather. Symbols are burned into them that you don’t recognize. “What are these for?”

“The turn of the new year provides a brief window for certain experiments. Those are notes and guides from other studies,” Comte explains.

“Like magic?” You eye the books suspiciously. “Is it something like the door?”

Comte chuckles. “Yes, I suppose you could say it’s something like the door. Manipulating time is a narrowly explored side of alchemy. Science, more than magic, ma cherie.” He stops at a door you hadn’t noticed before and unlocks it.

Inside there are a variety of strange looking devices. Twisted metal constructs, oddly shaped glass containers, shelves of bizarre looking ingredients and other things your eye can’t quite focus on. You step inside but Comte holds out a hand to stop you.

“That’s far enough. This room is not . . . safe . . . I’d appreciate it if you’d set the books down at the door.”

Your skin breaks out in little goosebumps as you step back out of the doorway. “Alright. Well, was there anything else you wanted me to do?”

Comte turns. “There is. Would you make sure everyone is out of the mansion before 9 this evening? Help them hurry along. I need peace and quiet if I’m to make progress. And I’d hate for any of you to be caught up in unexpected side effects of my experiments.”

“Side effects?” You stand a little straighter, suddenly nervous.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but yes. Sometimes these tests produce unintended effects that spread beyond my laboratory.” He smiles as if this is unimportant. “So, can you make sure everyone is out by sunset?”

You nod. “Sure. Vincent is going out with Will to see some musical at the Moulin Rouge. Arthur, Dazai, and Theo are going to the Parade of Fools . . . I think Isaac and Napoleon are visiting an orphanage? And Jean is going to Notre Dame to pray. But I don’t think Leo or Sebas planned to go out anywhere.” And neither did I, you mentally add.

“Well, you must convince them. I am sure you’ll think of something.” He takes the books from you and closes the door. As soon as it shuts, you almost don’t notice it’s there again. Weird. But there’s no time to stand around and stare at a locked door. You’ve got a mission.

First you stop in to check on Arthur. Dazai and Theo are in the room with him, dressed in ridiculous colors and patterns. “Looks like a little bird stopped in to see what we’re up to,” Arthur grins at you from where he sits at the edge of his bed.

“Just making sure you’re on time. Can’t be late for the uh, the parade.” You realize you aren’t entirely sure what that is but parades usually start at a certain time so - it makes sense, right?

Dazai grabs your elbow, guiding you inside. “Yes, thank you Toshiko-san. Are you hoping to come with us?”

Theo scoffs, “No puppies allowed.”

Arthur stands and you realize his shirt is unbuttoned. His chest is more muscled than any writer ought to be. Your eyes can’t help but run from his sternum down to the buckle of his belt. “I don’t know, Theo. Could be fun to bring our skirt along.” He runs a finger along your jaw line, earning a frown from Dazai.

Theo shakes his head. “No. Look at her. Just touching her cheek turns the girl into a tomato. Can you imagine her face at the feast of fools? No.”

Dazai nudges Arthur back with his shoulder as he turns you to face the door. “Well, that is that Toshiko-san. It seems this is a boys only trip.”

“But - but I didn’t ask to go. I just, I need to make sure you leave before it gets dark.” You protest.

“Yeah, yeah. We got it hondje.” The door closes on Theo’s dismissal. You hear Arthur’s laughter as you head down the hall. Well.You delivered your message at least.

Next you decide to check on Vincent. He is painting with a look of intent focus. The canvas shows a field of flowers, their edges blending together in ways that make your head swim. You feel like you could drown in that picture but not tonight. Tonight, you have a job. “Vincent!”

He turns, his blue eyes wide with surprise. When he sees you, he smiles. “Oh! Did Will send you to get me? Is it already time to go?”

“No, er, yes,” you stumble over your answer. It’s hard to think straight with those big baby blues trained on you. “I mean, yes, you should get ready to go and no - I haven’t seen Will.”

Vincent looks a little confused, but turns to put down his paint and brush. “I guess you’re right. It will take me a bit to put the paints away and clean my brushes. I should start now. Would it be ok if I asked you to help?”

You are just about to say yes. After all, spending time around Vincent is always pleasant and it’s still basically what Comte asked you to do - but before your mouth opens, a pair of cool, smooth hands come around your waist and pull you tight against a narrow, wiry chest.

“And hast thy tongue given voice to words untrue? Or did thine eyes pass me over me as I stood on the stair awaiting your pleasant greetings?”

“Will!” You try to politely pull away from him, but he holds fast.

“Shall I take my revenge on you for such rude welcome? Or perchance, I only need keep you close to sooth the ache your averted gaze has given my heart.” Will set his head on your shoulder so that his lips brush your cheek.

“Will! Since you’re here, you can help me with the brushes,” Vincent exclaims. He takes hold of one of Shakespear’s hands, tugging the bard away from you.

Reluctantly, Will releases you. “Ah, friend Vincent. I could not deny you this. Besides, if I refuse, we would be late!”

Vincent chuckles. “Sorry. I got carried away with this painting. I appreciate the help. I’m sure we’ll be finished in plenty of time.”

You nod, backing toward the door. “Well, you two better hurry. Comte needs the mansion to himself tonight, so you need to get going.”

This seems to get Will’s interest, but he doesn’t get a chance to pry as Vincent hauls him off to clean brushes.

You escape the room to go check on your toughest target. Leonardo. The narcoleptic genius. The tobacco scented DILF. The most infuriating member of the mansion . . . da Vinci. You knock on his door, certain he’s there thanks to the present smell of fresh tobacco smoke and the warm light coming from under the door.

No response.

You knock again and call out. “Leo? Comte sent me!”

Nothing.

“I know you’re in there!” You try the knob and find the door unlocked. The room beyond is a disaster area. Bits of wire, gears, pretty rocks, books, and only Lumiere knows what else cover every surface except the bed.

Leonardo is lounging against a mound of pillows, his cat perched above his head, a book open on his chest. His bare chest. His wide, muscled, gorgeous . . .

You clear your throat.

He finally opens his eyes. “Ah, cara! Why are you in my room? Did you need something?” He doesn’t sit up or shift position. Or cover his distractingly visible self.

You clear your throat again and will the heat in your face away. “Uhm, ah, Comte wanted me to tell you - ah - he needs you to go someplace tonight.” You manage to get the message out by fixing your eyes on the mess and not the man.

“I didn’t plan to go anywhere,” Leo shrugs. He turns the page in his book. Lumiere cracks one golden eye open to watch you.

“Yeah, well. Comte needs you to go out. He’s doing an experiment.”

At this, Leonardo sits up a bit, disturbing the cat. Lumiere hops down in a huff and begins to pick his way through the unholy pile of crap on the floor. “An experiment? Well. Then I should go along, I suppose.” He grins at you and it’s one of those dangerous smiles of his. “Could you put this book up for me while I find my shirt?”

“Sure?” You carefully walk over and around the mess, wobbling with each uneasy step.

When you’re in arms’ reach, he grabs you by the waist and tugs you onto the bed. Onto his chest. His bare skin against the backs of your thighs. “Wh-what the hell, Leonardo?!” You sort of struggle to stand, instinct fighting pride.

“Oh, sorry cara mia. You looked like you might fall.” His dangerous grin was still firmly in place, his golden eyes laughing.

“If I was going to fall, it’s your fault. You need to clean this place up!”

“I would. I’m just so busy.” He tries to help you up, his hands touching you on your legs, your hip, your everywhere - completely unnecessarily - until you get back on your feet. “Maybe you can come help me, hm?”

You try to frown at him but your heart is racing and your cheeks are pink. The look has no impact except to make him smile wider. “Maybe. You can ask me tomorrow, but right now, can you find someplace else to be?”

“I think I’ll go watch the fireworks,” he sighs. “It would be even more beautiful with company . . .”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone to watch it with,” you snap back. Then you hurry out before he can reply. But you’re not fast enough. You never are.

“I already found you, cara . . .” His voice, like warm honey, follows you down the hall. It takes you a moment to shake it off. This is not the time to go all doe-eyed. Not when you’ve got Jean to deal with.

He isn’t in his room. Or the library. You find him in the studio, doing, of all things, aerobics. Of course, Jean d’Arc invented aerobics for soldiers so it shouldn’t surprise you but it does. Or maybe it’s just seeing him covered in sweat, his linen undershirt stuck to his skin. Thin silk leggings clinging indecently to . . .

“Mademoiselle?” His empty one-eyed gaze brings you back to the moment and your purpose here.

“Sorry to interrupt Jean. I was coming to check on you because -” you pause. Jean and Comte don’t get along well. If you tell him le Comte needs him gone, it might have the opposite effect. So instead, you say, “I was thinking of visiting Notre Dame with you. I wasn’t sure when you were leaving.”

He looks disturbed. “Right now. You won’t be able to accompany me.” He moves toward the door, all leonine grace.

“Don’t you need to clean up first?” He pauses, looks down at himself and frowns. “Yes . . .”

“Then we have plenty of time. I’ll meet you up front.”

“Mademoiselle -”

Unlike the golden-eyed flirt upstairs, it’s easy to escape Jean before he’s had his say. You feel bad for doing it, but you haven’t been to see the cathedral yet and this is as good an excuse as any.

The hour is growing late, and you know you don’t have much time. You head to Isaac’s room where thankfully, he and Napoleon are gathering the last of their supplies for this little mission. Food and warm coats for the children, nothing fancy but special enough to give the orphans a happy new year.

“Hello you two!” You stand in the doorway, grinning at the way Isaac hops up at your voice. And Napoleon’s warm, slow smile.

“If it isn’t my nunuche. Come to help us pack?”

Isaac shook his head. “We’re pretty much done. No help needed. You can go.”

“Oh? Well . . . I wasn’t really here to help out anyway. Sorry ‘Leon. I just wanted to see how soon you’d be leaving.”

“Do we need to rush?” Napoleon set a hand on one of the packages as if he might pick it up and go now.

“No, I don’t think so. But soon? Comte is doing some sort of experiment tonight. Wants the mansion to himself.”

“An experiment?” Isaac’s eyes light up with interest.

You can’t help but smile at how adorable he looks. “I don’t think it’s the kind of experiment you’d want to be involved in. Less physics, more hocus-pocus.”

“Hocus what?” Napoleon looks confused.

“Nevermind,” you shush him. “Are you about done?”

“Just a few more items to pack,” Isaac reassures you. “We’ll be out within the hour.”

“Perfect.” You smile at them. Isaac looks away, fiddling with his shirt. Napoleon grins back at you.

That smile reminds you of all the surprise kisses you’ve got, waking him up for breakfast. Incorrigible man. You turn to go, with one last target in mind. The hardest target, in fact.

“Oh Sebas?”

Sebastian turns from the table he’s decorating. You see a measuring tape in his hand which he quickly tucks into his pocket.

“Were you . . . checking the distance between that candle stick and the crystal dessert tray?” You can’t help the way your eyebrows go up or the rise in pitch.

Sebas coughs. “Of course not. I was . . . merely . . .” He stops. His eyes narrow. “Aren’t you supposed to be upstairs assisting le Comte?”

“I am! I was, I mean. He sent me down to tell you we need to get out of the mansion for the evening. He’s doing an experiment.” You aren’t going to let Sebastian intimidate you with his perfect butleriness. Not tonight!

“An experiment you say? Did he mention what?” He lowers his voice as if to add just to himself, “I haven’t seen him perform an experiment first hand yet. What a fascinating entry that would be . . .”

You clear your throat. “You know I can hear you, right? Besides. I don’t think le Comte wants any observers.”

Sebastian turns to look at the beautifully decorated parlor and entryway. It is breathtaking. The colors, the placement, the food . . . it’s a shame to waste it. “Surely we can stay long enough to see if some guests arrive,” he ventures.

“You could ask.”

“Or you could run along and ask for me. I have a few more things to finish here.” Sebas gestures to the absolutely perfect decor.

You frown. “It looks done to me. And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

The two of you argue good-naturedly back and forth until Arthur, Dazai, and Theo come traipsing down the stairs.

“Would you quit yapping, hondje? I can hear you all the way in my room. With the door shut!”

Arthur elbows him. “Come on chap, that’s an exaggeration. It was only with the door open.”

Dazai gives you a wink. “I think you are both teasing Toshiko-san. Her voice is too beautiful to complain of hearing. Like birdsong in the morning.”

“I’m not a fan of that myself,” Napoleon chimes in on his way down the stairs. He has a box almost as big as he is in his arms. Isaac is right behind him, carrying another man-sized container.

You aren’t sure if you should be insulted or flattered at this point, and in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because just as you’re about to speak up, Leonardo comes up behind Isaac a little too quickly, startling the physicist.

Isaac drops his box, which tumbles down to take out Napoleon. Napoleon’s box goes flying and in seconds, the whole entryway is covered in children’s clothes and shoes, and little baggies of candy.

Sebastian looks as if he might cry.

Napoleon starts to laugh, one of his hard, belly-shaking, can’t-stop fits.

Which of course, is when Jean arrives. He looks down from the top of the stair like a visitor in a madhouse, watching the patients with a look of chagrin.

“I suppose we need to help pick all this up before we go,” Theo grumbles.

Arthur gives a reluctant nod as Dazai bends to lift a tiny little dress that looks as if it was made to fit a toddler. “This is almost Toshiko’s size, isn’t it?”

You punch him lightly in the arm. “It might fit my foot . . . thanks.”

Vincent and Will are the next on scene, and while angelic Vincent immediately rushes to help, Shakespeare just looks sad that he missed the mayhem.

“Would that we were just a moment quicker. I could have caught the look of surprise on Isaac’s face and watched this riotous madness unfold.”

“Will,” you frown. “Can you just help pick stuff up? This is taking forever and le Comte said-”

The hall clock rings the hour. Nine. Precisely the time you were all supposed to be out of the mansion.

Surely, you think, surely le Comte would make certain he was alone before doing anything dangerous. Right?

A wave of heat rushes through the house as if something burst in its stone center. The air ripples and the walls bend and flex as if they were made of soft pudding. Colors flow and blend in bizarre combinations that end in black. Darkness and silence.

You realize you’re lying on the tile floor of the entryway. Your eyelids feel heavy and your head is pounding. You open them carefully, hoping the world is ok and you are ok, and all the residents of the mansion are fine too. Above you, the ribbons and lights Sebas strung up are still hanging. You turn your head. There’s the table, and the remains of the mess.

And sitting in the middle of a pile of clothes is a . . . a little boy. With blonde hair and big blue eyes. He looks at you and smiles like an angel.

“Umm, hi,” you say and give him a wave.

“Hi.” He imitates your gesture.

Where did the kid come from? And where are the vampires? You sit up and look around. And there’s another kid! This one looks a little older. Dark black hair, eyes like big round jade beads. He’s naked, sleeping with his little butt in the air, legs curled under him, head on another pile of clothes.

You scramble to your feet, beginning to panic. There are other children in the room. A little boy with strawberry brown hair and cherry-blossom eyes is constructing a tower from silverware, assisted by another boy with dark grey hair and amber eyes.

A little boy on the steps is trying desperately to tie Jean’s eye patch to his head and hold a bit of shirt to his chest, only he can’t because two hands isn’t enough.

You slap yourself to wake up.

A tiny little hand tugs at your skirt. “No. No owies.”

You look down to see another blue-eyed tot, this one with chestnut hair. He is staring up at you in disapproval and the expression looks damn familiar. “Theo?”

He grunts, which is probably a yes. “Pancakes. Want pancakes.” He tugs your skirt in the direction of the kitchen.

Definitely Theodorus. You crouch to look him in the eye. “Huh. Pancakes? Alright. If I’m stuck in a dream about kiddie vampires, I might as well make them pancakes.”

Your words draw the attention of most of the boys. They crowd around you, herding you toward the kitchen. All except Mozart who is on the table, tapping champagne glasses with a spoon. He glances at you in annoyance before resuming his table-symphony.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you tell them. “I’ll make pancakes, but first you’ve got to get dressed.” You point at the clothes on the floor. You notice one messy-haired boy picking his nose. “And wash your hands.”

“Are they . . . are they all children,” asks a confused voice from behind you. Sebastian stands up from where he fell, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“No. I’m just having a very weird dream,” you inform him.

Sebastian pinches you. It hurts. “No. If this was a dream, that should have ended it,” he says after a moment.

“You could have pinched yourself,” you mutter.

“Not if it’s your dream.” He glances around, counting the little boys that are scrambling into their clothes. “Seems all of them are accounted for except le Comte. Have you seen him since you got up?”

“I just woke up a few minutes ago. I’ve only seen these,” you gesture to the group, then reach out to snag Dazai before he empties a pitcher of champagne over the sleeping Napoleon.

The little dark haired trickster wriggles out of your grip and runs off laughing. You’re pretty sure you need to keep a close eye on that one.

“Then I will go upstairs and check on him. You take this lot to the dining room. I think some food will settle them down.” He watches as Jean, dressed now in an adorable red and white frock, chases after Will with a fork. “It seems they have no memory of themselves.”

“I don’t know about that. Theo has his usual frown. And he asked for pancakes.”

Sebastian nods. “Probably elements of his personality that existed when he was a child. Just a guess. Hopefully le Comte will know more.”

“Hopefully he can reverse this,” you reply. The idea of spending your life with immortal children is terrifying. At least, you think, they are out of diapers.

As Sebas bounds up the stairs, you herd the (now dressed) munchkins into the dining room. They tumble forward, all little knees, elbows and fists, knocking over vases and coat hangers and a chair on the way.

Little Arthur stumbles onto the carpet and his eyes begin to tear up. Vincent kneels down beside him to check the ouchie while Theo pats him gently on the head as you would to calm a dog.

You bend down to see if the tyke is ok. His leg is a little red where he bumped it, but probably fine. “Do you want some ice?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. No. Pick me up. Pwease?” His eyes get big as he pleads with you.

Unable to say no, you lift him into your arms. He’s a little heavy, but not more than a sack of flour anyway. “Is that better?”

“Mhmm.” Arthur gives you an endearing smile. He lays his head on your chest and sighs happily.

“Ok, but I’m going to have to put you down to make pancakes. Alright?”

Arthur doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t complain when you settle him in a chair. You realize then that this is not going to work. These seats are for grown adults, not little kids.

Before you can think of how to solve it, little Leonardo does it for you. “I have a big books,” he announces. And grabs Jean and Napoleon by the hand. “Get a books.”

The three of them tromp merrily away, with you not sure if you ought to go with them or keep track of the rest of the kids.

