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starsstruck · 4 years

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cloudbusting; part five.

a classic coffee shop story. harry is a painter that quickly becomes a regular at his neighbourhood cafe, and it just might have something to do with a certain barista. cloudy mornings, gallery openings, and rooms full of paintings.

pairing: harry x reader warnings: language, mentions of anxiety words: 8.9k

series masterlist

art by holly warburton. (i have no vision for the mc of the fic, people in the images of paintings i use are purely because this is how i envision harry’s art to be)

a/n: i am so excited (and nervous) to share this chapter but she is here ! amazingly big thank you to tina @sunflowers-styles for beta-ing, you are the best ily💕 ! as always please share if you can, and let me know your thoughts, i love to here everything you have to say !!🍊💕 happy reading xoxo

The clouds that came in seemed to have doubled, growing bigger and darker as a cool wind came with them.

The change in weather was quick, summer seeming to slip right out from under you as fall settled into the air. Although, the change was welcomed. There was always something about the sun glowing in the sky while the air was cool. But this was not one of those fall days, no today was damp and misty and not at all pleasant.

That Saturday morning, there was a light rain when you woke up for the mid-shift that you had to cover since apparently your coworkers didn’t know how to give notice before deciding they couldn’t work.

“What time are you off?” Your brother asked, as you were taking a bite out of the jam covered toast you had made yourself before needing to run off to work.

“Three,” you called between bites.

“I can come meet you when you're off if you’d like,” he said, joining you in your kitchen. “Might bring in my laptop, get some work done.”

You nodded. “That sounds good,” taking a quick glance out the window, you faced him once more. “Hopefully it’ll be slow today considering the weather.”

“Fuck,” you muttered quickly, half a slice of toast in your hand as you caught a glance of the time from the clock on the oven. “I gotta go. I left you the key on the table if you want to head out and I’ll see you this afternoon!”

You called to your sibling who was behind you as you grabbed your jacket and bag from where you had left them on the couch. “Sorry again about this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, looking through your recently filled fridge. “I have some things to get done so it works out well.”

With a hurried goodbye, you were out the door and rushing down the street. You always left maybe a minute too late and ended up having to power-walk to work. The morning air was chilly and just wet, overall unpleasant and not doing much to up your mood.

You hadn’t slept well at all the night before.

You were unable to sleep after the hole you had dug for yourself from your Instagram deep dive, your mind not shutting up about everything that happened within the past two months – the past two months with Harry.

You were feeling this small twinge from the back of your mind, something that was getting louder and louder in your head. A small hint of a voice that you knew was your own, that was telling you that you should be afraid.

And after all the emotional exhaust from the previous day, you had to go make small talk with person after person which was something you just really weren’t looking forward to.

“What are you doing here?” Saya asked when she saw you turn in past the counter and into the back room to hang your coat and bag. You were happy to see that there weren’t a lot of patrons, and that Saya seemed relaxed with the morning so far.

“I’m covering for Noah,” you told her as you clocked in, not even aware of the way your eyes scanned over the work space to look for anything that needed to be done.

“Of course he’s off,” she muttered under her breath, herself having her own issues with being unable to say no when people asked her to cover for them. “Weren’t you supposed to have the week off?”

You nodded. “The whole week, yeah. Grace is going to cover one of my shifts so I’ll have an extra day off, which is nice. But my brother is visiting and I just –” you sighed, “don’t feel like being here.”

“I get that,” Saya shot you a smile as you made yourself a big hot latte. “It’ll be okay, I don’t think today will be that busy.”

And boy was she wrong.

Seemingly minutes after your conversation, a steady flow of clients came in. The steady flow turned into a rush, which again never seemed to end. You didn’t know why everyone was out and about, wanting coffee on this cloudy September morning, and why they couldn’t just be at home.

Saya, the angel she was, took the orders while you rushed through making drinks. It was arguably more stressful to be the one making drinks, but it also meant you didn’t have to talk to people as much. At ten-thirty, Aleena came in as well, and joined your side in making drinks so it became a bit more bearable.

Your brother had come in at the height of the rush, lucky to find a spot in the back to sit at and do whatever work he needed, as he drank the americano you’d made for him.

Luckily the noon lull came, as it often did, and you had a small moment to catch your breath and do some tidying up before it inevitably got busy again.

You walked around with the dish bin against your hip, and it quickly got heavier as you filled it with utensils people had neglected to bring back. A man then very rudely grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks to ask you where the washroom was and you were muttering under your breath in annoyance as you balanced the bin to pick up a stack of plates.

“Hey,” a voice that you hadn’t expected to hear, and one that you were trying to keep out of your head, was suddenly sounding next to you.

Head whipping up to where it came from, you pushed some of your hair out of the way after placing the plates along with the other dishes in the bin.

“Oh, um –” you said, a bit dumbly. “Hey.”

“Surprised to see you here again – I remember how you said you had a week off.” Harry said, standing tall and beautiful and everything you didn’t need to be reminded of right now.

“Covering again,” was all you said, avoiding his gaze. The dish bin in your hands felt like it was growing heavier and heavier, and provided you the perfect excuse to step away from the conversation.

“I got to um,” you lifted the bin in your hands, wordlessly telling him you needed to empty out the bin.

“Oh, of course,” he nodded with a tiny furrow in his brow that you didn’t have time to analyse as you kept your eyes on the small line up that had re-formed in front of the till.

You stepped past him, quickly disappearing behind the door of the back room, where the dishwasher sat ready to be loaded.

Just as you were stepping out after rinsing the dishes and loading the washer, you were heading out from the back room when someone stopped you again.

A call of your name made you jump slightly, a small ‘jesus’ leaving your mouth before you turned to see Harry slightly invading the employee space of the café as he tried to reach out to you.

“Sorry,” he spoke, after seeing your small bit of shock. “I wanted – are you alright?”

You hated yourself for the passive answer. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh I just,” he paused, a slight furrow between his brow. “You seemed stressed yesterday…”

You shook your head, teeth pinching the corner of your bottom lip. “I’m fine.”

Seeing his mouth part open to speak once more, you were quick to cut him off with a motion towards the register. “I should get back – busy day.”

And then you were off without sparing him a second glance. Your heart rose to a lump in your throat, a nauseated feeling taking over your stomach that you didn’t think was due to the coffee intake.

You rejoined Aleena by the espresso machine, and saw that she in fact was not busy and was just wiping off sparse grounds from the counter top, and cleaning out milk pots.

You helped her, cleaning out the already clean baskets again to occupy yourself as you knew from the corner of your eye that Harry had walked to the till to order something and that would mean his next stop would be counter by the espresso machine to pick up his drink.

Letting Aleena make the drinks, you bent down to rearrange the mugs that sat under the counter to occupy yourself. When you stood back up to your feet after completing the menial task, you stumbled back away from the counter lightly due to the small head rush, and to the fact that Harry was leaning forward across the counter, forearms lightly resting against it.

“Doesn’t look too busy.” Although his words seemed to have a small bite to them, his tone was light and maybe the punch wasn’t intentional.

“It was…” you stated weakly, eyes briefly flitting over his before looking back down again.

There was a small pause, one far too uncomfortable for you to deal with, especially with Aleena right next to you and other customers on the other side of the counter.

“Are you upset with me? He asked you directly, his words causing you to glance back up at him.

“No, I –” you paused, unsure of what to say and not wanting to say it here. Waving your hand in a motion for him to follow, you turned on your feet and headed to the space before the back room, where the floor of the café met the floor from behind the counter.

Harry followed you from the other side, meeting you where he had stopped you a mere couple minutes ago to talk – something that seemed like you couldn’t avoid at the moment.

“Are you okay?” He repeated the question from before, as you leaned your side against the wall, arms crossed over your chest.

“Yeah, I’m just a bit stressed I guess,” you said lamely, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves. “A lot going on.”

He slowly nodded, as if not convinced by your words. “Did you want to do something after your shift, blow off some steam and relax?”