“Hondje,” Theo giggled from behind you. “Hooooondje! Pancakes!”

You glare down at the little tyke. “I am not a puppy!”

Your fierce tone puts tears in his eyes and in a heartbeat, Vincent is there, hugging his brother. They are so adorable that you forget to be annoyed. “Alright, sorry for yelling at you, cutie,” you tell Theo. You ruffle his hair. “Let’s go make some pancakes.”

You snag Dazai off the windowsill before he can pull it open. “You too, you little prankster.” He giggles adorably and seems perfectly happy to watch the world from your hip.

Mozart follows along behind you, still looking annoyed that he had to leave his ‘instrument’ behind.

Isaac and Arthur stay at the table, where you can just see the tops of their little heads. You’d worry about leaving normal kids alone, even for the time it takes to cook some pancakes, but these are vampires-turned-kids. They’ll probably be fine. The dining room might not be, but that’s le Comte’s problem.

But . . . where was Will? You realize you haven’t seen him since you picked Arthur up. And if any one of these little devils is a danger on his own . . .

You carefully set Dazai down and pull the pancake batter ingredients out. You put them in one big bowl and hand Dazai, Mozart, Theo, and Vincent their own spoons. “Alright my big-littles, if we’re going to eat pancakes tonight, you have to stir.”

Vincent’s happy little face takes on a serious look as he plunges his spoon into the mix and begins to stir. Theo watches him for a moment before trying out his own batter-making skills.

Mozart looks at the spoon and then at the batter. “No. Dirty.” He throws the spoon across the kitchen and crosses his arms.

“Wolfie, come on. It’s not dirty. You don’t need to touch it with your hands.”

He turns his head and refuses to look at you.

“Oh come on,” you sigh. “Fine. You can . . . supervise.” Which is a fantastic idea right up until Dazai tosses a handful of flour at Mozart.

Mozart flings himself at Dazai and they begin to chase each other around the kitchen, Dazai laughing and Mozart snarling like an angry cat.

“Good enough. You guys keep up the good work. I’ll be right back.” And off you go in search of Shakespeare. He isn’t in the dining room. Or in the entryway. But you notice a slight hazy smoke coming from the parlor.

You poke your head into the room and damned if that’s not exactly where he is, trying to catch one of the heavy curtains on fire with a candle. “WILL!” You dash across the room and pull him, and the candle, away from the smoking curtain.

“William Shakespeare, what do you think you’re doing?!” Your tone is scarily reminiscent of your own mother and it makes you wince a little. But that doesn’t seem to have any effect on the tiny bard.

He grins up at you, his eyes sparkling. “Twagedy.”

You can’t help but notice he’s missing both his front teeth. Kinda like a reverse bunny. “Tragedy, huh? If I catch you trying to burn down the mansion again, I’ll show you a real tragedy mister.”

Rather than looking threatened, he seems excited by this. He nods his head. “Ok. Ok!”

“Ah. No. I mean, I’ll show you a real tragedy only if you’re a good boy and you don’t try to burn down the mansion. Alright?”

Will scrunches his face up, as if thinking hard about this. Then he nods again. “Weal twagedy! Ok!”

You sigh and carry him to the dining room. Where Isaac is pulling apart a house plant and making little noises to himself. Arthur is nowhere to be seen, but judging by the sounds coming from the kitchen, you’re pretty sure where he went.

You set Will down and throw open the door. Just in time to see Dazai and Arthur toss a canister of flour over Mozart. At least Theo and Vincent are being good, you think.

Mozart, dusted white from head to toe, looks about two seconds from going full cage-fighter on the other two boys. You scoop him up and set him in the big sink. “Nope, no fighting Wolfie. We’ll just clean you up.”

You turn to look at Dazai and Arthur. “That was really mean, you two. Now he’s got to change clothes. You go get him something to wear. Now. Something clean!” You aren’t completely sure they understand, but they both walk in the direction you point. Hopefully they grab Mozart some clean clothes from the pile. Or at least, don’t find more trouble while you give him a mini-bath.

Just as you turn on the water, you hear Theo behind you. “Pancakes.” You turn and he’s staring at you, arms crossed.

Vincent looks at you with huge, blue eyes. You swear they get bigger as they fix on you. “Pancakes?” He looks like he might cry.

“Yes, yes. I know. Pancakes.” You sigh. Mozart has stripped off his clothes and is trying to wash himself under the faucet. You put the plug in and add some soap for bubbles. Then step over to the stove to heat a griddle. Talk about multitasking!

Will is watching all of this with keen interest. Hopefully it’s enough ‘twagedy’ to keep him occupied.

Mozart manages not to drown himself in the sink while you cook, and wonder of wonders, Arthur and Dazai bring back clean clothes. The bright, chaotic colors and the tulle tutu are nothing Wolfie would normally wear, but hell, at least it’s clothing.

You set a dripping Mozart on the floor with a towel and finish cooking. With the last pancake on the griddle, you decide to check the dining room - there’s a lot of noise coming from in there. When you poke your head out, you see Leonardo directing Jean and Napoleon in book placement.

“A books!” He tells you proudly.

Mozart in his plaid yellow jacket and pink tutu comes toddling out to see what’s going on.

Leonardo covers his mouth at the sight and Jean just stares blankly. But Napoleon collapses in a fit of giggles.

Mozart huffs and crosses his arms.

You pat his fluffy white hair. You mean to comfort him, but it’s so soft you can’t help petting him more. Wolfie glares up at you but he doesn’t try to get away, so you figure he probably doesn’t hate it.

“Thank you Leo. And ‘Leon. You too Jean. You are very good boys.”

Leonardo gives you a wide, lazy smile that you swear is just like the one he wears when you catch him napping in weird places.

Napoleon gets ahold of himself enough to give you a little bow. On his pudgy toddler self, it looks ridiculous but also endearing.

You get the boys into their chairs, where thanks to the books, they can reach the table. Then you serve up the pancakes. This is about the point Sebas comes back, carrying a little blonde kid. One with astoundingly perceptive golden eyes.

“I see you found le Comte,” you sigh. If he’s a child too, what are the odds he can reverse this side effect of his little experiment?

Sebastian looks over the table of seated munching munchkins. “Good work with the boys. And yes, he was wandering the hall outside his laboratory.”

Le Comte turns to look up at him. “I was not wandering. I was walking to my study to fetch another set of research notes.” His voice is high and sweet, even though the words are quite adult.

“Does he remember everything then? He doesn’t sound like the others,” you ask Sebas.

“He seems to,” Sebastian confirms.

“He is right here,” le Comte interrupts. “And perfectly capable of answering questions himself. Myself. So yes - I remember everything. I know who and where I am, and what happened.”

It is so weird to hear those words from that cherubic little face. You reach over to pinch his little cheek.

“Ma cherie . . . please . . .”

“Sorry. You’re just so cute like this.” You grin at him. How often do you get to see le Comte out of sorts after all?

Sebastian clears his throat to get your attention. “He says there isn’t a way to reverse this, but that it should wear off.”

“When?”

“Based on my calculations, the effect is bound within the rule of threes. So if I extrapolate from the formula what the far edge of the continuum disturbance might be, I’m left with three options. It could evaporate within 9 hours, 9 days, or 9 months.”

While you aren’t sure what most of that means, you get the time frames. “So, wait. This could be over by morning or I could be stuck babysitting for NINE MONTHS?”

Sebastian grins at you and you swear he is enjoying this. But then, he’s not the one that spent the last two hours wrangling the little monsters. He looks over the table where the tiny-tot-vamps are fist to facing pancakes, well except for Mozart who is using his fork. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. You seem to have a talent for this.”

“Fine,” you grin. “I fed ‘em dinner, you get them ready for bed.” See how he likes chasing down the terror-tots for bath time, teeth-brushing, and pajamas!

Sebastian nods. You can tell by the glint in his eyes that he knows exactly what you’re trying to do. But he’s the world’s best butler and if he can handle this herd as adults, he’s sure he can handle them as children.

He claps his hands together to get their attention. Eleven little faces turn to look at him in unison. “It’s time to get ready for bed.” A chorus of whining little voices insist that in fact, they don’t need to sleep anytime soon, but Sebas is having none of it.

With another clap, he rounds the little vamps up and herds them out of the dining room, trailed by le Comte who looks like he wouldn’t mind going to bed right now at all.

You spend the next hour cleaning the kitchen and dining area. How such little people can make such big messes is beyond you, but this job is still easier than rounding them up for bathtime. You tiredly make your way out into the hall, only to see Sebas dragging himself out of the baths.

His hair is mussed. His clothes are soaked. He has bubbles coming out of his ears.

You try to hide a grin but can’t.

“Help me,” he mouths silently as a mob of partially dressed boys appears behind him.

Though it’s tempting to just walk on up to your room, you can’t leave a soul in need like that. Besides, Sebastian would definitely get revenge later. So you stop and smile at him sweetly, reaching out to snag Will as he tries to dart past you.

“If you boys will put on your pajamas properly, I’ll read you a bedtime story,” you offer.

“Twagedy?” Asks Will, tugging his arm out of your grip.

“Sure, hon. I’ll make it the saddest story ever read for toddlers.”

He beams up at you with genuine pleasure in his mismatched eyes.

Sebastian nearly cries with relief. He helps the boys finish tugging on their nightshirts and helps you gather them in the study.

The little vampires pile onto the couch like puppies, except for Leonardo. He slumps onto the floor and begins to nod off while the others are still getting comfy.

You look over the book selection. There’s not much here for kids. Sure, a treatise on combustion engines would probably put them to sleep - well, maybe not Isaac - but everyone else, yes. But it’s not very . . . kid friendly. Or, uh, tragic. Then your eyes light on an illustrated copy of The Ugly Duckling. Perfect.

You sit down on the couch in the midst of the boys. Theo snuggles to your left, and Arthur snuggles to your right. Dazai and Vincent sit on your lap, and you’ve got Mozart lounging on the back of the couch, peering over one shoulder, while Will does the same on your other side. Le Comte curls up on a pillow at the far end, next to Jean. Isaac claims his own spot on the opposite end. Napoleon sits across from you on Sebastian’s lap.

With all the boys accounted for, you begin to read them the tale of the ugly duckling. It doesn’t seem like the kind of story to put a crowd of little boys to sleep, but before you reach the last page, every single one of them is out like a light. Soft, even breathing and little snores fill the room.

You look across to see if you can get Sebastian to help you carry the tykes to their room, but he’s fallen asleep too. As you look down at their sweet, sleeping faces, you think, it’d be a shame to wake them. So you get as comfortable as you can on the couch and in no time, you’re dozing off.

Dreams of baby vampires run through your mind. In one, you try to explain to your mother that none of these babies are actually yours, but she won’t believe you. In another, you push a giant stroller through Paris and lecture the tots on the architecture. It’s almost a relief when a surprised shout stirs you awake.

An adult Napoleon is mid-kiss with poor Sebas, who certainly didn’t mean to wake him. Leonardo laughs from his spot on the floor. A grown up, full bellied laugh. That’s about the point you realize Arthur and Theo are also back to their adult selves, their heads still pillowed on your lap. Dazai and Vincent are snuggled to your chest, looking quite pleased. You jump to your feet, nearly knocking them to the floor.

Mozart loses his balance and falls off the back of the couch, and Jean leaps away from le Comte as if burned. Dazai is chuckling and muttering something about one hell of a good joke, while Isaac looks deeply disturbed.

“What happened,” Will asks, sounding dazed.

“It’s better not to ask,” you reply and head to your room to sleep off this weirdest of new year’s eves.

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #new years 2021 #better late than never #fanfic #fanfiction #otome #otome boys #fluff #silliness

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thecheesiestcheese23 · 3 years

Text

green-stained hands

no tw, just fluff

---

The world was bright and full of colors.

The plethora of colors offered so much to this bland universe, giving animals and trees life while also offering a variety of creative liberties. Humans were able to take these striking colors and they used them to brighten up an unfilled canvas, using the brushes made of wood that the gods had gifted.

The creations that were made from the exquisite colors were striking, they were bright and they were sure as hell beautiful.

The same couldn’t have been said for the cookies Philza Minecraft’s sons were making.

Batter was flung on the cabinets, sugar and flour was smeared on the counters, eggs were dripping to the floor, and somewhere in the chaos, butter was somehow flung up on the ceiling by either Tommy or Wilbur.

With all of the yelling and laughter that was happening, Philza was sure that their neighbors that were miles away were aware that they were attempting to make frosted sugar cookies ( key word : attempting ).

Tommy came running in, screaming incoherent words as a raccoon that was in the middle of eating a half-baked cookie followed suit. The two left muddy footprints in their wake which only added onto the growing mess that the once clean kitchen was becoming.

He could only watch and shake his head fondly from his place on his recliner as he mindlessly flipped to another page on his book. The three boys had insisted on doing this alone so Phil could have some alone time. Or, as Tommy so kindly put it, ‘So the old man can rest his old man back and legs.’

Not before long, Phil soon heard padded footsteps come towards him.

“Daaaaaaaaaad, Wilby’s bullying me!” Tommy pouted, the nine-year old huffing and crossing his arms. Phil looked up with risen eyebrows and a questioning look in his eyes.

“I am not, you little gremlin -” Wilbur said before getting interrupted by getting hit in the shoulder with a raw egg. Wilbur blinked once, then twice, a dumbfounded look on his face. Tommy could only laugh back, the two eggs that were hidden behind his back were now on full display.

WIlbur could only join in on the laughing, doubling over and clutching his stomach as Philza followed soon after.

And if you listened closely, you could hear a light chuckle coming from Wilbur’s twin who was still in the kitchen.

“Alright, alright,” Phil said, bookmarking the page he was on before he got up. ”Let’s go finish these cookies.”

---

The cookies had been baked nicely, with only a couple of them burnt in the end, so Phil thinks that they did an alright job at it. But, it was now time for the fun part.

Frosting the cookies.

The four had chosen out their colors, with Wilbur choosing blue, Techno with pink, Tommy with red, and, of course, Philza with green. They couldn’t find any frosting tips, so they had decided to just get butter knives and try it out like that.

Tommy and Wilbur were fooling around, as usual, with the two of them slathering frosting on one another every now and then, before the situation snowballed into a full-scaled frosting war. A glob of frosting flew high into the air and headed for Tommy's face. Instead, the frosting hit a different culprit with a glop, which was Techno. The blue frosting clashed with Techno’s short, brown hair but did match with the blue shirt he had been wearing. His head slowly turned around to face his twin, his elongated ears twitching slightly in annoyance.

“Wilbur?” “Y - yeah, Techno?”

“You have two seconds to run before I start chasing you.” With that, Wilbur was off like a bullet, Techno following soon after.

Behind the chaos, a snap rang out, and Phil turned to see Kristin standing behind him, a camera and a developing picture in her hands. He laughed as he embraced her, his shoulders dropping limp as he did. “Hey - get off of me - you’re getting frosting all over me.” She laughed, weakly attempting to push the other away. Phil only plucked the photo from her grasp as a response.

Kristin leaned into his shoulder as he gazed at the picture, yawning sleepily as she did so.

It captured the chaos perfectly, with Techno chasing Wilbur around with his own pink frosting, both of them covered nearly head to toe in a multitude of colorful bursts. You could see Tommy’s blurry figure on the floor laughing and Phil’s head in his hands in an attempt to muffle the laughter that threatened to shake his body.

Yeah, Philza Minecraft wouldn’t trade his family for anything in the world.

#philza minecraft #technoblade #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #mcyt #fluff #sleepy bois family #sleepy bois inc #found family

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demaury · 3 years

Text

open your heart (and let me know you want me here)

9k / friends to lovers / ao3 link

Here is the thing. When he started making that list, he was never planning on his best friend checking pretty much all the boxes right off the bat.

or; a childhood friends to lovers au

1- Someone who makes me feel something. Butterflies and fireworks and all that shit.

He’s fifteen when it happens, and as most things it doesn’t look like much of a big deal at first. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and although it should be a regular one like so many others, there’s something unique in the fact that he’s sitting on the navy-blue carpeted floor of his bedroom, trying to figure out a math problem, while Eliott is humming to himself and scrolling down his phone on his bed. The setting isn’t what makes it all new, and much less Eliott’s presence — he’s actually one of the very few constants of his life, ever since the Demaurys moved across the street about a million years ago.

What makes it all new, scary, a bit foreign, is that it’s the first time they hang out, since he told Eliott he liked boys. Which- Okay, coming out to Eliott was really not the problem, really, it never was. He wasn’t… He wasn’t scared that Eliott would take it the wrong way, you know, he wasn’t scared that all of a sudden Eliott would start looking back at him with disgust, that’s not what it was about. He just… He just didn’t know how to word it out. When would be the right time, and if there would ever be one — but turns out there had been one. About a week ago, he and Eliott had been texting late at night, and when the conversation had drifted onto Lucille, more specifically Eliott’s lifelong crush on her — it’s not quite the truth, but two years feel a lot like two lifetimes when you think about it —, Eliott had jokingly suggested that Lucas should get himself someone too so they could go on double dates, once she finally agrees to acknowledge him.

(He doesn’t know why it’s taking her so long, and if he’s being honest, he’s a bit prejudiced against her because of this exact reason.)

Naturally, because old habits die hard, his first instinct had been to deflect. I’m not 45 yet, double dates sound boring as fuck, he almost wrote back, but at the last second he had erased all the words and went for Pretty sure I wouldn’t need you to make a fool of myself in front of my very hypothetical boyfriend instead. There had been a few agonizing minutes spent staring at the ceiling after that, phone turned screen down onto his mattress, while he nervously chewed onto his bottom lip with his stomach in knots; in the meantime, Eliott had flooded their conversation with offended texts, because ‘oh, so you just think you can keep me away from him??? That’s sweet’, and just like that, Lucas had felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Eliott asks excitedly, jumping in a sitting position so fast it makes the bedsprings creaks loudly, and Lucas hums in response, still frowning at his math problem without bothering to look back. He loves Eliott, he really does, but that boy has about a million things crossing his mind at all times of the day (and night), so he’s long given up on the idea of giving him his undivided attention every single time something like this happens. “What would you want him to look like?”

Lucas’ hands hover over his equation result for a moment as he blankly stares at his page in confusion, but then he throws a look above his shoulder, and he finds Eliott expectantly looking at him. “What? Who?”

“Your hypothetical boyfriend,” Eliott supplies, his smile widening when Lucas huffs and shakes his head.