Shaking your head no, eyes dropping away from his as you couldn’t bear to look at him in the eye anymore. “I can’t, my brother is with me for the weekend.”

You darted your eyes over to where your brother actually sat not far off, oblivious to the interaction unfolding near him with his eyes glued to his laptop.

“Right, sorry I forgot.” His voice was quiet, words being followed with another moment of silence that you wished to skip through, the only noise coming from other voices in the cafe and Comment te dire Adieu playing a bit too loudly.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He probed for the third time, the frustration in his tone starting to seep through.

“I am,” you didn’t know if he caught the slight shake in your tone, the slight shake that completely contradicted the words to leave your mouth.

“It’s just,” you paused again, all words seeming to fall out of your head as you were unable to form a sentence. Either that, or you were holding back what was about to blurt from your mouth. “I think that –

He sighed your name. “You think what? Did you want me to leave, or something?”

“I – what do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you…” he ran his free hand over his forehead, pushing some hair out the way. With a little sigh, he glanced at you again. “You’re acting like you want nothing to do with me.”

The nausea was rising from your stomach to your throat.

“I think that um, maybe you should go.”

He didn’t move. “Where is this coming from?” There was a small crack in his tone, one that made your eyes shut for a moment too long as you willed yourself not to get visibly upset.

“I’m tired… I’m tired of being someone that people just pass through.”

You dared to cast a glance at his expression, seeing a deep pull in his brows and a frown on his lips. It hurt you more than you’d like to admit.

You liked him – probably more than you’d had liked anyone, but that was something that you couldn’t think too much about. You liked him a lot and you were so afraid that your first instinct was to run and hide. You knew very well that you were succumbing to your own insecurities, that you were picking and pulling at any loose thread that could be used as a valid reason for your fears.

“What are you saying?” He asked, frustration growing in his voice as he silently begged you to look up at him. “I don’t – I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I just – I’m tired Harry.” You sighed, worrying the inside of your mouth. “I’m tired of being hurt…”

Voice not sounding like your own, you spoke words that were about to bring tears to your eyes. “I think you should go.”

You saw his expression twist in every which way, but he only shot you a curt nod before turning on his feet and walking away from you just as you’d suggested. It was the last thing you had wanted to see, but at the moment, at work, you couldn’t deal with anything more than that.

Taking a brief moment, you begged yourself not to start crying for the thousandth time. You made sure not to watch him leave, knowing that it would only hurt you more. Instead you watched his figure walk through the door from the corner of your eye, seeing him turn a quick corner and disappearing you’re your sight. You had no idea when you would see him again.

Wordlessly joining Aleena, you picked up one of the order slips and read over the list of three personalized drinks. Hands moving on muscle memory alone, you cleaned out espresso filled baskets and pulled two shots to start preparing the drinks.

You let your mind wander just the slightest as you steamed milk, thinking about the way you had just completely sabotaged yourself. You knew you had your own reasons for it, as crazy as they may seem.

The slight screeching sound of the milk growing too hot brought your attention back to your task. You watched as the milk was just about to bubble out of the jug, quickly twisting the dial on the steam wand to turn it off. You poured the milk as you always did into the to-go cup, with a nice little rosetta for the customer with the medium latte, before you repeated the same action over and over, making drink after drink.

You also knew that any fear you had over Harry’s ex was probably overly thought of, something that you shouldn’t be thinking about, but you just couldn’t help it. The self-deprecating part of you just didn’t see Harry wanting you to be that person to him, as much as you maybe wanted to.

So you continued to steam milk, working in perfect unison with Aleena as the workflow picked up again

Your shift continued as it always did, with nothing out of the ordinary, and soon three o’clock was rolling in and you were free to leave and do all the wallowing you could ever want to do from the peace and calm of your own room. You left along with your brother, who said he had gotten all the work that needed to be accomplished just in time.

You walked in silence side-by-side down the street, with a tea in hand from work to warm you up and your brother with another coffee. The sky was swirling with dark greys and blues, the smell of rain high in the air as if a downpour was ready to come at any moment.

“Who was that, earlier on?” Your brother asked, after a moment.

You held in a breath. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to, in the cafe. You looked upset.”

“He’s just,” you paused. “A friend. Or we were friends, I don’t know.” You muttered, your eyes stuck on the ground as the both of you walked together.

Your brother was quiet for a second from next to you, and you thought that you had been vague enough for him to drop the subject, but no such luck. “Did you guys date?”

Pausing, again you weren’t sure how to answer. “Not really.”

Looking at your sibling next to you, you saw him watching you with a little furrow between his brows. “What do you mean, not really?”

“Like,” you sighed. “Kind of, I don’t know. We had… a thing but never really went out I guess. Either way, I think it’s over.”

“You looked upset,” he repeated, as you turned onto the steps to your apartment and searched for your keys. “Did he say something, or…?”

You shot your brother a glance, nearly smiling as you shook your head. “No, it just…” you trailed off. You kind of wished you could tell him more, but also didn’t know what to say.

You opened the door to the building, letting the two of you in before walking up the flight of stairs together to your floor.

“You can talk to me, you know.” His words caught you slightly by surprise. You wanted to be able to talk about it with him, you wanted to be someone who could talk about anything they wanted with the people that were close in their lives.

Remaining silent the rest of the way up the stairs, neither of you spoke until your apartment door shut behind you.

“I kind of fucked everything up,” you sighed, words falling free from your mouth. Your brother put down his bag on the shelf by the door, watching you as he kicked off his shoes.

“I felt – I don’t know,” you repeated the three words for the thousandth time. “Today I think I completely pushed him away.”

Your brother was quiet, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Is that what you wanted?”

“I mean,” you sighed. “No. I don’t know, maybe. The thing is, he didn’t do anything wrong, not really. And I know that, and I feel dumb for it but I just –”

You cut yourself off, hearing the small shake in your voice. You knew if you kept speaking that tears would start to fall from your eyes, always being an angry and frustrated crier.

“But now I probably fucked that up for good. It was nothing serious to begin with so I’m sure I only scared him off.”

Your brother cleared his throat, unmoving as he spoke softly. “You don’t know that.”

“I guess,” you sighed, grabbing a glass from the cupboard for some water.

“I always do this,” this time, a few tears fell past your eyes as you couldn’t do anything to hold them in anymore. “I always said I needed to be more selfish in life and let things come my way but I – I guess I was selfish because I did what I did for no reason other than protecting myself.”

“Protecting yourself?”

You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, slightly tilting your head back as if to blink back in the tears that were freely falling.

“I do the hurting before I can get hurt, you know?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that the rest of the tears inside your eyes would fall and you’d be done, but it didn’t seem to work quite like that. You opened them when you felt his hand on your shoulder, wrapping you in for a small side hug.

“You,” he sighed. The two of you had never been that affectionate with each other, it was something you were not used to. “You deserve more than that.”

You think that it is one of the nicest things he has ever said to you.

“I always fucking do this, you know? I don’t know why; I don’t even notice I do it until after.”

You were on a roll, now freely crying and letting everything you wanted to say fall from your mouth. “I can’t – I feel so stuck. I don’t know why I’m so afraid of everything.”

“I just can’t let myself be happy for some reason.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder. “You deserve to be happy, too.”

The two of you were quiet as you cried. Letting the tears fall down your face, chest shaking with small heaves as you let everything out.

After a moment, he asked you. “You really like him, huh?”

“What?” Your voice cracked lightly, breathing evening out as you wiped away the wet streaks on your skin.

“The guy, at your work. I don’t think you’ve ever told me about anyone you’ve dated.”

“I have too,” you muttered lightly, although you knew he was right. You had mentioned names in passing, only of the few more serious relationships you were in. Even then, the details were very sparse.

“But seriously,” he continued. “It’s okay to let yourself be vulnerable. Sometimes that’s all you can really do.”