“Don’t you think I have better things to think about right now?”, he groans, his attention drifting back onto his homework. He feels like he’s been twisting his brain over this for hours, and it’s not like he can possibly ask Eliott anything on the matter, because he may be two years older, when it comes to math he’s about as useless as a glass hammer.

“Better than thinking about the man of your dreams?”, Eliott gasps, and Lucas is about to tell him that this is all becoming extra cheesy for something that has no actual basis whatsoever when he adds: “You can’t find him if you don’t have an idea of what you’re looking for.”

“Because he’s going to suddenly show up, out of nowhere, just because I started picturing… I don’t know, some abs and a vaguely undefined hair color?”, Lucas snorts. He doesn’t make a habit of asking Eliott to be serious, because well, it’s Eliott, he’s got his head in the clouds a fair share of the time, but, like, come on.

But instead of picking his phone back up and moving onto another topic, one that doesn’t require Lucas’ participation at the very least, Eliott lets out an appreciative noise. “So you are picturing something, good start. Abs and… what’s the hair color again?”

Naturally, Lucas ends up smacking Eliott with his textbook — or at least trying to, because despite Eliott professing a lifelong hatred of sports of most, if not all kinds, he’s surprisingly quick and agile like a giant cat —, and, eventually, his idiot best friend agrees to leave it at that. Which would have been terrific, really, if his brain had agreed to do the same.

But later, much later, when it’s already dark outside and Eliott has been gone for hours, he finds himself thinking about it — that stupid, stupid idea. He can’t help but wonder, what if he’s right? What if he never finds anyone because he just doesn’t know what he’s looking for? Eliott has been crushing on Lucille for two years, but Lucas can’t even remember ever crushing on anyone. There’s never been anyone who made his stomach flutter, who made his mind go blank, who made his thoughts swirl around. There’s never been anyone who made his knees go weak, or turned his stomach to mush.

And maybe, as he keeps thinking about all the feelings everyone always talks about that he never got to experience, maybe that’s when he starts making it — maybe a couple of yearning thoughts are already the beginning of a list.

9- Someone who gives a shit

“How do they fit?” Eliott shouts from behind the bathroom door, and before Lucas has the time to reply he immediately adds, speech rate quickening like the words are tumbling down from his lips: “Because I’m pretty sure I can find something else.”

Lucas throws a glance at his sad reflection in the mirror, catching sight of the tee-shirt falling down mid-thighs and the shorts reaching below his knees; clearly not his best look, he thinks halfheartedly, flattening a couple of strands sticking up at weird angles at the back of his head. It’s only because he doesn’t want his best friend to take the door down that he ends up unlocking the door and stepping out of the bathroom.

“It’s fine, that will do,” Lucas mumbles, because honestly, he’s already crashing at the Demaurys’, it’s not like he can afford to be picky at the moment.

Eliott is standing in the doorway of his bedroom, and he gives him a sympathetic look — warm and gentle, honey-like in sweetness if not in color. “Good,” he nods, a nice smile stretching out on his lips as he slips into his bedroom.

Lucas follows him, shutting the door behind himself. Eliott vaguely smooths his comforter before climbing onto his bed. “What do you want to watch?”

Lucas twists his mouth a little, and for a moment he feels a bit lost without quite being able to tell why. He’s standing in this room he knows by heart, but still, it feels weird and alien. He uncomfortably rubs an invisible spot on his arm as he tries to process what’s different about it all. They’ve done that hundreds of times, he’s spent some of the best afternoons of his childhood and teenage years in Eliott’s house, in Eliott’s bedroom even, but…

But he’s never done that.

He’s never slammed the door after one too many fights and straight-up imposed himself at the Demaurys’, and judging by Eliott’s demeanor ever since he showed up, soaked wet from the rain outside, he knows he feels it too — it’s weird. It’s different. It’s not the usual excitement floating in the air.

“I don’t really feel like watching anything right now,” he confesses, fiddling with the hem of Eliott’s way-too-long tee-shirt. He’s just tired, he’s heard so much yelling today it’s like his ears are ringing.

“Oh, yeah, no, it’s fine,” Eliott says quickly. He pats the spot next to him until Lucas caves and joins him. “I just thought you might… I don’t know, like a distraction.”

“Being here is enough, don’t worry,” he says, maneuvering himself on the mattress before folding his legs against his chest, and honestly, he wishes that were true, he really does.

Because Eliott is Eliott, and he really doesn’t want his friend to feel bad about him any more than he already does — so Lucas does as he usually tries to do. He tries to shove it all as far down as possible, in the smallest corner of his brain, where it doesn’t hurt as much. He tries not to think about the fact that tomorrow is another day, that eventually he will have to come back home, and how much he doesn’t want that. He tries not to think that Eliott’s tee-shirt feels soft against his skin, and that even if it’s the weirdest sleepover they’ve ever had, even if something feels off, he still feels a thousand times better here than he does at home.

Eliott crosses his legs, and leans forward to reach for a pair of earbuds on his nightstand. “How about some music? You can choose whatever you want.”

Lucas’ eyes travel a few times between Eliott’s eyes and the earbud that is offered to him, and he picks up with a small huff. “Alright, okay.”

Eliott makes a small, content sound, like it makes him genuinely happy to spend the night with his grumpy self, listening to songs that aren’t even remotely close to his personal taste — and maybe Lucas goes along with it. Maybe he’s selfish like that, but this one night, he just gets along with it. He lets soft piano music soothe his mood a bit, slowly lulling him into sleep until his head gets too heavy and he has to drag himself to the guest mattress that has been set up for him like so many times before.

Crossing the street to go back home, that too he’s done a million times, but not often with that weird gut-feeling of walking right into a no man’s land. His dad’s car is nowhere to be seen, and the silence is deafening as he pads through the silent house. He shuffles upstairs to change before school, going about his morning routine with a weird tension lodged between his shoulder blades, his head too full of thoughts, and he’s shoving a biology textbook into his backpack when he sees it. It’s a DVD — Ratatouille. It’s, embarrassingly enough, one of those movies he could watch over and over again without ever tiring of it, and obviously Eliott knows, obviously, because they’ve watched it so many times since they were kids, and who else would have put it in there?

His mouth twists into half a smile when he picks up the DVD, a bright yellow sticky note on the front of the box. Everything is always better on Blu-ray, I promise ✳

11- Someone who fucking sticks around and doesn’t leave when things go to shit

A Blu-ray isn’t enough to make it all better, as it turns out, but Lucas surely appreciates Eliott’s gesture for what it is, and all those that follow later, when his family situation goes from bad to worse to terrible. He’s never made a habit of setting a stupid list of resolutions with every new year, but this time, and this time only, he’s resolved to stop thinking about that fucking new year. At best he’s allowing himself to laugh it off. Divorced parents? Funny as hell. Mom in a psychiatric ward? Hilarious. Family house on sale? Hysterical. They’re cruising around the near-empty supermarket, aimlessly going from one aisle to the next as Lucas picks up random stuff to drop them into the cart Eliott is pushing. It’s another Wednesday, it’s lunchtime, and he knows there’s nothing to eat at home, because there’s been no one to go grocery shopping for him.

“So what are you guys planning for tomorrow?”, he asks distractedly.

Just because he’s single doesn’t mean he’s clueless about the ways of those who aren’t — and he knows that tomorrow night is a big deal for Eliott, long before they even take left and stumble onto a sea of sugary pink and velvety red. An aisle has been pushed to the side at the center of the store to clear some more space for Valentine’s Day displays. The racks are filled with chocolates of all kinds and flavors, heart-wearing Teddy Bears, gifts, cards and even plastic flowers, but Eliott doesn’t really seem to pay attention to anything. Which, in itself, isn’t that surprising. He’s been dating Lucille for three months now, ever since they got paired together for some oral presentation at school and that it finally opened her eyes at how wonderful Eliott is, so Lucas doesn’t really expect his best friend to go for the first generic box of chocolates he finds.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Eliott says evasively, following Lucas when he walks past the Valentine’s Day area. “We haven’t talked about it much yet.”

Lucas hums. “It’s your first Valentine’s Day,” he points out distractedly, eyes skimming over various cereal brands, and he ends up reaching for a Crunch box that he drops into the cart, “I’d have expected you to buy balloons and a giant Teddy Bear or something.” Or simply to show up at Lucille’s window with a boombox, he almost adds, but he keeps it in just in time. Eliott doesn’t need any bad idea of that kind. Judging by his musical taste, it’s frankly better for everyone, starting with Lucille’s parents’ neighbors.

He hears Eliott toying with the shopping cart chain. “Luce’s kinda busy. Her parents are on her case with the BAC and all,” he says, and Lucas gives him a look, from his spot at the end of the aisle, that makes Eliott’s eyebrows shoot up innocently. “What?”

“Why are you lying?”, Lucas asks, squinting his eyes a little.

Eliott scoffs, but it comes out wrong — off-key. “I’m not lying.”

He’s definitely lying, Lucas thinks bluntly, and he rolls his eyes to himself. His best friend is so painfully transparent that he should probably be grateful about it, he should probably be happy that he’s able to read him like an open book, but instead he hates that Eliott doesn’t seem to have any clue when it comes down to it — it makes it even more annoying whenever he tries to lie to his face. “You are,” he retorts with a pointed stare. “What’s up? I thought you’d be over the moon or something.”

Eliott squirms behind the cart, his hands awkwardly drumming along the handle. “Oh, no I am, truly,” he says quickly, “I just thought we could… I don’t know, maybe go watch a movie or something. You and I.”

And there we go, Lucas thinks, and it’s like a weight is dropped onto his shoulders, making them slump with an inaudible woosh. There’s a pang inside his chest, and it’s not a big one, it’s not a breath-altering one, not those that make you want to curl into a ball and cry, it’s just the kind of sting that reminds you of a sore spot. A bruise still a little tender, a scar still noticeable.

“Are you asking me out, Demaury?” he snickers, trying to deflect the sudden change in the atmosphere, but he already knows it’s useless because he can’t be the only one going for it — they both have to play the same game, and he already knows Eliott isn’t willing to.

“I just think you might want some company,” Eliott says with a nice smile, and although Lucas loves that smile, he really does, this time it just doesn’t work.

“I’m fine,” he replies briskly, and he pulls sharply at the end of the shopping cart to move it forward. It’s a petty gesture that seems to startle Eliott, and he immediately feels bad about it. “Your girlfriend doesn’t need you to worry about me, she needs you to fuss over her.”

“But I-”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Eventually Eliott nods, muttering a small ‘right’, and Lucas has to pretend he doesn’t want to rush out of here, lunch be damned. He hates it, he hates when Eliott is like this, and hates even more that it’s because of him. They walk through the store for a few more minutes, mostly in silence, only occasionally making a small comment or two about things they see on their way to the cash registers. Eliott starts filling the reusable shopping bags Lucas retrieves from his backpack while he pays a ridiculous amount of money for his purchases, and then they’re off.

“Hey,” Lucas mumbles pitifully as they reach the bus stop at the end of the parking lot. “I… I’m sorry if I was rude. I really appreciate what you do for me, everything, it’s just… I’m just trying to hold it together.” He looks away, tracing a weird line in the concrete from the tip of his shoe to avoid Eliott’s eyes.

“It’s okay, I shouldn’t be pushy,” Eliott says, and there’s the faint trace of a smile in his voice. He leans down to squeeze the shopping bag he’s holding between his feet. “But I want you to know I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere, so whenever you feel like talking… I’m here.”

It takes Lucas a few seconds to look up, and there’s something so soft and gentle into Eliott’s expression that it makes something melt into his chest almost instantly. He finds himself mirroring Eliott’s smile, albeit lamely — not quite as beautiful, not quite as warm, not quite as reassuring. He finds himself thinking about what Eliott just said for a while, as they hop into the bus and make their way home one stop after the other. He's not going to accept his offer for Valentine's Day, because if anyone deserves to be taken care of on that special day, it's Eliott's girlfriend. But still. Maybe, someday, he can manage to find someone who just doesn't leave.

15- Someone who feels like home

It’s a long while before he thinks about the list again — he doesn’t even know where it is, but he guesses moving abroad for a semester tends to do that to you. He’s in his second year of uni when he jumps on the Erasmus offer, and between paperwork and packing up and unpacking and settling down and trying to, maybe, eventually, meet some new people to make the next three months of his life somewhat relevant on a human level, he doesn’t have much time to think about whether or not he’s going to meet the man of his dreams at the next street corner, much less whether or not he checks an inordinate amount of criteria.

Frankly, it’s not that big of a deal. Lucas has never been excessively hopeful about it in the first place, so he can’t really say it’s something that requires a lot of self-discipline. Occasionally Eliott brings it up over text or FaceTime, because he’s an idiot like that, and he’s his best friend, so of course he considers it his double duty to bring up that kind of corny, embarrassing prospect.

“I don’t know, he’s kinda cute in a way,” Lucas says one day, roughly two weeks after landing in Oslo, about some guy he’s met at a party. He’s dutifully sent Eliott his Instagram handle for approval, and for the past few minutes they’ve been going through his publications over FaceTime, like they’re back in Lucas’ old bedroom, with Eliott on his bed and Lucas sitting on the floor.

“He looks fifteen,” Eliott replies unhelpfully, snickering a little. “Didn’t know it was a turn-on of yours. Did that one make the cut?”

“Shut up,” Lucas scoffs, and he regrets not being able to send something in Eliott’s face in retaliation. Besides, he looks barely his age himself, it’s not like he’s in a position to comment about someone else’s appearance — something Eliott promptly dismisses as soon as Lucas points it out, because ‘Lucas, don’t expect me to tell you you’re not ridiculously attractive’, and he’s vain enough to take the compliment without arguing.

After that, well, he goes back to not thinking about it.

Final terms are rolling around and he crams for it, and before he can even catch a breath, it’s already the end of the semester and Christmas is right at the corner. He lands back in France three days before Christmas Eve, and of course he crashes at Eliott’s, because he hasn’t spoken to his father in nearly four months and a half, so it’s not like he even has options to choose from — but he has to admit, it feels nice, knowing he’s going somewhere he’s wanted. Eliott has been buzzing over it for weeks now, making plans for movie nights and places to go and people to see, so much that Lucas almost forgot to be sad about leaving Oslo.

“I’m so fucking happy to have you back,” Eliott says excitedly, voice a little too loud in the narrow stairwell leading up to his third-floor one-bedroom flat, and he’s so eager that he ends up bumping Lucas’ suitcase a couple of times between the stairs, the wall and the banister.

“Jeez, calm down,” Lucas huffs, “the whole neighborhood doesn’t have to know I’m here, thanks.”

Eliott opens the door of his flat with a nudge from his shoulder, not looking even remotely sorry. “Well, that’s just the beginning if we get a place together,” he singsongs, and Lucas shakes his head a little — but deep down, he loves it. His cheeks are hurting from smiling, and he feels his shoulders relax instantly as soon as he crosses the threshold. Nothing has changed since he left last summer. Not that he expected it to, but it’s always nice. In the small, cramped living room, Eliott has already prepared a pillow and a comforter, carefully folded to the side of the couch, and it’s not even that late (not even 10), and the flight wasn’t even long (not even three hours), but Lucas already feels very compelled into dropping himself there and wrapping himself into the blanket — so he does just that. He quickly nibbles on a leftover sandwich he bought at the airport in Oslo, while Eliott excitedly rambles about some renting options he’s seen here and there, and then he quickly sets up his bed.

His best friend is sweet enough not to make fun of him for it, and when he flips off the light on his way out of the living room with a cheerful ‘sweet dreams’, Lucas doesn’t think, for one second, he can love him more than that.

“How about this?” Eliott grins triumphantly as he turns the lion plushie he had growing up in his direction. Lucas isn’t sure, but he thinks it might have been supposed to look like Simba, before he proceeded to drag it everywhere with him until the color irrevocably turned a dirty mix of greenish-yellow and grey. “Don’t you miss him?”

Lucas huffs, shaking his head, and he turns back to busy himself with a heavy storage box filled with what looks like bedsheets and drapes of various kinds. “I’m way past needing plushies, thanks,” he snorts, reaching for the plastic lid of the box to replace it in its dusty corner.

They’ve been here for about twenty minutes, in the storage unit where most of his and his mom’s stuff are neatly piled up in, and although he initially thought that this would be easy, because ‘C’mon, it’s just a storage unit, it’s not Versailles in there’, turns out there are lots and lots of things to search through. He doesn’t regret bringing Eliott along, to be honest; it takes at least two to make their way around all the stuff, and at least Eliott can reach the upper shelves. At first they had started renting the unit to store his mom’s things away after the divorce, but when Lucas moved to Norway, he couldn’t afford to pay both the student lodging and rent at his old flatshare simultaneously, so he was forced to give up his spot over there and to store his things here in the meantime.

“Have you no heart?” Eliott gasps, and when Lucas turns back, he’s pouting as he gives the plushie a sad look. “We’re definitely watching Toy Story tonight.”

Lucas rolls his eyes fondly with a scoff, and eventually, after another moment of staring, Eliott agrees to put the lion back into whatever cardboard or plastic box he found it and to move the fuck on. In the meantime, Lucas moves over to another stash of smaller plastic boxes, still looking for the clothes he left behind before Oslo, but it’s not long before Eliott makes another sound, that has Lucas’ head whipping around.

“Hey, remember this game?” he asks, grinning as he waves a version of Risk. “God I miss that old peasant woman who told us off whenever we would be beating up people.”

“Dark Eliott was really a formative experience, but don’t ever end up on the wrong side of the tracks, thanks,” Lucas snickers in his corner, taking the lid off one of the boxes before he starts rummaging through its content. There’s a bit of everything in there, from old assignments to a snapback, pictures, a couple of textbooks, and as he keeps digging through it all, Eliott huffs something he doesn’t quite catch.

It’s during that overall quiet and regular afternoon that the list makes its comeback into Lucas’ life, after months of barely giving it a thought, and maybe at least a year of not adding another entry; it slips out from an old Annabac textbook when he picks it up from the box. The fold is a little wrong and the corner slightly crumpled, and for a second he contemplates just shoving it back at the bottom box, because he’s really not in the mood to entertain that kind of ridiculously hopeful thoughts for a better future or whatever, but in the end there’s a weird kind of curiosity that pushes him to open it.