You let him wrap you in a true hug, something you don’t think you’d done with your brother since you were young.

“Do you want to order in? It looks like the rain finally started,” he spoke after pulling away. “We can eat, watch a movie.”

You nodded, the idea of food sounding like the best thing in the world right now. “That sounds good, yeah.”

“You choose what we watch,” he nodded to you, grabbing his phone from the counter, presumably to order whatever kind of food he had in mind.

Wordlessly walking over to your couch, opening up your Netflix as you mindlessly scrolled. You weren’t really paying close attention to the titles, mind still stuck on the little breakdown you had just had.

“What was the French movie you always used to watch when you were sad? I don’t mind watching that if you want.” You head your brother call from the kitchen.

“Oh,” you hummed, nodding at the perfect suggestion. Already knowing that Netflix had Amelie, you quickly found it and had it ready to play.

“It’s a happy one, right?” Your brother spoke, as he sat next to you on the couch while you watched the rain hit the window and pulled a thick blanket over your legs.

“Kind of,” you nodded. “It is a nice ending, but it’s a kind of happy-sad movie, you know?”

“Did you not want to watch it, then?”

“No, no I do,” you offered him a small smile. “I like to watch it when I feel lonely, or upset. Plus, I almost like that happy-sad feeling, it feels just more realistic.”

There was something about it, about your self-induced melancholy. There was still something that felt right, about sitting under a heavy blanket after your wallowing, the only noise around you coming from the rain against the window and the opening notes of Yann Tiersen’s soundtrack playing.

There was something so calming and comforting about the music coming from the TV, a soundtrack you knew maybe too well considering the amount of times you had seen the movie, on top of how often you simply listened to the soundtrack itself on its own.

But a little comfort was just something you needed right now.

You had your little days of comfort, wallowing, lounging, and relaxing. Your time with your brother ended up being surprisingly pleasant, and you two left off on a good note.

You still had three more days off until you had to go back to work, Grace was coming in and covering one of your shifts since you had picked up those extra ones when no one else could.

You spent those days relaxing, getting dinner with Mae and some other friends, running errands, and cleaning out your entire apartment. The weather never changed, the rain pouring the entire time, something that you for now were enjoying because it made you feel okay for lounging at home.

But now you powered down the street as you were about to be late, with your umbrella swaying in the wind and your off-white sneakers splashing in the puddles. You felt the relaxation of your week off slipping away and a small pit of anxiety settle in.

It wasn’t about going to work that stressed you out so much, it was about the possibility of seeing someone who you usually seemed to see at the café.

Once you pushed past the heavy front door, you immediately were looking around at every table to see if you could spot the familiar figure of curly hair as he hunched over the table, twirling pencils between his fingers.

But he wasn’t there, and that table where he usually sat in the back was occupied by a middle-aged woman sipping a latte and speaking loudly on the phone.

He wasn’t there when you were steaming milk and someone was asking you about who had painted the paintings that were hanging on the walls, and he wasn’t there when you had to close alone.

The following day was the same, as well as the weekend, and the next week.

That particular Monday morning you thought you might see him, a shift where he never failed to come in even if he couldn’t sit and stay.

But the only familiar faces were those of older regulars who talked to you about the changing weather and the week of rain that was happening.

That week slipped by, just as the other had. It had been two weeks since you’d had your little breakdown, and since you’d indulged in your self-sabotaging streak. You really knew that it was the wrong thing to do, but just like everything else, you knew that this would pass.

When you really thought about it, he was just listening to you. You had basically told him to leave you alone and that was what he was doing.

But when it had been over two weeks since you’d seen him, you realized you might have had the slightest tinge of heartache.

Just as you would always do, you pushed that feeling away. Telling yourself to forget about it and move on, and that would be that. A thing of the past, a future memory.

Though things had a funny way of working out, apparently it was in store for you to see Harry again.

Nearly halfway through September, the air fresher and more crisp, another thing about the changing weather had you pleased that you could layer on a big sweater but didn’t need a thick coat.