Just a quick look, he thinks, discreetly peering above his shoulder to find Eliott busy in the opposite corner. The list has a total of 54 entries, ranking from thoughtful to shallow to frankly depressing at times. A wry smile shows up on his lips at entry #4: he gotta be tall because I’m not spending my life climbing ladders to change light bulbs. Or even better, the entry #9: someone who makes me laugh so hard I cry — it has something terribly soft to it, almost… pure.

The entry #29 is entirely Eliott’s fault, he knows it right off the bat: not too many tattoos thanks. It’s crossed, because shortly afterwards Eliott got his first tattoo for some obscure reason, and despite Lucas’ adamant protests, his best friend insisted that he accompanied him to the parlor for the big day — and then he got another tattoo, and another, and after some time Lucas was forced to realize that… okay maybe tattoos were okay.

The rest of the entries are sometimes awfully precise (#34 ‘light eyes????? Fuck yes?????’ and #41 ‘abs. abs. abs.’), or completely vague (#29 Fucking consistent). And then there’s entry #50. One of the last entries, that he probably wrote towards the end of high school or during his first year of uni, during a lonely evening at the flatshare — a very graphic description of what he’d want his imaginary boyfriend to do to him, which he had written after watching some porn locked up in his bedroom.

“What are you doing?”

Eliott’s voice sounds so close that Lucas startles guiltily, snapping the list down against his chest in the textbook definition of caught red-handed. Eliott’s eyebrows shoot up as they make eye-contact, and Lucas tries to ignore the way his cheeks heat up. “I- uh- nothing,” he croaks out. “Just going through old stuff.”

There’s a glint in Eliott’s eyes, like he knows, like he can read through his fucking mind — like he too just read that entry #50. Stop fucking spiraling, he doesn’t know shit, he admonishes himself. The only thing he knows is that Lucas is acting like a teenager caught looking at porn.

“What?”, he asks, trying to find back his composure.

Eliott shrugs, with that annoying little smirk on his ridiculously pretty face. “Nothing,” he says, voice drawling a little, but he’s motioning next to Lucas to busy himself with the upper shelves in Lucas’ direct vicinity, and he knows his best friend is being annoying on purpose.

Lucas squints at him from the corner of his eyes. Seemingly unbothered, Eliott stands onto his tiptoes, arms extended at their maximum capacity to reach for a big, dusty cardboard box almost touching the ceiling, and his tee-shirt is riding high and showing the smallest trace of his rib tattoo curling down his side, and that’s when it creeps onto Lucas, at the worst, most inopportune moment. His eyes travel back and forth between Eliott and the list a couple of times, and despite his best efforts to keep calm, Lucas’ stomach starts doing a weird somersault.

Oh no.

Here is the thing.

When he started making that list, he was never planning on his best friend checking pretty much all the boxes right off the bat. That couldn’t have been farther away from what he had in mind, he’s pretty fucking sure of it. And yet here he is. He’s slipped the list into the front pocket of his hoodie before they left the storage unit, and then he took it out to shove it in his laptop bag, where he’s pretty sure no one will find it. It’s not that he’s afraid Eliott would be weirded out about it, it’s just… It’s a lot. Because it’s one thing to be aware that your best friend is insanely attractive, and it’s another one to think that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t mind being the one he kisses, the one he pulls by the waist at night, and the one who makes him feel good in bed.

The irony of the calendar (and his life, really), makes it that the next few days are just a whirlwind of Eliott Eliott Eliott, and by the time Christmas rolls around, Lucas is ready to die. Not because he doesn’t want his best friend anywhere near, but because he would very, very much appreciate if his brain could just fucking stop bringing up that wishlist every fucking five minutes — every single time he so much as glances or thinks about Eliott. Which tends to be problematic when he’s literally living with him at the moment. All of a sudden it’s like he’s hyper-aware of all the times Eliott smiles at him, reaches out to ruffle his hair in the morning, or has a nice gesture of any kind. It’s like he feels somewhat guilty for every laughter they share, and when they go do some last-minute Christmas shopping, Lucas walks around on automatic pilot for the better part of the afternoon, after inadvertently catching sight of Eliott’s arm flung around his shoulders in a mirror.

The only upside of having a dysfunctional family is that for at least 24h it takes Lucas’ mind off Eliott and that weird-ass situation his fifteen-year-old self put him in the first place. He spends Christmas Eve with his father and his new wife in a restaurant, and if one can’t be caught dead trying anything to make his son feel at ease, the other is trying so fucking hard it makes Lucas wants to throw himself in the traffic on the way to pick up his mom at her subway stop. Because yes, his stepmother insisted that he brings his mother, and Lucas was chicken enough to accept, just so that he wouldn’t have to sit through the whole dinner with his father and his weirdly enthusiastic second wife.

The whole dinner is as awkward as it can possibly be, but then Lucas comes back to Eliott’s place, early enough that his best friend is still at his grandparents’, and he tries to make sense of the feeling of relief he feels when he drops himself on the couch, only to see Eliott’s sketchbook on the coffee table, and Eliott’s hoodie thrown carelessly on the armrest, and Eliott’s drawings pinned up on the walls, and the piano pushed in the corner. It used to be in Eliott’s bedroom back at his parents’, and they would mess around trying to get the Star Wars theme right with four hands on the keyboard.

None of these things feel new — but all the hyper-awareness is weird enough to make him want to scream and hits his head repeatedly with the flat of his hand. And the worst part is that it keeps going on like this. Spending Christmas day at the Demaurys’ shouldn’t feel so weird either, and yet. He’s always been Eliott’s platonic plus one at every single one of his family birthday dinner, so he knows everyone and everything about this family. He knows that one of Eliott’s uncles and his godfather will inevitably end up on different sides of an argument about politics, that Eliott’s dad will probably try to lighten the mood, that Eliott’s younger cousins will pout for a fair share of lunch or dinner except when they’ll venture on TikTok halfway through, that Eliott’s grandmother will make a passive-aggressive comment or two about the food that his mother will try to ignore, and at some point, as always, she’ll go to the kitchen, and make a weird face only for Lucas to see, and that he’ll have to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh — he knows all of that, because he’s been around for fifteen years.

But still it does feel weird. A little bit. And not just because he’s never spent a Christmas dinner with them. It feels weird, because it downs on him that Eliott is single, and that he’s single too, and that although Eliott’s mother welcomes him as soon as Eliott walks him and asks if they can add a plate, when they take off their coats, Lucas catches a silent conversation between her and her husband that results into Eliott’s dad shrugging. Did they ever think they were more than friends? Did they ever think Lucas was more than just the kid from across the street with a fucked-up family? Because he himself never did, but now it’s all he can think about. And if he had been a girl, or if Eliott had been a girl, if they had been in a boy/girl kind of friendship, he knows that at some point the Demaurys would have asked for ground rules, no matter how ridiculous it would have felt for them. No closed doors in the afternoon, no sleepovers in the same room, and with every birthday dinner or birthday lunch, people would have just assumed they were a particularly chill couple who refrained on PDA.

So that’s how he spends his Christmas lunch, alongside the Demaury family. He laughs at the jokes thrown around, at the same family memories he’s heard a bunch of times already, rolls his eyes at the political arguments on the other end of the table, and spends entirely too much time pondering the ins and outs of heteronormativity and the way it may or may not have shaped his relationship to his best friend.

“You okay?”, Eliott asks at some point on his way back from the kitchen, squeezing his shoulders lightly, and Lucas has to crane his neck all the way up to make eye-contact because his best friend is standing behind him.

“Yeah, I’m all good,” he says with a smile, and when Eliott goes to sit back at the table, Lucas tries his best to ignore another look he catches between Eliott’s parents.

“Can I ask you something?” Eliott asks from his spot against the stove, hands tightly wrapped around his mug while Lucas pours himself his second coffee of the day.

It’s officially the last week of the year, and to Lucas’ great dismay, he’s not particularly sure that any of his internal questioning sessions will die at midnight on New Year Eve. To make matters even worse, he doesn’t feel like he’s slept one bit, and although he initially tried to conceal it at best as he could, he guesses he’s making a poor job considering Eliott joined him for breakfast roughly three minutes ago and is already picking up on the signs.

“Yeah, sure,” Lucas says, trying to sound relaxed, nose in his mug to avoid looking Eliott in the eyes.

“You would tell me if you didn’t want us to move in together, right?” Eliott enquires after a moment. “I mean, it’s not the first time I get an idea and I run away with it and you’re…”

“No, no, I still want to,” Lucas interrupts, and he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as weird and scratchy as it feels in his throat. Because he does. He genuinely still does want to go through with it, because no matter how fucked up his brain is making things for him lately, Eliott is still the closest from home he’s ever felt.

Eliott hums. “Oh, okay,” his voice trails off, sounding hesitant, “I mean I was afraid you might have changed your mind and didn’t know how to tell me.”

Lucas laughs, but deep down he wants to slap himself because it sounds like chalk screeching on a blackboard in the silent kitchen corner. God you’re so fake. “I don’t know where you got this idea, I’m still 1000% in.”

Eliott looks sheepish, chewing onto his bottom lip uncomfortably. “Look, I know… I mean you’ve been kind of quiet lately, and I know sometimes you get lost in your head a bit. I don’t want you to think you can’t, like, talk to me or anything.”

Lucas’ grip tightens around his mug. He doesn’t deserve Eliott. No one does, but especially not him. “I’m fine it’s just… You know, Christmas mood isn’t my strong suit,” he mumbles, eyes falling. “Plus, going through all that stuff the other day… It brings up some memories.”

After all, it’s not a lie. It did bring up a lot of feelings and thoughts, and although they aren’t all that unpleasant, it’s surprisingly difficult to maintain eye-contact with your best friend when you spent most of the past few days trying not to picture his mouth on you.

“I’m sorry,” Eliott says, sounding so absolutely genuine that Lucas wants to smash something — preferably his head against the kitchen sink. “Of course I don’t know how you feel but, you’re not going through it alone, right? I’m here for you. Always have and always will.”

Lucas swears he could cry. He can’t possibly keep it to himself. Not when Eliott is his best friend, not when they’re just about to start looking for a place to live together, not when the longest Lucas has tried to hide a secret from him was exactly ten hours. “You’re checking a bunch of boxes,” Lucas confesses with a long sigh, eyes falling shut for a second.

A weird kind of silence settles in the kitchen, tension lodging between Lucas’ shoulders.

“What are you talking about?”, Eliott asks after a moment.

“The boyfriend list,” Lucas mumbles, shaking his head to himself. “Or wishlist or whatever. It’s fucking dumb, I know, and I never realized that before, but the other day I found that stupid list again in my stuff at the storage unit, and now I don’t know what to do with it, or what to think.”

If anyone needs a guide on how to ruin a lifelong friendship, Lucas Lallemant is your reference, he thinks humorlessly. But it’s Eliott. So maybe it’s not that bad, right? It doesn’t have to be a big deal. And okay, maybe he is making a big deal out of it, maybe he wouldn’t have to be afraid about Eliott’s reaction if he wasn’t the one making it sound like-

“And you feel like… it’s a problem?” Eliott asks carefully, as if he had followed his train of thoughts.

Lucas sneers, finally turning around to meet Eliott’s eyes. “Well, you tell me. I’m shaping my imaginary boyfriend after my childhood best friend, what does it say about me?” He’s pretty positive it’s not the sign of someone with a perfectly balanced life.

“That you have great taste,” Eliott grins, but it kind of turns into a wince when Lucas lets out a groan. “Hey, it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want to, alright? I’m nothing extraordinary, I’m sure plenty of guys check those boxes.”

“But…?”, Lucas prompts, because it feels a lot like Eliott isn’t done but he’s really close to tell him that pausing for dramatic effect right now is definitely not the nice thing to do.

Eliott’s hands are still gripping tight his coffee mug. “But nothing. Like I said,” Eliott adds, clearing his throat a little, “it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

Suddenly it hits Lucas that he sounds fucking nervous, like, actually nervous. Why is he nervous? Oh right. He just made things weird. “Why? Do you want it to mean something?”, he asks, hoping to go for a casual laugh, but it comes out wrong, off-key.

“Well… I started making a list too, a couple of years ago,” Eliott says, before pausing. His mouth twists a little. “And it’s… uh, it’s possible you’re checking a bunch of boxes as well.”

Well that’s just getting better and better, Lucas almost says. It’s Eliott’s turn to avoid his eyes and Lucas isn’t sure what’s going on but he’s pretty positive he doesn’t like it, because now things aren’t just weird on his part anymore, and he has no idea what to do with that piece of information.

Eventually, because he’s like that, Lucas snorts — it’s just too much. “Look, I appreciate it if you’re trying to make me feel better but-”

Eliott looks offended. “I’m not,” he says, sounding earnest, and Lucas’ words die in his throat. “Okay, you know what? Come with me.” He puts his mug down onto the kitchen elements, and Lucas doesn’t even have the time to say anything before Eliott motions to leave the kitchen, dragging him along in his wake. His own coffee mug still in his hands, he stares in confusion as they walk into the living room, his best friend going to retrieve one of his sketchbooks from the tiny coffee table.

The next few seconds are particularly silent as Eliott flicks through the pages, but he eventually exhumes a loose leaf from the depths of the sketchbook. What strikes Lucas first is that there’s a lot of black ink on it. Lines, sometimes full-on paragraphs have been crossed with a thick black marker, which offers a stark contrast with Eliott’s rather small but clean handwriting.

“See? I’m not lying,” he says, and he seems to hesitate for a split second, before he hands it to Lucas. “You can read it, if you want.”

No that’s personal, is the first thing that comes to his mind. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the kind of thing he would want people to think about his very own stuff — that it’s off-limit, that peeking is rude, that it’s intrusive. He knows he’s an adult, he knows that, and Eliott is an adult too, and even more so they literally grew up together, they figured shit out together, so it’s not like Eliott would bat an eye if he ever read anything about Lucas’ slightly graphic descriptions, no.

But would he die on the spot from the sheer embarrassment? Probably.

And yet — when Eliott holds his list, he picks it up. He’s a hypocrite like that.

“Boy there's a lot of marker,” he says dumbly, cocking an eyebrow, but deep down all he can think about is that he’s holding that stupid list Eliott wrote, about the things he wants in a partner, and he hates, he hates that there’s some kind of weird hope fluttering deep inside him.

His eyes skim over the entries, more avidly than he’d like to admit. Naturally, Eliott my-head-in-the-cloud Demaury cannot go straight to the point, so it’s not surprising that each entry turns out to be at least a full sentence long.

3- They don’t mind a good challenge and won’t pass on an occasion to try out new things even if that means stepping out of their comfort zone.

8- They understand that mental health isn’t smiling all the time.

14- They’re straight-forward enough to say when things aren’t fine and don’t dismiss it with a shrug.

“Okay but that could be anyone, Eliott,” Lucas says flatly, turning the page over, and he tries his best not to feel disappointed because it’s not like he has the right to be. “And I’m sorry but I think the last time someone called me ‘optimistic’ was, like, in kindergarten, and it was about another Lucas.”

“Well that’s the thing,” Eliott argues with a small shrug, and he buries his hands in his pockets. “To me it’s kind of… you. And I know it’s confusing because well, I was there too, but I feel like… I don’t know, the point of making a list like that in the first place is to figure out what matters and what we want, no?”

Lucas’ hand tightens around his mug. “I mean, yes,” he admits, voice dragging slowly on the last word. But does that mean you want me? He can’t get the words out, it’s like his mouth is full of gravel. Another reason why Eliott’s list can’t possibly be about him, he’s far, very, very far from being brave. Or even ‘quick-witted’ for that matter — he only has biting come-backs that would also get him beaten up in middle school. “But between knowing what makes you comfortable and knowing that you want to know your best friend in the biblical sense, there’s an ocean,” Lucas points out, a bit more dryly than intended.

Eliott’s cocks an eyebrow. “In the biblical sense,” he repeats, laughter not far behind as he perches himself onto the armrest of the couch, and just because of that, because of the subtle way Eliott’s voice changes, because Lucas knows he’s biting back a laugh — it’s because of these small things that the tension lifts a little, and that the atmosphere shifts to something more bearable.

“You know what I mean,” Lucas huffs.

Eliott grins, that kind of annoying grin that made Lucas smack his face with textbooks back in the days. “Oh, yeah, I do, don’t worry about that.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, eventually glancing back to Eliott’s list — but it’s like the words don’t print themselves in his brain, like he can’t comprehend those simple sentences written in Eliott’s oh-so-clean handwriting. “You haven’t told me what all that marker was about,” he croaks out after a moment of silence.

“And how about you tell me how you actually feel about this?”, Eliott asks gently. He rises up from the couch, stepping closer, and Lucas finally finds the courage to look up long enough to hand him back his list.

“I think that you deserve to find someone more than anyone else in the world,” Lucas says, voice getting a bit quiet as he grabs tightly his cold coffee mug with both hands. “But I don’t know if that someone could be me. I never thought… I mean it’s only been a couple of days, before that I never thought of us like that.”

“But you did in the end,” Eliott points out.

It gets Lucas’ brain to work, the wheels turning even faster — because Eliott’s right. He didn’t come to think of being romantically involved with Eliott because Eliott showed him his list, he got there all by himself. And the problem isn’t that Eliott is repulsing, it’s not that the thought of kissing him and going on dates with him is weird, it’s not that falling asleep next to Eliott is grossing him out. The problem is-

“I think I just don’t want to risk losing you,” Lucas admits in a whisper, eyes falling. He’s never been in an actual relationship. His list of exes should be requalified as, at best, weeks-long flings, and he does not particularly think he’ll be a natural at this, courtesy to his parents displaying the opposite of a healthy relationship for most of his life — the last thing he wants is to hurt Eliott in the process of trying and failing.

He only looks up when Eliott’s hands cover his own around the coffee mug. “I know. And I know no amount of promises on my part will make it better, but if you need me to I’ll repeat it every single day.” His thumb gently caresses the back of Lucas’ hand. “I’ll be there as long as you want me to. And if you don’t want me like that, then it’s fine too. I’ll still be there no matter what.”

Lucas takes a deeper inhale. “Why are you so calm about all of this? How long have you been sitting on that shit to be so chill now?”

Eliott looks sheepish. “Two, three years maybe.” Lucas’ mouth falls open, but Eliott quickly adds: “I mean, it’s not that I was like, just fantasizing about you for like three years straight, it’s just that, like, I always thought you were always the one that…” His voice trails off and he huffs a laugh. “See why I didn’t say anything before? It’s just… it’s so hard to explain.”

“Yeah,” Lucas snorts, chewing onto his bottom lip. “Tell me about it.”