That Monday, you were coming in for the afternoon shift, distracted by attempting to close your soaking wet umbrella when the door of the coffee shop swung open and nearly smacked you in the face.

Taking a stumbling step back in shock, the umbrella in your hand still opened with the rain hitting the top of your head because, of course, the light-knit jacket you were wearing didn’t have a hood.

“Sorry,” deep voice muttering over the sound of cars driving on the wet road, a taller figure appearing from where the door had opened. “You alright – oh –”

Head turning at the far too familiar voice, looking up to be stared down by those clear green eyes.

Fuck.

He had a big coat on just as you did, a hair seeming a bit wet as well and sticking to the skin on the side of his face. There was a little 4 oz cup in his hand, looking so much smaller than it usually did, eclipsed by the size of his hand.

Fuck.

The two of you must’ve looked a bit ridiculous, both with wide eyes and mouths agape, stuck in the doorway of a café with rain hitting the tops of your heads. But you couldn’t move, and you couldn’t walk away, and you wished that the rain would form a current and swiftly wash you away.

“Sorry,” you eventually blurted, gaining a confused look from Harry.

He had the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, fingertips tapping against the little cup in his hands. Part of you hoped he felt as nervous as you did, but part of you also knew he was probably upset with you and wanted nothing to do with you.

“Have nothing to be sorry for…” he eventually said, words trailing off as if he wanted to say more.

Your eyes shot through the glass window of the coffee shop, knowing you were now officially late for your shift and that maybe someone would run out and tell you that you absolutely had to get to work, but again, no such luck. You could see Aleena yawning through the coffee shop opening.

Again, there was that pit of anxiety, the one that twisted your stomach and made your legs feel numb, as if you couldn’t stand straight but couldn’t move either.

“I didn’t think you were working today,” his words pulled you from your thoughts. “I uh, didn’t see you this morning and thought –”

He cut himself off, stumbling over his words, his gaze flicking away from yours. You didn’t even know what to respond, hoping that anything could get you out of this awkward encounter.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, just as you had.

You shook your head, biting your lips together. He had absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

“You –” again stopping yourself, not knowing how to say what you wanted to say. “I need to get to work…” you said instead, a small point to the door of the café that was still slightly propped open.

“Right – of course,” he took a wide step out of the way, allowing you space to walk out from the rain and to hold the door open for yourself. “Have a good shift.”

You only sent him a tight smile and a little nod, unsure of what else to say.

Not looking back, you quickly walked across the floor of the café with small squeaks coming from your wet shoes. “Oh my god,” muttered under your breath, feeling yourself heat up and grow uncomfortable under the layers you were wearing.

That entire interaction was so completely embarrassing and awkward, and nothing you wanted to ever happen.

You gave yourself a moment in the back room, hanging up your bag and coat, setting your dripping umbrella on the ground. The door pushed open slightly, Aleena’s voice speaking through the wood. “You okay?”

“Hey,” you opened the door all the way for her, hands running over your dampened hair, you sure looked a bit messy. Aleena watched you quietly for a second, as you smoothed your hands over your pants. “I’m assuming you saw that,” you said to your colleague after a moment.

“I did…” she trailed off. She knew more or less everything that had happened between the both of you, and you had no idea that he still came in and seemingly on purpose when you were not working.

You didn’t want to ask, and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of asking -- even though that was ridiculous and he wouldn’t possibly know that you were asking about him, but you couldn’t help it. “Does he come in a lot?”

“No,” she shook her head. “First and only time I saw him was today.”

Only nodding, you grabbed your phone from the table and slid it into the back pocket of your pants. The two of you headed out of the back room, you went to clock in and Aleena stood by your side to take the order of a customer.

You followed her to the espresso machine after the order was taken, pulling a shot to make yourself a drink as well.

“He asked about you, you know,” your coworker spoke as you were watching the steady pour of espresso as she was steaming some milk. “He said he thought he’d see you when he came in – which I guess he did.”

Your ears buzzed with her words, but you let the heat in your spine settle as you remembered the reality of the situation. “Didn’t really seem like he wanted to see me.”

Aleena only shook her head, tapping the milk pot on the counter before taking a second to slowly pour it into the mug that already had espresso in it. Once she made a nice big heart with the white foam of the milk, she placed the mug down on the counter and called out the drink before facing you once more.

She looped a finger through the belt loop on your jeans, tugging you towards her tightly. “Babe you’re too hard on yourself,” she spoke as she shook you by the jeans. “He asked about you, asked why you weren’t working this morning.”

You ignored the nervous twist in your stomach at her words, and the heat that rushed to your neck. Although really, you needed to remind yourself that you should remain grounded to reality.

And that seemed to be it, for the moment at least. You had told yourself that you’d made your peace with it, although you knew that really wasn’t true, and so things continued as they always did.

But things had a way of finding the person they were intended for, and on a chilly Saturday afternoon a few days later, it was like a sign had landed right in your lap.

The day was slow, the colder weather usually slowing down clientele for a little while at least a little while. With a lull, you did as you always would and started some cleaning around the café. Wiping down tables, looking for dishes, sweeping up big messes that usually wouldn’t have to be dealt with later on in the day.

Your eyes sweeping over the side of the café, glancing at every table for any forgotten dishes or spilt drinks. Only seeing a few empty mugs left on a table in back, you walked the short distance needed to grab them and wipe over the wooden table with a dampened rag, just as something on the community bulletin board caught your eye when you casually glanced over it.

Two sheets of paper side by side, both the same, were screaming your name.

Metaphorically, of course.

They were posters made to promote an event; the name of the gallery written on top being one you were funnily enough familiar with. But that wasn’t what drew your attention in.

The design of the poster itself was minimal, the only image was front and centre. Image of a painting, one that was bright and cheery and screamed various shades of orange and yellow with a few streaks and splash of blue and green

It was the café.

“Oh my god …” muttering under your breath, you snatched one of the posters off the board as your eyes scanned over the page.

The name of the show was written over top in big bold letters, One Last Time Before You Go, with only one name written beneath it, one name you didn’t even need to read in order to know it was him. With Harry Styles, opening Tuesday September 22nd.

Forgetting the dishes you had been about to pick up, you brought your rag and the paper back to your colleagues.

“Do you know when this was brought in?”

It had to have been yesterday, it was the only day you were off. Noah had no answer for you, saying he hadn’t seen it until now. Aleena, however, had a much different answer for you.

“Oh, shoot sorry babe. I almost forgot,” she grabbed the paper from your hands as Noah went to take an order.

“Forgot what?”

You felt faint, your head was spinning. Why did he put these up here? When did he put these up? Does he come in more often when you're not working, has he asked about you more than that one time Aleena had mentioned?

“I think you know who put these up,” she clicked her tongue, flipping the page over to glance at the backside. “Wrong one…” she muttered.

“What? What do you mean wrong one?” You were babbling, questions flying out of your mouth.

She only smiled, weaving her way around you and until she was leaving from behind the counter and walking back to the bulletin board in the back where you had found it in the first place. You followed, watching her grab the identical one from the board and pin back up the one you had grabbed.

Handing it to you, she nodded her head at it. “He came in yesterday, told me to make sure you saw it. He also left a little something for you on the back.”

You glanced down at the paper in your hands, flipping it around and seeing she was right. On the back was written a note addressed to you in blocky red writing.

“I think you’d enjoy this show, and I’d love for you to be there. Hope to see you, Harry.”

Signed with a little scribbled in red heart and everything.

“Oh my god” you mumbled again, reading and rereading the note again and again.

You forgot you were still standing with Aleena. “You’re going to go, right?”

“What?” Raising your head at the sound of her voice, you saw her watching you with a smile playing on her lips. “I don’t know…”

“I’ll go with you, come on.” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“I think I close,” you stated, very weakly. The opening started at eight, and went until eleven, just like the other one. Even if you were closing, which you realized you weren’t, you would have plenty of time to go.