But deep down he’s starting to understand what Eliott means. It’s hard to put into words every little thing that makes Eliott the person he needs most. Something not even a list of a thousand entries can do. And maybe that’s why it feels so alien that, to Eliott, he’s the perfect match to his wishlist. To me it is you, Eliott had said before, and now he gets it. He gets it because Eliott’s hands are around his own, he gets it because Eliott would probably be willing to tattoo ‘I will not leave you alone’ somewhere on his arm if Lucas asked. He gets it because Eliott has been sitting on his own feelings for three years, and still he helped him out pick up guys, sort out his life, encouraged him to leave for a whole different country, and he was only brave enough to go through any of it because Eliott made him feel like he was capable of doing so.

“My list is a mess,” Lucas confesses. “And I should probably cover a thing or two before you see it because that’s, like, not appropriate for a first table read. But if you want to read it… Then you can read it. And then you can decide if you think you can put up with me more than you already do.”

Eliott’s smile is soft and blinding at the same time. He takes one of his hands off Lucas’, and when he pulls him closer by the neck, Lucas still feels weird about it, but not in a bad way; there’s just something churning in his stomach that wasn’t there not so long ago. He just leans into the touch as Eliott’s lips press onto his cheek, because Eliott smells good, and it makes him feel warm and protected in a way no one else ever made him feel.

“I’ll be honest,” Eliott says quietly, not pulling much away, “that’s why there’s so much marker on mine.”

This time Lucas feels warm for a whole different reason. He feels the tip of his ears heating up a little bit, and he’s positive it doesn’t have to do with Eliott’s immediate vicinity. “Well,” he says, clearing his throat a little bit, “that’s… something to think about.”

“One step at a time though.”

Lucas finds himself smiling, mirroring Eliott’s expression, his eyes trailing a second too long on Eliott’s lips. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

#skam france #elu fic #eluficrec #mine #*#it's been so long i feel like i don't know how to write anymore <333 #*my fics

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percontaion-points · 3 years

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Handbook for Mortals chapter 0

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Chapter 0: The Fool

I’ve always envied those with normal lives. I don’t think I’ve ever even had a normal month, a plain week, or an average day.

You know, considering that 1.29 star review on Goodreads (review bombing non-withstanding), I'm going to predict that the book will open on this, and then spend the next 261 pages explaining how ordinary and boring that the main character is. The author's really bad attempt to be “edgy”.

I won’t cover everything that has been crazy or unusual in my life. If I did, this would end up being a much larger book and would take entirely too long to read. Instead, I’ll start on the day I left home. It marked a turning point—a fork in the road, if you will. I knew I was choosing a path, and hoped it was the right one. Either way, I knew that once I made my choice that was it. I couldn’t double back and try again. It was to be how it was to be.

So I know that this is “chapter 0”, but at the same time... This isn't off to a great start. We're just having a bizarre “flow of consciousness” writing that doesn't seem intent on getting to any sort of point, literally at all.

….the wind that blew swiftly through my blonde hair. It also spun about the chunky pieces on the lower half of my long hair, which I had dyed to be a multitude of fun colors. Today they were pink, purple, blue, and a turquoise green, but I have a habit of changing the colors frequently. My perfectly cut bangs stayed mostly unaffected by the wind except for a few squirrelly pieces.

Holy fucking shit, can we not?

My mother is the area tarot card reader and spell caster.

It took most of two pages just to establish what goddamned genre that this book is.

Not like I'm against taking some time to establish the world and everything. But when those two pages consisted of 100% “flow of consciousness” writing that gave us “dramatic hair blowing” for a fucking paragraph... This is just goddamned maddening.

My well-worn and once brightly colored (but now badly faded with dirt spackle) Converse high-top sneakers made a quick tapping noise on each step. I had just replaced the laces on them so at least they looked somewhat decent. My favorite high-waisted Levi’s dark denim skinny jeans—ripped in all the right places—made the swishing noise as I lifted my legs and my perfect flowy Lucky’s top that I wear far too often billowed around me.

I'm having some super intense flashbacks to reading bad Harry Potter fanfics riddled with bad self-insert Mary Sues from when I was 12.

“But, Zade, I thought you liked reading cards.”

So I wanted to make fun of this name, but wanted to make sure that it wasn't an actual name before I did this.

From wikipedia: Zade is both a surname, derived from Persian, meaning "son of" and a given name.

What the fuck.

It's not so much that I'm making fun of the name, since it does appear to be an actual name, and a cultural one at that. But I'm making fun of the fact that the author picked what's obviously a cultural, MASCULINE, name and gave it to a girl. One who is obviously quite white.

She had often quoted me one of Dr. Seuss’s famous sayings—so many times I had lost count. “Why try to fit in, when you were born to stand out?” I always retorted with, “Why would I want to stand out? People who stand out get things thrown at them. People who stand out get called names and shoved into lockers. If the people who don’t stand out are too cowardly to do any of the previously mentioned options then they just awkwardly whisper about you— the people who do stand out—as you walk by.”

I don't know. Zade kind of has a point. It's easy for the parent to say “It's okay to be you”. But the parent isn't the one getting bullied in school and shunned by her peers.

It's a lot easier for an adult to shrug off people who are mean to you, because they have a lifetime of perspective, and can understand things like “It's their problem, not yours”. It's a lot harder for a 17 year old who is currently being bullied.

It was the opening lyrics to the Dixie Chicks’s song “Wide Open Spaces.” I couldn’t help but laugh at how truly that was my anthem at the moment. I took it as a sign I was doing the right thing, as I drove away, I sang along to the song.

Who doesn’t know what I’m talking about

Who’s never left home, who’s never struck out

To find a dream and a life of their own

A place in the clouds, a foundation of stone

And now we're literally quoting actual song lyrics.

I can't. This is literally just somebody's bad fanfiction that somehow, for some reason, got published.

I had a long road ahead of me—and an even longer road when I got there—but it was what I knew that I needed to do, without any doubt.

Chapter 0 summary: This chapter was eight pages long, but most of it was just useless filler that literally any sort of editor would have told her to cut. Long descriptions of things like what she was wearing, and mostly just bullshit “streams of consciousness” that had nothing to do with anything.

But the actual meat of the chapter revolves around ~17 year old Zade packing up to leave home. Her mother is a literal witch, who is shunned by most of the highly conservative, highly Christian town. And as such, Zade is shunned by proxy. She's trying to leave, but her mom doesn't want her to go. Says that she's just trying to protect her daughter from “making the same stupid mistakes”. Which is fair, but Zade throws everything that her mom has ever done for her daughter back into her mom's face. Which as you can imagine, makes her come off as shitty and ungrateful.

She eventually leaves, and says that she's going to Vegas.

#Handbook for Mortals #chapter 00 #Zade #can we not?#bad writing is bad #I would ask where the editor was but I think we all know there was none

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shirophantomvox · 3 years

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Lotor's Nanny

Hello y’all! I am back yet again with another Voltron short fiction! I got this prompt from @vld-prompts and this one is great! Some dialogue in this are mixed quotes from the show. The prompt is: “Dayak comes to Galra HQ unexpectedly.” The link shows the reference I used in this story. Its somewhat the same, I changed some elements and dialogue. I mentioned the Code of Ethics because some companies do not allow in-dating. That means you cannot date one of your coworkers. This story has been on my mind for a while and it came out better than I expected! I hope you all like it. Be sure to follow me for more writing content!

Team Voltron slowly walked across the bridge of Galra HQ formerly known as Zarkon’s ship. Chills ran down their spines as they approached the now Emperor Lotor and his staff. Right above them were tapestries filled with light purple, white, and yellow; the same colors the paladins of old had. The expression on Lotor’s face was the complete opposite of his new comrades. The paladins had been through enough; their lives could end at this very moment and to think they blindly walked into Galra HQ? Thank God, Lotor didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve...or did he?

Lotor approached the Paladins with open arms aimed at Princess Allura; hoping she’d give him a hug and not leave him looking like a fool. Reluctantly, she embraced him softly, barely placing her arms fully around his back. That was good enough, for now. She backed up quite smoothly, lifted her head, and looked at the tapestries that hung above her head. They all gasped and at the beauty and detail of them. The yellow had thin lines of dark yellow as the outline. They glistened in the spotlights because of the white glitter that was in its place. Lotor smiled large, folded his arms, and lifted his head. This was his time to shine and he was ready to do so.

“The colors you see before you are the same ones that our fathers used while battling. These colors represent friendship, leadership, and an emphasis on an unbreakable bond. Although the unbreakable bond didn’t workout well the first time, I’m certain it will now.”

Lotor’s smile slowly faded as he glanced directly in between Allura and Shiro. “Lover Boy” Lance McClain came storming between the two, stood toe to toe with him, and pointed his lengthy index finger in his face.

“Lance, that’s rude! What are you doing?!” Allura’s tone wasn’t her usual sweet, calm reflection but instead more like an irritated mother. She had been used to Lance’s irrational fears but this was TOO FAR for her. She developed feelings for Lotor, she is one of the leaders of Voltron, and having him misbehave insulted her leadership skills.

“Don’t worry, princess. I just want to make sure he doesn’t have any tricks up his sleeve.”

Lotor arrogantly chuckled quietly to himself. Although Lance appeared to be the airhead surfer boy, he took his role as paladin and valued his team seriously. They had been ambushed several times by Zarkon, his father. They have every right to be paranoid even if Allura didn’t think so. One thing that irked the team was her sense of trustworthiness. She hated Lotor simply because he was truly a threat and was Zarkon’s son but once she found out he was half Altean, it appeared as if she did anything he said. She fell for him; hard and that isn’t always good.

“I assure you, I am not here to play games or have any “tricks up my sleeve”. Trust me, if I did, you would know about it already. I am more skilled than you. There’s no need to lie.”

“As much as I would love to believe you Lotor, the Galra aren’t the ones to ‘turn the other cheek’. They keep fighting and fighting until they die.” Hunk began to sweat a little as his nerves began to run amuck.

“Hunk has a point. Why all of a sudden are we teaming up with Zarkon’s son to fight against his own empire that your the head of? It doesn’t sound right.”

“If Pidge agrees with me, it must be a set up.” Lance turned around and allied himself with the rest of the team. They were not pleased at all. Could it be a possibility that they were being paranoid? Is it wrong that they haven’t given him a chance to prove himself? Lotor released an irritated sigh, closed his eyes, and opened them again.

“I assure you, I have nothing to hide.” He snapped his fingers and two robots came at his side quickly. “If you all don’t mind, we are going to HQ and we will have a chat about what our next steps are going to be.”

The centurions led the way to HQ. On the way there, it was quiet and awkward; the only ones that were talking were Allura and Lotor. He had a large binder open with pages and pages of scientific research that Honerva had been using to figure out information regarding the creatures from the rift. Both were so intrigued by the findings that they began to pick up speed next to the centurions, leaving the team a bit behind. Allura took hold of the binder to find something specifically related to Oriande relating to “life givers”. Lotor began to close the space between the two placing his arm around her waist and gently placing his hand around her thigh. Lance was about to blow his fuse! Pidge and Hunk reassured him that Allura has stated several times before that she is not interested in dating him. It would be unprofessional; Lotor and Allura were considered to be allies. If they dated they’d be violating the Code of Ethics...somewhere.

“If she wouldn’t be interested in dating him, why isn’t she throwing his arm off her?”

“Lance, I haven’t dated yet but I know something about girls.” She pushed her glasses closer to her face and pointed in the air. “Some girls just entertain the behavior in the moment so the guy doesn’t flip out. They also do it so the man’s ego won’t get hurt. Both reasons are stupid and unhealthy but that is why. I have no idea why a man’s ego is so easily destroyed just because a girl rejected his passes.”

“Good question. It makes the good guys look bad.” Hunk stuck his finger in the air and smiled. “I’ll always treat my woman like a queen!”

The team had finally reached HQ. Lotor suddenly became quiet and stood still. He squinted his eyes, frowned, and slowly moved away from them. Once he approached his subject, his eyes widened. There was a tall woman dressed in long black clothing, her head covered, with her back turned. She had two blue binders that said “memories” on the binding side and an old cloth blanket. The emperor face palmed himself quietly backing away instructing the team to leave HQ quickly without making a sound. As soon as the robots began to move, the woman turned around, gasped and yelled his name.

“Lotor!”

“Goodness gracious,” he replied quickly under his breath.

The woman came walking towards him with a smile of endearment. He could now see the front of the binders and nearly lost his mind. He blushed at the sight and glanced back at her. She laughed, assuring him that she was moving his belongings to another part of the ship.

“Oh, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Embarrassed about what?”

Lotor changed his expression and turned around. Still blushing, he managed to smile.

“This is Dayak, my governess. She raised me when I was a child, trained me, and helped me become the man I am today.”

“Barely,” Lance blurted out. He snapped his head and smiled oddly at Lotor. Lance was able to put two and two together and realized what he was embarrassed about.

“Wait, wait, wait. She raised you from a child? As in your nanny?!”

“Governess!” The emperor face palmed again, not able to look in Allura’s direction.

Why would ANYONE want their old photos to be shown to anyone they liked?!

“Oh boy, you had a nanny! Oh my goodness, I didn’t have one!”

“That’s why you're lacking in so many areas. Can’t you tell?” He began to flex his arm, showing the implied muscles through his shirt.

“That’s all you’ve got? At least mine are real!”

“Mine are too! You look like you’ve been using steroids!”

“Steroids? How do you know what those are? You’re an alien.”

“Ok, Lance, that’s enough. Dayak was going to speak,” Shiro said, somehow not irritated. Given the chaotic life he has, this was nothing but pure entertainment.

“Thank you. True enough I am this young emperor’s governess and I did far more than nanny duties. Lotor underwent intense training at the age of 6 years old. Many doubted his abilities but I knew he had it in him.”

“Thank you, Dayak.”

“Lotor, don’t hate me for this. Dayak, what are in the books that you are holding?” Hunk was generally curious and had no ill intent in asking unlike Lance. Still, Lotor was pained to see what was in those books. His style would have definitely been cramped.

“I’ll show you if it’s ok with the emperor.”

Lotor sighed heavily and threw his hand in the air.

“Yes, it's ok.”

Everyone gathered around his governess as she opened one of the books. The font read “Memorable Moments” and God knows what was in them. The team released a number of “awws”, “wows”, and “oohs” . Dayak, the nanny--governess, smiled as she turned each page remembering how cute the emperor looked in his formal clothing and how hot she looked when she was younger. This stage in his life would have happened matter what; Honerva would have done the same thing.

“This picture was taken after Lotor learned the Galran alphabet, vowel sounds, and numbers.”

“Wow! Lotor used to take a stuffed animal to class?” Hunk laughed. “Ha!”

“I was afraid, ok? I was all by myself.”

“And no one is shaming you for it buddy! Well, maybe Lance, but we aren’t.”

“This picture was taken during PE class. He loved to play buckets. I thought he was going to pursue somewhat of an athletic career!”

“I have to admit, he gets his muscles from Zarkon.”

“Aw. Thank you Princess.”

“That’s not a compliment dude.”

The emperor realized that the old photos of him weren’t so bad after all. They were milestones; it showed how well he has progressed and how he will continue. These were his allies after all. It was important for them to see him during his softer moments to know that they could talk to him about anything.

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lokislittlesigyn · 3 years

Text

OG616 : Thor: The Dark World - Pt.2 [Isolation]

[My masterlist, where all parts of this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: None. again, unless you want a warning for sad sigyn and loki

Author’s Note: This one’s a bit longer. Apologies in advance for me being such a horse girl, I can’t help myself.

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath , @onaheroicmission

To be added to the taglist, just ask me here or send a message! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Frigga left, Sigyn looked around her room. With the exception of her dirty riding boots off in the corner and a few books and papers lying around, the room was practically untouched, as intended.

What would he want?

She paced a moment. Stopped. The bed… She smoothed her fingertips over the soft, velvety bedspread. Deep sapphire, with silvery accents. She smiled slowly, thinking of countless lazy mornings spent under it. He’ll like this.

She turned, surveying the room. Think. What will he be doing? Probably lots of reading… I should send him books. Where does he like to read...

She looked to their set of chairs and accompanying footstools, which were covered in a similar soft, deep blue fabric. Perfect.

Sigyn gathered a few more things: The book he’d been reading before his fall. A pitcher of water - and one of his favorite wines. A book of spells. Finally, she grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote a short note before folding the paper and tucking it into one of the books. Perhaps she’d do this again, in the future - send him books with letters, little love notes reminding him that someway, somehow, they’d see each other again. She clutched the book to her chest.

~~~~

Later, Sigyn went to Frigga, explaining what she wanted sent to Loki. The queen assured her the items would reach him, and explained she’d arranged for a few other pieces to be sent. Namely a bed, and a washing stand. But before Sigyn left, Frigga stopped her.

“Child,” Frigga said.

Sigyn turned, facing her. “Yes?”

“Please, do not seek Loki out. The Allfather has forbade you do so.”

Sigyn exhaled, nodding. She’d guessed Odin would forbid it - he’d be a fool not to. But then, perhaps he was a fool to think he could keep her away from him…

“I know.”

Frigga looked at her pointedly. “Promise me you won’t go to him yet. For now, these gifts will have to do.”

Silence hung between them.

“Promise me, Sigyn. Please. If you want any chance of seeing him, you must be patient.”

Sigyn’s shoulders sunk slightly. She nodded. “I.. I promise. I’ll wait. I trust you to tell me when it’s.. Suitable.. To speak to him.”

Frigga stood a moment, considering her words. “Good. Thank you.”

~~~~

Loki stood in the center of a crisp, white room. It felt sterile. Cold. Contrasting with what sat in the room - a bed, which he supposed Frigga must have had sent. It was plain, only having sheets and a set of plain pillows atop it. Perhaps Odin would only allow so much comfort. Besides that, and a washing stand with a bowl of clean water, the only other thing in the room was himself.

He turned to his right, faced the glowing orange barrier that separated him from the outside world.

Would death have been better than this? This life, separated from everyone and everything? Hatred was better than apathy, that much he knew. But isolation…

Could he find solace in it?

The dungeon doors opened. A troop of Einherjar, accompanied by a few women - thralls, by the looks of it - walked to Loki’s cell.

“Stand back.” Tyr, the Einherjar leader and seasoned old warrior, held his sword at the ready. The sorcerer at Tyr’s side cast a spell, and the barrier slowly receded, fading like an ebbing tide.

Loki smiled coyly and stepped back with his hands held aloft. “Why, I had no idea you’d bring me gifts..” He eyed the furniture they brought in, his brow furrowing slightly. That chair - one from his bedroom. His footstool. The women brought in water, wine, and fruit, all set on a table. Another woman placed a pile of blankets on his bed - no, not just any blankets. His blankets. Finally, another woman set two books in front of him and quickly backed away, behind the Einherjar whose spears were pointed at Loki’s throat.

“How very generous.” Loki sneered at the warriors.

“These are not ours,” Tyr said as the sorcerer re-cast his spell. The barrier flowed back in place, seeming to solidify. “They are from your wife.”

Loki merely watched him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he kept his jaw firm, his expression unwavering. “Send my regards.”

Tyr gave him a look. Without another word, the troop left, the heavy dungeon door shutting behind them with an echoing thunk.

Loki glanced at the food and water, only now realizing how hungry he was. Touched the back of the chair - still soft. Walked to the books, picking one up in each hand. The first, he recognized as one of his favorites - a book of spells he often reviewed. He sat it to the side. The second, he realized was a book he’d been reading through before, though had never finished…

He swallowed. Dragged his fingers along the old cover, then tugging the bookmark gently, he flipped it open to the page he’d left it at.

A piece of paper fell to the ground. He caught it just in time, standing back upright and setting the book aside to unfold the note. It was Sigyn’s handwriting.

My dear husband…

Words cannot express my love for you, nor the pain I have felt in your absence.

I cannot imagine the pain and anger you must feel. But believe me when I say, you are not alone. You are never alone. Mother and I are here for you.

We will find a way to help you. And in time, we will be together again.

I love you.

Yours always, Sigyn

Loki’s gaze drifted up from the note, to the barrier of his cell, then beyond it to the door.

Out and to the left. Up, until you reached the main level of the palace. Then up again, with a few turns, would lead you to their room - it was safe there. A place entirely their own, calm and quiet and familiar. She’d be waiting there - waiting for him.

She was probably waiting now, after Odin demanded she be kept there.

Both of us in isolation.

Loki folded the note, tucking it back into the book, which he left on the table. He walked to the bed. Grabbing the blanket, he brought it up to his face - his fingers twitching into a fist as he did. It smelled like her, sweet and warm. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent…

After a moment, he opened his eyes. Laid down on the bed, on his side, clutching the blanket in a tight embrace.

~~~~

Weeks passed. Sigyn kept her promise to Frigga, never once daring to venture too close to the dungeons. Eventually, she grew bored of staying in the palace, where her good behavior would be on display for all the Einherjar, who were no doubt reporting her actions to the king. It had been long enough, hadn’t it? She could stand to leave the safety of Valaskjalf and venture into the city...

So one morning Sigyn slipped on her boots and sleek riding outfit and went to the stables. She could feel the Einherjar’s gaze follow her as she walked, as though expecting her to make a beeline for the dungeons. And as much as she desperately wanted to run down there as fast as her legs could carry her, she still had a promise to keep. She had to wait.

She reached the stables just as the bleak morning gave way to golden sun. Breathed in the deep, calming scent of hay. She smiled.

“Princess,” A stablehand greeted her, walking one of the horses in from pasture. “Shall I saddle your horse?”

“I’ll saddle him, thank you.”

The boy nodded. “He’s out in the eastern paddock.”

Sigyn thanked him, making her way through the grand stable - a few friendly faces greeted her along the way, big brown and blue eyes turning her way, ears swiveling to catch her footsteps when she passed.

Out in the paddock stood her sturdy dapple grey horse, Villieldr. His name meant wildfire - a name which suited his free spirited nature. Next to him, a chestnut whose satiny coat shone the same color as rust: Sinir. Sinewy, his name meant, and his lean, muscular figure certainly reflected that. They were both geldings, and after so many rides together over the years, they’d become close stablemates.

“Sinir,” Sigyn cooed, and the chestnut turned her way, twitching his shoulder. Loki’s horse always had a soft spot for her. Villieldr walked out to meet Sigyn, his velvety muzzle blowing grass-scented air over her face. “Mm, I missed you too.” She giggled, gently pushing his nose away.

Sinir ambled over, and Villieldr tilted his ears back at the approach.

“Hush, you baby.” Sigyn scratched under his chin, then turned to the chestnut. “Hello, friend. I’m sorry Loki hasn’t been around to see you… You must be missing him, too.”

Sinir lowered his head as she stroked his neck.

“In fact… Forgive me, Vill, but I think Sinir needs some proper attention.”

After giving Sinir breakfast and a thorough brushing, then dressing him in the tack Loki had chosen for him, Sigyn eased into the saddle. She clicked her tongue, and he sprung forward, eager to finally be going somewhere. All the horses were allowed to roam the paddocks throughout the day on a regular rotation - and when necessary, stable hands would exercise them. But Sinir had, no doubt, been bored in his master’s absence. Loki was forever his favorite person.

Villieldr’s distraught whinnies carried over the wind. He was pacing at the portion of the paddock nearest to the entrance, snorting, with his ears pinned back.

“I’ll be back tomorrow!” Sigyn smiled despite herself when Villieldr whinnied again, and led Sinir down toward the city.

Through the streets they rode, past houses and merchants and taverns, down to the rainbow bridge.

Sinir tensed beneath her when they approached the Bifrost, his trot growing choppy.

“Want to run?” She stood in the saddle, squeezing his sides - he didn’t need any other signals. Sinir moved into a hurried canter, then soon into a gallop, bouncing Sigyn down the bridge until she found his stride.

By the time they made it to the observatory, Sinir’s coat shone with sweat.

“Ho,” Sigyn slowed him down, slipping out of the saddle once he was still. “What a brilliant boy you are,” Sigyn stroked his neck and he arched it, his head low. “Thank you for the ride.” She ground tied him, then walked into the Observatory.

“How fare the realms, Heimdall?”

The Gatekeeper stood with his back turned to her, staring out the grand window of the Observatory. Naturally, he wasn’t at all surprised by her approach.

“Full of unrest, my lady. Raiders continue to pillage and plunder, souls are left lost without homes.”

Sigyn stopped next to him, crossing her arms. “I suppose there’s no way to help from here...”

“Einherjar have been dispatched across the realms. Prince Thor, as well.”

“And the Warriors Three?”

“Mm.” Heimdall nodded. “They fight bravely.”

“Do you see Midgard, Heimdall?”

“Of course.”

“How do they fare?”

“After the battle?”

Sigyn nodded.

“Humans are surprisingly resilient creatures - they will rebuild. Even now, Thor’s new friend Stark rebuilds his tower.”

“How far can you see, Heimdall?” She inched closer to the window, watching the vastness of the sky. Even during the day, Asgard’s light only shone so far into the endlessness of Yggdrasil. There before her lay an endless ocean of space, full of planets, galaxies, and nebulae. It felt as though if she leaned too far, she’d fall into it.

She stepped back, looking at Heimdall, who was now watching her.

“What is it you seek?” He asked, seeing right through her question.

“After Loki fell, did you see him? Were you able to see him at all?”

“No.. If I had, I would have told you as soon as I found he was alive.”

Sigyn shifted her weight. Wherever Loki was, for whatever reason he was with those creatures in that mysterious abyss, none of it could be good. Something must have happened there, something that inspired him to attack Midgard…

“What about now?”

Heimdall smirked. Turned, his gaze settling on Asgard. “Reading in his bed. He seems content, all things considered.”

Sigyn exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank you.. I may return, ask you to check on him from time to time..”

“I’d be happy to, my lady.” He offered a small nod as she left.

~~~~

That night, Sigyn sat at the table in her chambers. One half of the chair set was gone, now - thought the thought of Loki using his half of it made its absence easier to bear.

She grabbed a fountain pen and a piece of parchment.

My love,

I took Sinir for a ride today. He misses you - as do I. Vill was less than enthusiastic about it, but he’ll come around. Perhaps you’re right about him being spoiled.

I hope you are enjoying the gifts, if you can call them that: they’re yours anyway, after all.

Someday we’ll go for a ride together again. I’m sure of it.

Yours, Sigyn

Sigyn folded the paper, slipping it into a book of poetry and setting it aside, to be given to Frigga in the morning. She glanced toward the bed.

Empty.

It shouldn’t be empty. Not now, not when Loki was so close…

“Promise me you won’t go to him yet.” Frigga’s words echoed in her head.

She had to be patient. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep that promise…

Sigyn grabbed a blanket and settled back into the chair, closing her eyes.

#loki x sigyn #loki fanfic #logyn #OG616 #thor: the dark world

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myforeverforlife · 4 years

Text

caught in your orbit.

Byun Baekhyun, a name synonymous with success. His fame skyrocketed during his early days as an actor and model, and it seemed like his new venture into fashion design was taking him even higher. You’ve worked with Baekhyun for years, accompanying him to shoots and using his face as a canvas for your makeup. You’re no stranger to Baekhyun’s flirtatious advances, but as much as you’d like to give in, something holds you back...

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Word Count: 3,952

Masterlist

It was easy to be swept up in the modeling industry, where each face seemed even more beautiful than the last. But you've always been intensely career-driven, and you were determined not to let anything distract you from your work.

However, it was hard when former model/actor turned creative director for fashion brand Privé was sitting in your makeup chair. It never failed to amaze you how Byun Baekhyun easily drew people into his orbit, everyone attracted to the shine and brilliance that he emanated.

And you were one of them — a moth drawn to a luminous flame.

Baekhyun's soft locks fell over his forehead, styled messily in a way to suggest a carefree look. "How long has it been since we worked together? I haven't seen you in forever." He opened his eyes, staring up at you with a fond smile.

“We saw each other at the TirTir shoot two days ago, Baekhyun. Now, stop talking. You’re going to ruin my work,” you chastised him as you hurried to salvage the crooked smudge of shadow drawn along his lashes. You were in the midst of giving him the illusion of thicker eyelashes without the harshness of regular eyeliner. In fact, for this shoot, you were forgoing it altogether.

Dutiful as ever, Baekhyun shut his mouth, although you could see the corners of his lips twitching as he struggled to remain still. The two of you had built up a playful friendship over the years, a light game of cat-and-mouse going back and forth. For every joke, every mischievous nudge in your direction, you were easily able to match him with one of your own. Of course, Baekhyun had been a canvas for other makeup artists to work on, but none of them came close to you. He admired your work so much, that he had asked you to work exclusively for him, a constant part of his team. You often spent long, exhausting hours following him around to events and schedules, but you took pride in your work, and you genuinely enjoyed being around Baekhyun.

Maybe a bit too much.

As you finished smudging the eyeshadow at the base of his lashes, you took a step back. Today’s shoot called for a natural, laid-back kind of look. Baekhyun was honored to be chosen as the model for the front cover of Lined magazine, along with a 5-page story on his career. The emphasis of this spread was to highlight Baekhyun's achievements — all while managing to stay humble and innovative. As a result, the creative team had selected outfits with muted colors like beige and rich navy blue, all to highlight the star of the month's issue.

You had done your best to complement these outfit choices, choosing to keep eye makeup to a minimum with only eyeshadow along the top lashline. The rest of Baekhyun’s face had been kept minimal as well. Since his skin was already maddeningly clear, you had chosen to skip his regular cushion foundation and used only concealer for any touch-ups. His cheeks were dusted with a faint flush of a pale peachy color, and you had put a bit of highlighter atop the blush. The highlighter wasn’t the shimmery type that you usually used. Instead, you opted for a cream highlighter that gave Baekhyun’s face a soft glow, seeming to hint at a natural radiance that came from within. A delicate tinted balm was the only thing to coat his lips, and you had scattered faint freckles over his cheekbones as a finishing touch.

Baekhyun opened his eyes as you turned to look at his face in the mirror. He grinned as your eyes traced over his features, studying your work and looking for anything else that needed to be done. "Like what you see?" he asked, a soft purr.

"Maybe peach is the wrong color," you mused, ignoring his obvious attempt at flirting.

Baekhyun rolled his eyes, letting out a soft laugh. "Even when you're looking at me, you're not really looking at me."

"I am," you countered. Deft fingers pulled out another blush palette, searching through assorted colors before selecting a slightly orange-brown shade. "It's my job to stare at you for hours on end, Baekhyun."

"You know what I mean." He stared up at your face as you colored his cheeks subtly with the new color. "Not as part of your work, but just me. Just Baekhyun." He licked his lips nervously, eyes darting away and back before speaking again. "I want you to look at me the way that I look at you," he added quietly.

You paused, brush held up in the air before you sighed. "You're my boss. And as if that wasn't enough, you're Byun Baekhyun. South Korea's beloved jewel, one of the most recognizable faces." Placing the makeup brush down, you snapped the blush palette closed with a tiny click.

"So you've never thought of me in that way?"

"What way?"

Baekhyun groaned. "Don't play dumb, Y/N. You know what I mean."

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. It would take a fool to ignore how all of Baekhyun's actions, his sweet words directed towards you were unlike any that he gave to everyone else. For you, he saved only the most charming of smiles, the most melodious sounds of his lilting laughter. You had entertained the thought a few times — the thought of dating the genius model and fashion trendsetter, Byun Baekhyun. But every time, you pushed those thoughts away. Even if you did feel the same way, there was no way that it would work out.

"Baekhyun." You glanced at the clock, eyes widening as you realized that he needed to be out in the studio in the next few minutes. "I can't."

"Why?"

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Because I work for you. I'm just another staff member, another person supporting you from behind the scenes. I'm not like you, Baekhyun. You... you're dazzling, and easy to be around, and I love coming to work because you bring so much energy, but it would never work out. It's safer in the long run to just keep work and dating separate."

Baekhyun watched, wide-eyed during your impassioned rant. "Why can't you have both? Why does this have to end with us getting hurt?"

You opened your mouth to speak just as the door opened, Baekhyun's manager popping his head in. "You need to be out there, now," he emphasized.

Baekhyun glanced between you and his manager, torn between duty and what he wanted to do. A weak smile found its way onto your face. "Go. I'll be out there in a bit."

He hesitated, concern hiding in the depths of his eyes before he remembered where he was, and what he needed to do. With a parting nod, Baekhyun tore himself away, his shoes tapping softly against the floor as he headed out to where the rest of the crew was set up.

Left alone in the small room, you turned to stare at your reflection in the mirror. You had worked hard to get to where you were, doing makeup for one of the biggest celebrities in South Korea. But you had seen and heard enough of the world of fame to realize that you wanted as little to do with it as possible.

Baekhyun, on the other hand, thrived in it. He was shy around new people, but his genuine friendliness and ease of character won everyone over in all circles. It was terrifying to think of being thrust into that same world when you were so used to just being one of the many working behind the scenes. Plus, if your relationship fell through, nothing would ever be the same at work again. It hurt to even imagine the loss of Baekhyun's smiles as he talked to you, his boisterous laughter filling up the room. What would you do if that was all gone? You were scared of falling even deeper for him, but you were even more scared about losing what you already had.

You frowned at your reflection, frustrated with the person you saw in there. It would be so much easier if you weren't attracted to him. But, another voice reasoned, your life wouldn't be nearly as bright without him in it.

It was a fine line that you held, always teetering on the edge of professionalism and something more. But Baekhyun made you curious to cross that line, to see what lay ahead in the future even if it scared you.

Running a hand through your hair, you gathered up your materials, ready to join the rest of the staff for Baekhyun's photoshoot.

He was a star at the center of everything, and you had no choice but to fall into his orbit.

Thankfully, your schedule was clear the next day. But that didn't mean that Baekhyun hadn't tried to contact you, sending a few texts that remained unread. You had bolted out of the photoshoot as soon as you could, unwilling to pick up where you left off, especially in front of many other watchful eyes.

The day after threw you right back into the lion's den.

This was the biggest project that Baekhyun had taken on so far, a new launch by Privé titled "Delight". The pieces were unlike anything else that the brand had created, straying from the comfy-casual look that the "Be Humble" line had. It was as if this line was crafted with the sole purpose to torture you, plans for Privé to launch more mature, sleek clothing.

That also meant that Baekhyun would be modeling these pieces beforehand, pictures of outfit combinations running through your mind as you stepped into work.

Baekhyun was already sitting in a chair, the hairstylist working her magic on him as she parted his hair to the side and set it in place. Much to your distress, he wore a dark, velvet jacket with nothing underneath. A delicate gold necklace rested on his chest, a few rings adorning his fingers. Baekhyun glanced up as he heard you approach, his face lighting up. "Good morning."

"Good morning," you replied, only sparing him a polite smile before leaving to consult with the rest of the staff. You could feel him staring, following along as you moved around.

Soon enough, the hairstylist was done with her part, and all that was left was to get his makeup done. To your surprise, Baekhyun made no mention of your conversation. He waited patiently, going along with every request that you made for him to lift his chin, close his eyes, and so on. Even stranger was the silence in the room, only interrupted by the music playing from Baekhyun's phone and the bustling of people coming in and out. It was only when you let Baekhyun know you were done, did he finally speak up.

He studied his face in the mirror, fingers running lightly over the rosy blush that you had used on his cheeks. His eyes shifted to yours, radiating warmth. "It's beautiful, thank you."

"Of course it's beautiful, it's your face." Baekhyun's expression fell, and he spun around in his chair to meet you face-to-face. "You can't say these sweet things and then push me away all the time," he pouted.

"I'm sorry," you apologized quickly, an immediate response.

Shaking his head, Baekhyun stood up. "I don't want you to apologize, I want you to explain why you keep running. What scares you so much?"

"Baekhyun, please. Not here." You glanced over at the open door, a staff member walking past as they called out to someone else. "Let's talk about this later."

"Promise? You're not going to hide from me like last time?"

The idea was tempting, but you also knew that you owed it to both you and Baekhyun to finally get this out and into the open. No matter how much it hurt. Nodding, you reached up to brush off a stray eyelash on his cheek. "I promise."

Baekhyun's tense shoulders loosened up, his hand chasing after yours and closing over it in a comforting warmth. "Okay," he breathed out. "Later, then."

Watching Baekhyun as he stood in front of the camera was mesmerizing, always drawing you in as if you were seeing him for the first time. Even as he lay on the floor, a hand over his exposed chest as he stared into the camera, you couldn't bear to look away. The camera lights flashed as he brought his fingers lazily up his chest, stopping at his lips. He smirked as he glanced back up to the camera, eyes hooded in the look that you recognized all too well.

"My fatal look, able to win over people of all ages," he had explained to you once as you touched up his makeup.

He wasn't wrong. A few of the staff oohed and aahed in appreciation, just as starstruck by his beauty. You went over next to the monitors, watching as the shots of Baekhyun flooded the screen — his eyes seeming to look directly into your own.

The next series of shots had Baekhyun leaning against a wall, fingers tracing over the rim of a glass as he stared off into the distance. He truly was a genius model, shifting positions so that his chin rested in his hand, to letting the shadows cover part of his face as he leaned a certain way. Every time the photographer paused long enough for you to touch up Baekhyun's makeup, a wide grin appeared on the model's face.

"You're going to smudge your lipstick if you keep touching your lips like that," you chastised gently as you leaned forward to fix it.

Baekhyun immediately clasped his hands together behind his back. "Yes, ma'am."

That brought a giggle out of you, much to Baekhyun's delight.

The rest of the shoot followed in a similar fashion, Baekhyun taking your breath away as he posed in various outfits, and then making you burst into laughter as he joked around with you and the rest of the staff. It was a familiar routine, something you had experienced many times, but it still didn't lose its charm. Yet at the same time, it only fed your growing worries. What if you did try to make this work between you and Baekhyun, but it ended horribly? You'd be so uncomfortable around him, it would be unbearable. You were comfortable in this space where Baekhyun was both attainable, and yet out of reach. At least here, you could adore him without fear of losing him.

You sighed as Baekhyun posed in his last outfit for the day, a cream-colored top with some purple pants — not a fashion choice you personally would've made. And yet, he still managed to pull it off effortlessly. He sat on the floor, knees bent as he leaned his elbows against the top. His lips were a shiny, glossy pink, only emphasizing the natural pout to his lips. Once, he accidentally licked his lips, face contorting into a look of shock and disgust at the bitter taste. You laughed as you helped him, giving him a napkin to wipe his mouth with before reapplying his lip gloss.

Finally, after many hours and multiple outfit changes, he was done! Everyone cheered as it was announced that the shoot was over, Baekhyun going around and thanking everyone for their work and commitment. You headed back to the dressing room first, nervous for what you knew was yet to come.

Baekhyun followed along shortly after, darting into the empty room as you were in the midst of cleaning up. "Hey," he murmured. You sank down in a chair, shoulders slumping as you tried to calm the racing in your chest. "Baekhyun, I like you. You know I do. But it's not that easy, especially because it's you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Groaning, you bit down on your bottom lip as you tried to figure out how to phrase your thoughts. "You're a star, Baekhyun. I'm not. We only see each other during work, and that's it. What if we're just too different? What if this doesn't work out?" You raised a finger as Baekhyun opened his mouth to speak. "And don't say that we won't, because you don't know that."

"But why are you so convinced that it will?" He came closer, eyes blazing as he stared down at you. "There's nothing that I've seen that convinces me this'll end in a breakup. You care about me, and I care about you. That's the only thing that matters."

"It's not that easy, Baekhyun. I," here you paused, nervous about what you were about to say. "I love getting to be a part of your day, to see you light up and be in your element. I can't imagine not coming into work and seeing you there. I can't imagine a life without you. But I'm so scared that things will end badly, and that all of this will be taken away — that it'll just be too awkward for us and that we'll lose what we have now." You felt the stinging of tears in your eyes, hands coming up to wipe at them roughly as you stood and looked around for some spare tissues.

Baekhyun came over, wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape. "But what if there's something better ahead?" he asked softly. "We won't know unless we try." His lips curved into a sad smile as you stood there, eyes still closed and unwilling to look at him. "Y/N. Look at me, please."

Who were you to refuse him?

Slowly, you opened your eyes, heart tightening as you saw how Baekhyun stared at you so lovingly, so tenderly.

"I like you. I've never been more sure of anything in my life. And I care about you enough to say that I want to try this. I'm not that naive to believe that everything will be smooth from here on out, but I still want to try because at least I'll be with you. Not as your boss, or Byun Baekhyun... just yours. Your Baekhyun." One of his hands moved to caress your cheek, and you took pleasure in the way that your face fit perfectly in his hold. "We can go as slowly as you want, just... don't run away before anything's even started. Be brave with me, Y/N."

It was easier said than done, but coming from Baekhyun, you found the walls surrounding your heart start to weaken and crumble down. He was right in his own way — how would you know for sure unless you took that leap of faith? Besides, you would have Baekhyun by your side, strong, supportive Baekhyun who never let you down.

"Okay," you agreed, letting out a breathy laugh as Baekhyun's eyes grew wide with surprise. "I mean it. I'll be brave with you, Baekhyun." You reached up to poke the tiny mole resting beside his upper lip, one of the features that you liked best on him. "You're mine now," you said, relishing in the fact that you were the only one in the world who could say those words.

"And you're mine." Baekhyun leaned in to kiss the top of your forehead, completely forgetting about his lip gloss until he pulled away and saw the smear of pink covering your skin. "Oh no," he gasped, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.

You looked in the mirror, bursting into giggles when you saw the mess on your face. Immediately, you retaliated by swiping the lipgloss from Baekhyun's face, drawing a faint line that nearly reached his cheek. While you had been expecting to laugh at how ridiculous he looked, you were shocked to find that he still managed to look good. Too good...

"What?" Baekhyun glanced in the mirror, staring at the smudged lipgloss caressing his bottom lip. "Oh," he breathed out, turning back to you. A slow, teasing smile grew on his face as he reached up with one hand. You watched, unable to look away as he rubbed the back of his hand against his lips, only dragging the shimmering gloss further across his face.

With a quick intake of breath, you forced out a shaky laugh. "You make me want to kiss you when you do things like that," you blurted out, barely realizing what you had said after the words left your mouth.

Baekhyun blinked in surprise, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "Then do it."

You didn't need any more prompting, almost knocking into him as you leaned up to kiss him. It might not have been the best kiss ever because of the tacky, sticky lip gloss, but the fact that it was Baekhyun you were kissing more than made up for it.

Baekhyun melted against you, hands pulling you close and tightening in the hem of your shirt. He gasped as you nipped softly at his bottom lip, no longer caring about getting lip gloss all over you.

A loud thud from out in the open studio startled both of you apart, you and Baekhyun having completely forgotten where you were.

Baekhyun quickly looked over his shoulder, sighing in relief when he saw no one there. He turned back to you with a bashful smile, his already rosy cheeks taking on an even pinker shade. He placed his hands on his cheeks, laughing at how warm his face was. "As pretty as you made me look today, I need to get out of this makeup. My skin's dying here."

You had cleansing water and cotton rounds on hand after every shoot, already used to Baekhyun's discomfort of staying in makeup for too long. He drenched another cotton round in the liquid as you began erasing the makeup on his face.

"I know it's been a long day, but do you want to grab dinner together?" He looked up at you from underneath his lashes, biting down on his lip as he waited for your answer.

"I'd like that," you replied, carefully wiping away the rest of his lipgloss. "Just as long as we're not out too late. We have another busy day tomorrow."

"I'm the boss, I can push back the starting time," Baekhyun joked, chuckling when you rolled your eyes.

"Don't be silly," you reprimanded, although there was no trace of malice in your voice. How could anyone be mad with him?

"You're the center of my universe, Y/N. I'd push the shoot back years if it meant I'd get more free time with you." Baekhyun smirked proudly as you felt the tips of your ears growing warm at his unexpected sweetness.

"Stop," you whined, pressing your forehead to his chest. You could feel his suppressed laughter rumbling in his chest, an infectious sensation.

"Alright," Baekhyun gave in, lifting your face back up so he could look at you. "Let me get out of these, and then we'll be out of here." He dove in for a quick kiss before rushing out of the room, his voice echoing down the hall as he called out to his manager.

You were caught up in his orbit, and yet he had called you the center of his universe. It was strange to think of how much space you took up in his heart, and he in yours. It was still nerve-racking to jump into something new, to be brave in the face of an unknown future. But Baekhyun was by your side, calming you down and working with you to sort out your fears before they held you back. Just Baekhyun, not mega-celebrity Byun Baekhyun.

Yours.

A/N: this is basically just me self-indulging in looking at delight scans and gushing about how good baekhyun looks. I had this sort of model/make-up artist draft sitting around for about a year, and this finished fic is COMPLETELY different from how that started out.

for reference: the first shoot is from baekhyun’s lined magazine cover shoot, and the second is from his teasers for delight (specifically the sticky and sweet ones)

#exo #baekhyun #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun fanfic #exo scenario #exo fanfic #writings

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years

Note

Ok I’m at work and I cannot stop thinking about a soulmate au with Dwayne (because he’s my fave) where a psychic or someone tells him that he’ll meet someone with like a specific tattoo or birthmark

Sure thing! Currently the child birth post is taking a lot longer than I expected, I’ve only just finished the David segment, I still have Paul, Marko and Dwayne to go but hopefully they’ll be done before Wednesday.

Dwayne’s Fate

Halloween rolled in and yet the plethora of tourists never seemed to cease. All over the boardwalk they flocked to every newly decorated attraction, sporting cheesy plastic masks, sharing caramel apples, hugging each other as they went into the haunted house... Dwayne couldn’t help but feel the sharp pang of envy overtaking him. The young native pushed his mess of windblown black hair from his face, utterly tuned out while Marko and Paul were scoping out the beach honeys clad in bikinis and shorts. Instead he leaned on the handlebars of his bike, watching the couples pass by. Eighty-One Years.

He had been a vampire for eighty-one years. In all that time he’d never considered anything outside of his own pack, his coven of brothers who had become vampires alongside him. It was decades of wild nights! He thought he could never want anything else. But when Michael waltzed in and swept up Star and Laddie... he felt almost dark, in a sense.

Something changed in him the night he came back. He wasn’t sure how. What mattered was that he, and his brothers were alive once again. Well, not alive, but still. Now he was back to terrorizing the night time streets of Santa Carla like he always had. Only, it wasn’t like always. A part of him wished there was something more to all this. He had hoped one day to settle down when he was still alive but opportunity seemed to be almost gone by this point. Drumming his fingers on the handlebars of his bike, Dwayne grew increasingly impatient remaining in place. Swinging his leg over his bike he sighed with Marko turning to watch the road hog waltz away.

“Hey, Dwayne, where you headed, man,” he called, looking up.

“For a walk. I can’t sit here all night like you suckers,” Dwayne retorted, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. Silently he wove through bustling crowds, barely lifting his eyes. Anyone who was in his warpath quickly learned to dodge him. Thoughts plagued his head, more than he had before to the point they were cluttering against each other.

“You there,” a voice called over the unruly sounds of Santa Carla. Dwayne hadn’t thought much of it until an elderly woman quickly wove through. “You! You! Yes, wendigo-boy!”

The term gave him pause, looking back at the silver haired crone waddling his way still pointing her dried up finger until it was inches from his nose. “Yes, I could sense the aura of you and your friends across the way. Your dark presence is unmistakable.”

Dwayne swatted her hand away with a grimace, taking a step back. “Bug off you old bat, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed, turning from her.

“Your past may not define your future! It is not too late to find one who can bring light to your darkness,” she insisted, running in front of him.

Again Dwayne groaned, This broad was persistent. Even when he tried to walk away a third time she managed to swoop around him.

She was easily in her late 80′s with wiry silver hair barely contained in a low hanging bun. Feathers stuck out of her hair, clanking armfuls of metal bangles rang whenever she moved her hands. Each boney finger cracked, dawning a ring on each that barely hung of aged flesh. Beady brown eyes practically stared into his center which made it impossible to to look at her face. Whenever she spoke he could see her crooked snaggle tooth accompanying her worn voice, raspy as if she had swallowed sandpaper. Wrapped around her burnt orange dress was a worn leather belt chipping away sporting a purple satin bag tied around it. Whatever it was she wanted to discuss was not going to wait. When his internal debate grew to be too much, she finally snatched him firmly by his wrist and began to pull him where she was determined to be. There was no point in questioning any of this, all she did was answer in stupid riddles.

"All will be answered! But you come with now, otherwise you will miss it! Then who knows when it'll happen again."

"It". Whatever this "it" was carried some weight as she used the term frequently. Although reasonably irritated, something in Dwayne felt the need to follow. He resisted the urge to rip her arm out of it’s socket, and instead rapidly shuffled his feet so he didn’t step over the hobbling broad who couldn’t be more than five feet tall- even when she wasn’t hunched over. The way she wove through tourists was eerily timed. Almost perfect. Nothing caught her off guard. Bobbing and weaving. Worst of all no one was moving, everyone around them seemed utterly oblivious to her presence! Pulling him forward she shuffled her way to a small caravan. The dusty old piece was barely illuminated by a single light hanging over the door, wedged between the old donut place and the Santa Carla Gift Shoppe.

Still clutching his arm, they continued up creaking wooden steps that practically sang as he carried himself atop them. He can as convinced any moment this whole thing was going to collapse. The red door swung open slowly on it's own. Must've been rigged or something to do that. Meanwhile Dwayne had to duck just to avoid hitting the doorway, not that it mattered to the scatterbrained lunatic he decided to follow. Only when they were indoor did she finally release his hand and immediately shut her door behind him. It was decently bigger than what was let on initially. Tucked away behind a thick red curtain was a bed built around an arching stained glass window. It must've been somewhat decent before, athough this woman was such a hoarder you wouldn’t be able to tell at first. What books didn't fill her towering cases were strewn about the the floor in piles. Pages were stained with ink, notes written in old languages stuck to the walls between massive oil paintings depicting glorious battles, mystic creatures, ancient ones he had never seen. Plants were either hanging from the ceiling or over grown in corners. Dwayne made the mistake of sniffing at the strange red mushrooms poking out a dense pot of wriggling soil. He immediately recoiled watching worms surface just to burrow beneath the cakey mud. There were chattering cages hidden behind the bedroom curtain, ones he couldn't see into. Lined up along the wall was an oak desk draped in a velvet purple fabric coated in metallic gold zodiac symbols, completely covered end to end in bizarre herbs, animal parts, even live critters kept in an array of apothecary jars. Shelves held more, beakers of unrecognizable fluids bubbling over rickety bunsen burners. Thick crystals caked in dust jutted out beside a faded wooden box with bizarre pieces of jewelry spilling over, cobwebs gathering in untouched nooks. Rather than lamps or lanterns she had candles everywhere. Dribbling onto the floor, pouring over wrought iron candelabras, wiggling wisps of light spilling around the corners. By the kitchen space were cabinets sporting different colors of even more candles, many carved into with unfamiliar writings. When Dwayne picked up a dirty bottle covered in cobwebs off the crowded oak desk, there was a loud THWACK that made his ears wring.

“Ow! Hey-!”

Before he turned around she had a broom to his face and smacked him again. “No touching,” she demanded, yanking the bottle from him.

“If I wanted to, I could kill you, you old hag,” he snarled, rapidly stepping towards her with fangs bared. Again, broom.

“Hush! You are not as your bothers are. You desire the knowledge, yes?! You shall not get a word if Alma is dead. No use then!”

Dwayne grumbled a sour huff, rubbing the top of his head. Again he questioned his personal sanity for humoring this hag wielding a mighty broom.

All the while the self proclaimed Alma shuffled around him, snatching up handfuls of bottles and plopping then atop another overcrowded table. Repeatedly she used the words "fool" and "knows nothing" clearly referring to him. Mostly because every time she said those words she'd look over her shoulder at him.

Black as night, her worn iron stove roared when she stoked the fire withing it's oven. Just atop the surface was a heavy black kettle nestled above a scalding red coil. It rattled and hissed, moaning when plumes of steam billowed out into the air. She mumbled and “harumph”ed her way through the caravan. Clanking down a tea set on a worn old silver tray she rapidly shuffled back to her stove to retrieve the screaming kettle still singing it's tune. Without missing a beat she dropped something inside it. It took two trembling hands she poured the water over the strange herbs she had previously retrieved into two cups. The dainty porcelain pieces were etched in golden, ancient writings atop another circular table covered by a deep blue table cloth. With that, she plunked herself atop a creaking old chair, staring at Dwayne with those beady eyes .

‘Why the fuck am I still here with this old bat?’

Dwayne barely managed to fit in the rickety old seat that squeaked beneath his weight, staring down at the petit cup. The muddied liquid still bubbled, steam spiraling to carry an unbelievably sickening scent. Not necessarily horrible, but utterly confusing. The more he looked at it the more it seemed alive. “I am not touching that.”

“Hush! Nonsense! You shall drink as Alma does, and you will see.”

Dwayne hesitated, watching her sip at the herbal concoction. This was clearly the dumbest decison of his afterlife, but he had already died twice. What was there to be afraid of?

“On the boardwalk.. you called me ‘wendigo’. What makes you say that?”

“I can see your true form,” she calmly explained, setting down the cup. The leaves barely floated at the base. If he turned his head he swore he could see it forming into the shape of a fanged jaw wide open. “Blood and flesh pave your future, but even those who dwell in darkness deserve a lantern to ease the suffering.”

So, she knew what they were. What he was. “Then why help me if you know I’m a vampire,” he questioned, expecting the tea to be brewed with holy water.

“It is not my place to judge your path. I have come across many of your kind in my years of living. They all do what they must. So, drink.”

Dwayne hesitated once more, only to lift the beverage to his lips. It was bitter. The taste was reminiscent of biting into tree bark, all he could do is scrunch his nose.

Then, Alma’s figure began to vibrate. He could see pieces of her breaking off, the room surrounding him peeling away, like old paint off a dirty wall. Strips crumbled to his feet. He attempted to move only to find himself firmly planted to his seat. There was nothing. No sound, no sight, only black.

With a sharp inhale he opened his eyes to streams of orange. A... sunset?

Dwayne was amazed he could even remember what a sun set looked like. However, there was nothing that could take away the memory of the fire that filled the edges of the sky. Drips of night seeped in, miles of tall wheat grasses swaying in the breeze enveloping him. Still wedged in place he could only sit there, savoring a sight he would never see again.

But when he heard it, and he froze. A laugh. A twinkling bell chiming from far away. Flashes of E/C orbs flickered holding the sun within. A pearly smile whispering his name so softly it sent chills running down his spine. S/C as smooth as satin running a hand on his arm. The face cut in and out, but what he continued to see over and over was a symbol. An inky raven with wings draped over a woven dream catcher. Thick cords wove between each other into intricate details, each hole giving him pieces of who she was. Yes, she. He could hear her voice vibrate through the air. Not what it was saying, but only the sounds it made. “Alright alright, enough,” a raspy voice commanded.

Dwayne finally jumped up and out of his chair, crashing back down to earth and only the dusty floor of Alma’s caravan practically wheezing for air. He felt like he had just been running for hours!

“Come, come let’s not be dramatic,” Alma snorted, shuffling over to take his tea over to her rusty old wash pan piled with dishes.

It took a moment to get ahold of his bearings, swearing if he had a heartbeat right now it’d be jumping through his ribs. “What... the fuck... did you give me?!”

“No time for that, child. The bird is waiting for you just beyond the docks,” she began to babble again. Bird? Again that raven flashed before his eyes while Alma pried him off the floor.

“Wait- but I don’t- will you quit shoving me?!”

Alma continued to yank him until he was out the door barely catching himself as they ran down the steps. “Oooh any minute, any minute. No time for dawdling!”

Quickly she took him by his arm and swung him back out into the crowd, stumbling into a young woman who nearly yelped.

“Oh shit are you okay,” she asked. A few girls giggled at him until she made a face, waving them off. “Sorry I didn’t see you there. Are you alright uh-?”

Just across her collarbone sat a raven tattoo nestled across her chest with winds spread over a dream catcher trailing into her shirt, the trickles of beads left hidden in her blouse. When he looked into those perfect E/C orbs holding the sunset beneath them he could only smile, setting her heart immediately ablaze. With a massive blush tinting her cheeks an adorable crimson hue she pulled him to his feet, unaware once he was standing that she still had not let go of his arm. Looking behind him Dwayne still expected to see the batty old woman sitting outside her caravan. Instead... there was no one in sight. No caravan either. Just an empty alleyway only sporting a few dented old trash bins overflowing with garbage. Slowly he turned back to the girl, positioning himself closer as his crisp smile beamed over cinnamon flesh.

“Well what’s your name first?”

“Y/N,” she spoke with a tender tone, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Y/N. I’m Dwayne. Nice to meet you, princess.”

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rhysiana · 4 years

Text

Scenelet from the punk club AU:

It was brighter outside than Wei Wuxian expected. Brighter than he remembered for this time of year. Wasn’t early spring sunshine meant to be weak?

Possibly he just hadn’t been outside enough lately.

He squinted against the light that was being only minimally cut by the new leaves on the tree above them and considered rolling over, but it seemed like too much effort, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth for a while. When was the next time he was likely to be waylaid by a dignified goth on his way to the grocery store who just happened to have a picnic blanket in his frightening and possibly magical messenger bag? Never, that’s when.

Wei Wuxian opened one eye to peek at Lan Wangji. He was sitting cross-legged on one corner of the blanket, coat flared around him just so, writing in one of those notebooks with a ribbon bookmark that Wei Wuxian had always coveted as a child. He squirmed closer so he could see. This put his head pretty much right in Lan Wangji’s lap, but Lan Wangji simply lifted his non-writing hand to make room and put it back down softly on Wei Wuxian’s hair. He tried not to sigh noticeably in contentment.

“What are you writing?” he asked, whether to distract himself or Lan Wangji more he couldn’t have said. He squinted. “Are those even words?”

“Qin,” Lan Wangji answered succinctly, and kept writing.

Wei Wuxian studied the page again, as much as he could from this awkward angle. “You made up your own shorthand tablature notation?”

Above him, Lan Wangji’s ears pinkened and he blinked down at Wei Wuxian in surprise for a split second before nodding slightly. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “That’s cheating, Lan Zhan! How can I figure out what it will sound like if I can’t even read it over your shoulder?”

“You are not looking over my shoulder,” Lan Wangji observed dryly.

Wei Wuxian huffed in dismissal of this point and settled more firmly in Lan Wangji’s lap, closing his eyes again. “You’ll have to hum it for me instead.”

He heard the notebook close, and then Lan Wangji shifted to—oh, to snag Wei Wuxian’s leather jacket to drape back over him like a blanket. Then the hand returned to his hair and started combing gently through the tangled wisps escaping from his braid as Lan Wangji began to hum.

Afraid to move, almost afraid to even breathe and risk breaking the spell, Wei Wuxian fell truly asleep for the first time in days.

***

Extra: outtake description of the messenger bag that got scrapped out of the main narrative:

(The bag, though, seriously, it had to be a secret magical item, not just some custom-made better-than-a-Timbuk2. Wei Wuxian had spent maybe too long staring at it this afternoon, trying to decipher its secrets, like doing so would unlock its owner somehow. It was a blue so pale it wouldn’t have had perceptible color if it hadn’t also been embroidered all over with truly white stylized clouds, and yet it was still as pristine as everything else Lan Wangji owned, even though he carried it everywhere. And it didn’t appear to have a limit to what it could carry, like some Mary Poppins carpet bag pocket dimension. Today it had produced not only the picnic blanket—a dark blue plaid, “from my brother,” Lan Wangji had explained, presumably because it wasn’t white—but also a thermos of tea and two collapsible cups. He raised his eyebrows at the thermos and just gotten a patient, “The bag is waterproof inside. It is quite safe,” like he could fool Wei Wuxian into believing he hadn’t reached through a portal straight to his kitchen.)

#punk club AU #wangxian #the untamed #is there a full fic in this? idk #I'm just winging this #there is no plan here #just self-indulgent visuals mostly

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marvelbbyx · 4 years

Text

And they were roommates! (College AU: Mason Weaver x Fem! Reader)

Summary:

You discovered that you liked girls when you were very young, knowing how others would react, you kept it a secret from your loved ones. Hiding from it well into your adult years.

Starting college, you expected yourself to keep your head down, get good grades, and stay out of everyone’s way. That is until you were roomed with Mason Weaver, a bold and intrepid individual that surprised you the moment you laid eyes on her. Certain feelings arising between the two of you, in order to try and put a stop to it, you distance yourself from Mason.

Until she realizes what’s going on and urges you to tell her how you feel.

Author’s Note: This is for the @versdan writing challenge! I chose Mason Weaver for this because there is a lack of Mason Weaver FICS on this platform. But if you’d like me to write more I will! Enjoy! ☺️

This fic is also based in the ’60s.

Prompt:

“I don’t get why you can’t tell me how you truly feel.”

Song featured: Leavin’ On Your Mind- Patsy Cline

Warnings! A little lengthy but that’s it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday

August 8th, 1965

You set down your last box in the corner of your side of the dorm before plopping yourself down face first on your new bed. Your arms were sore and worn out from carrying all of your stuff up and down the stairs, thankfully you were finished now and could rest a bit before you unpack everything.

You were mainly excited to unpack your record player, a powder blue 1964 Dansette Tempo—with four speeds. After begging for one for years, your parents got it for you as a graduation gift. Eventually starting your horde of record albums. Your favorites were: Doris Day’s Day by Night—Connie Francis’s Who’s Sorry Now?—and Patsy Cline’s single Leavin’ On Your Mind.

Besides your impressive collection of records, you also own a vast majority of books. Books have kept you company since you were very small. When you hit the age of twelve, everything seemed to have made sense quicker than you realized, beginning to show more romantic feelings towards your childhood friend, Caroline.

As you were moving stuff into your room, you couldn’t help but hear whispers and murmurs as you walked. The paranoid side of you thought that they were about you, but you knew that you were just overthinking it. Even if they did know about you, the comments would be just as hurtful. But you couldn’t do anything about it nor wanted to. That would cause more problems on your part, especially if it got one of the deans involved. So you decided that it was best to keep to yourself and not stir up any trouble for you or anyone.

Your head perks up when you hear the doorknob turning, automatically; you surmise that it’s your new roommate and await the worst. You see a girl walk through the door carrying a large box, wearing high-waisted denim jeans and a button-up red flannel shirt. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in long dark blonde waves.

She shuts the door behind her, her hazel eyes darting up to look at you. “Oh wow, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in here. Were you sleeping?”

You shook your head vigorously. “N-No, I was just resting. My arms are tired.” You say meekly.

She breathes out a laugh, making your heart flutter inside your chest.

“I’m Mason, Mason Weaver.” She extended a free hand towards you, keeping the box close to her chest with the other. You were rooted to your spot, unable to stand or reach your arm out to hers. Even if you did you’d probably melt all over the floor.

Mason’s eyes scan you up and down curiously, “Ya know when someone introduces themselves it’s common courtesy to do the same.”

“Y/N...Y/N L/N.” You say quietly, sitting up and lifting your hand to shake hers.

“Oh, she does have a name,” The blonde jokes with a grin. You nearly turn red at her words, the cool drawl in her voice causing your stomach to do somersaults.

Mason turns her back to you and sets her box down on the bed opposite to yours. Sitting down next to it and kicking off her boots, you tried your best not to stare at her but something about her held your gaze. You felt warm, you wanted to think because of how hot it was outside, but you knew it was because of her.

You saw her start to unpack her box, the contents inside weren’t exactly what you had expected to be inside. You anticipated something like toiletries or old books. Instead, she took out 35mm film rolls and a Canon Demi.

“You take pictures?” You ask softly.

You see her nod. “Yeah, I’m majoring in photography, so I have to take a lot of pictures. What’s yours?”

“Biochemistry.” You reply ducking your head down. “It sounds lame compared to yours.”

Mason shook her head. “Not at all. It’s different, I like different.” She beams over at you.

The overwhelming heat now scorched your face, you felt faint and light-headed. You needed to leave as soon as possible or else you’d pass out right then and there. You quickly rose to your feet, the dizzy feeling only intensifying. “I’m-I’m gonna go check out the library.”

“Oh, o-okay.” She gives you a small wave as you dashed out the door, beating yourself mentally for acting a fool in front of her.

You could only imagine how tomorrow would play out...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday

August 9th, 1965

You were the first one to wake up the following morning, it was surprising that you didn’t wake up Mason with all of the noise that you were making. You raced out the door before she could wake up and greet you. You had three classes today, the first two blowing by fast. You couldn’t wait to be done for the day. That way you could go back to the dorm to listen to your records and unpack everything.

Upon arriving to one of them, you were asked to sit in the front row, your professor claimed that it would make an example of yourself to the students in the back. Instead, the front happened to be an ideal shooting range for paper hornets from the two boys sitting behind you.

A few hit the back of your neck as you were taking notes.

You were now seated at one of the far lunch tables on the outside of the cafeteria, reading your textbook for your next class, Math. You stopped once you heard someone sit down next to you, lifting your head up slowly to see Mason sitting across from you.

“Hey roomie,” She breathes, giving you a soft smile.

“Oh, hi.” You say softly, looking back down at your book to mask your now flushing face.

Mason wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, emitting another sigh, “God, I’m beat, I can’t wait to head back to the dorm and rest a bit after this next class.”

You hummed in response, flipping onto the next page of your textbook.

“So...how was the library yesterday? I assume it was good since you were gone all day, and you left so fast this morning I didn’t even get to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” You murmured.

She waves a dismissive hand. “I had to get up early anyway, the best pictures are at sunrise and sunset.”

You lifted your eyes from your book once more. “Because of the lighting?”

“That and the colors in the sky are absolutely gorgeous.”

There was sunshine in her smile and her eyes. The brown orbs showing a glimpse of her soul when she smiled, the honeyed hues twinkling in the sun like a rich topaz. They were safe and welcoming, perhaps that was the best way to describe them. And though you never saw them yourself, you could assume that Mason’s pictures were damn near incomparable to her.

But what had confused you was the fact that someone as pretty as her was carrying a conversation with you. Though you hardly exchanged any words back—she still talked to you. You wondered if she knew about you, maybe she didn’t. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care. Or maybe she did and she was just being nice to you out of sympathy. Whatever it was—it had started to scare you.

“My next class is two hours long,” Mason comments as she takes out the list of her classes. “College Mathematics with Dr. Mayfield.”

“I have that class too.” You managed to speak out.

A grin plays on Mason’s lips. “Really? Well, this day just keeps getting better. I’m glad I’m not going in blind.” She stands up from the table, your eyes following her form. “I finally have a walking buddy.”

“You wanna walk...with me?” You questioned innocently.

“Yeah, is there something wrong with that?”

“I-I don’t know. I just—“

“Come on.”

Mason takes your hand, pulling you out from the seat. You quickly collect all of your stuff before walking with her—your hand still in hers. Butterflies fluttered within your stomach, no—all over your body. To your surprise, you were shocked that she couldn’t feel your pulse racing while your hand was clasped on hers.

Even when you two were inside of the building she still held your hand, earning disapproving looks from students as well as some teachers in the hallways. But Mason didn’t seem to care about that. She appeared to not care about a lot of things.

~~~~~~~~

The second the two of walked into your dorm room, you dashed over your box full of records. Forgoing your backpack and all of the contents inside. Mason gave you a quizzical look until she saw what you had pulled out from behind your bed.

“Is that a record player?” She asks.

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah, my parents got it for me when I graduated high school. I’ve been dying to listen to it all day.”

You took out the powder blue chest and set it up on your bed, then you took the Patsy Cline record and gently placed it over the spindle, you then turned the power knob until you heard it click, after that you adjusted the tone arm, setting it down on the record as it spun around. Soon the music began to play and Patsy Cline’s beautiful voice filled the dorm.

If you got leavin' on your mind

Tell me now, get it over

Hurt me now, get it over

If you got leavin' on your mind

“You like this song too?” Mason asked excitedly.

Your eyes lit up, “Yes!”

“Not a lot of people do,” Mason chirps. “But I’m glad you at least have taste.”

You blush. “I have more, if you wanna listen to them.”

“Do you have The Beatles?”

You bit your lip and nod. “Mm-hm,”

If there's a new love in your heart

Tell me now, get it over

Hurt me now, get it over

If there's a new love in your heart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a few weeks now, and since that day you and Mason have gotten closer than ever. Everyday after your classes you would head back to the dorm and listen to your records, dancing in your room and failing your arms around like no one was watching.

In that time you now realized that you had fallen for Mason, and hard. Everything that she did had sent your heart in a frenzy, you were drowning and sinking deeper by the second. But you didn’t know if she felt the same and it pained you everyday. One day after Mayfield’s, you saw her talking with a guy, you thought nothing of it until she gave him a hug. Not a buddy hug either, a good hug. A hug that you desperately wanted to receive from her. Which hurt even more.

Since then, you decided to distance yourself from her, exchanging only a few words such as: ‘Hi’ and ‘Bye’. Keeping to yourself from the time you woke up to the time you went to bed. Mason had tried to talk with you as you were doing homework or studying, but you had just given her the cold shoulder. Ignoring whatever she tried to say.

And that made her angry.

You didn’t want to ignore her, in fact, you wanted the opposite. You wanted nothing more than to talk to her all day long, basking in each other’s presence, and to press a light kiss to her lips without a care in the world. But that guy—that guy you saw hugging her. Hugging the girl you loved. Killed you inside.

~~~~~~~~

Monday

August 23rd, 1965

You had been in the library for two hours now, you weren’t studying or anything, you just wanted to pass the time until Mason went to sleep. She had to wake up early tomorrow to develop her photos. So you decided to stay a little longer until the library closed, then you would head back to your room and go to sleep, doing the same thing tomorrow morning.

You felt guilty. Guiltier than normal. It started to make you sick, your stomach bubbling up with bile. Why was it so hard to talk to her? Why was it so hard to take away this pain? Distancing yourself keeps you from getting hurt, right? If so, then why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t anything working? It hurt so much and you could only imagine the way Mason was feeling right now.

With that, you decided to leave the library and head back to your dorm. To your surprise Mason was waiting up for you, sitting at the edge of her bed, Leavin’ On Your Mind playing in the background. She looked like she had been crying, swollen eyes an irritated shade of red, crinkling slightly as she managed a weak smile for you.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” You say.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, making way to your bed.

Don't leave me here, in a world

Filled with dreams that might have been

Hurt me now, get it over

I may learn to love again

Your hands patted a rhythm on your knees, as you awaited what Mason was going to say. You heard your heart thudding loudly in your ears, a thick gob of spit in the pit of your throat made it hard to swallow. Please...say something. You thought.

“Did I do something wrong?” Mason asks hoarsely. “If so, can you tell me?”

“You didn’t.” You mutter.

“Then why are you ignoring me? I must’ve done something if you’re not talking to me anymore.” Tears streamed down from her eyes. “Y/N, can you please tell me?”

You shook your head. “If I do then we won’t be friends anymore.”

Mason sprung off the bed and onto her feet, “You’re acting like we’re not friends now!” She boomed. “You’re my only friend here, and you’re treating me like I did something wrong. Like I’ve offended you in some way. Why?”

“Because...” You trailed off.

“Because what, Y/N?” Mason cried. “I don’t get why you can’t tell me how you truly feel!”

“Because I love you!” You shout at her, warm tears spilling down your face. “For so long I had to hide myself because I was afraid of getting hurt by somebody I loved. You brought out those feelings—Mason—feelings of complete and utter happiness. I never wanted to be around someone more than I want to be around you...and I’m so sorry I did that to you. But I know you don’t love me, so that’s why I stayed away from you!”

If there's a new love in your heart

Tell me now, get it over

Hurt me now, get it over

If there's a new love in your heart

“Did you think that that would work?” Mason questions harshly. “That ignoring me for a long time would help you?”

“But I saw you with that guy the other day. I assumed that he was your boyfriend and I just—it hurt so much watching that. So much that I couldn’t bear to be around you anymore.” You explained with a sob.

“Boyfriend? No, he’s one of my classmates from photography! He found my camera in the darkroom after I left it there accidentally.” She tells you. “And he’s not important to me because it’s you that I want!” You felt Mason’s hands cup both of your cheeks, inching her face closer to you. “It’s always been you. From the very beginning.“

The next thing you knew, her mouth was pressed firmly against yours, knocking the wind out of your lungs and making you lose balance. It was the most incredible feeling you had ever known.

So you kissed her back, desperate and eager, your hands finding their way around her neck and into her beautiful hair. Mason’s hands fell to your waist pulling you in closer. You eventually pull away from each other, your chests rising and falling fast as your struggles to catch your breath.

A blush crept over your cheeks. “So...does that mean you love me too?”

Mason laughs and nods. “Yes, Y/N. I do love you too.” She wipes your tears with the pads of her thumbs before kissing you again, the kiss soft and syrupy this time.

Hurt me now, get it over

If there's a new love in your heart

#versdan800wc #mason weaver imagine #mason weaver x reader #mason weaver #mason weaver imagines #kong skull island #kong skull island imagine #brie larson

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