“No, you don’t,” she stated. “You open and I’m mid-shift. I’ll go with you, c’mon!”

You smiled at her. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I’ll come to your place that night, and then we’ll go together, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded slowly.

“Good.”

Three days. For three whole days it was all you could think about.

You knew you had made a bit of a mistake; you really knew that right away – as soon as you had pushed him away.

You wondered how he’d talk to you, if he’d even want to. You wondered if it would be like when you’d run into him briefly outside of the café, if it was going to be awkward and tense with nothing good to come out of it. You knew that technically he had invited you, technically. But still, you really didn’t know if any good could come of it.

Maybe Rory would be there too – tall and gorgeous and literally looking down on you – but also maybe you were just slightly spiralling.

When Tuesday finally arrived, you were practically buzzing, and it wasn’t from the amount of caffeine you had had in the morning.

You took a nap after your opening shift, showering just before Aleena came over. She brought a bottle of wine, immediately opening it and telling you to pour yourself a glass while you got ready.

The weather was still warm enough outside, but there was a brisk fall breeze in the air. Deciding to layer up just a bit since it was also dark out earlier, you pulled a chunky knit cardigan over your patterned orange dress.

After both sharing and finishing off the bottle of wine, you grabbed your beaded purse and headed out the door. You felt as though the wine had helped, but you were still bouncing with nerves. Aleena was chatting your ear off about the car her husband wanted to buy that she thought was too expensive, her story distracting you from your anxious state.

The two of you got to the gallery just before nine o’clock, purposely a bit late.

It was the same energy as the last time you were there, again a man in a red blazer stamping your hand at the entrance right after walking through the double glass doors. Aleena stuck by your side, now done with her story and telling you that you would be okay.

The first painting you saw was directly in the middle. The gallery seemed to be arranged differently than it was before, and although you knew they couldn’t have moved an entire wall, for some reason everything felt more enclosed, more tightly hugged together.

The first painting was the same as the one from the poster, except this time it was in its full size and glory and completely took your breath away. Now as you saw it larger, it was one hundred percent clear to you that it was the café Harry had painted.

“Wow,” Aleena mumbled from next to you, eyes also trained forward. The two of you slowly walked further into the space of the gallery, away from the door and towards that first painting.

It had to be at least seven feet tall, and nearly just as wide. It was all oranges and yellows, with a few streaks of blue. There were also some loosely painted figures of people in front of the shop, all vague and loose but you still wanted to know who he was basing them off of.

After spending another minute or so in front of the painting, you read the small white card that was placed next to it.

Harry Styles And I could sit here for hours. And I did. Oil on canvas, 2020

You read over the words again and again.

If you thought that was breathtaking, you were absolutely not prepared for what was to come.

As you let your eyes wander around the rest of the space, you felt like your heart was a brick in your chest, sinking through your body until it shattered on the floor to your feet.

The gallery was filled with warm hues of orange and blue.

Paintings of hands touching, heads resting on shoulders, arms wrapped around each other. Paintings of what you recognized to be the café, paintings of shared fruits, paintings of your favourite colours and your favourite places in the city.

You felt so overwhelmed and you didn’t know where to start.

Finding it in yourself to move your feet, you walked towards the nearest wall away from the entrance. From the corner of your eye you had seen a smaller piece, one that was drawing in your attention. It was slightly tucked away near two bigger paintings, but your eyes remained stuck on this particular one.

The blue was so strongly familiar, like the wave of the ocean encompassing your entire body and pulling you away with it. You realized, as you squinted slightly at the smaller canvas, just why it was calling out to you.

“You keep it,” you shook your head as Harry tried to convince you to take the barely started painting with you home.

“Are you sure?” He watched as you swung your bag over your shoulder, having slipped the light cardigan you had brought in case it got cold.

You nodded. “I couldn’t do much with it, I don’t even have paint at home.”

“Okay,” he slowly nodded, eyes falling to the ground as he placed the small canvas on the table next to him. “Guess I will need something to remember this day by.”

You only laughed, watching the way his eyes glowed with his joke, before dipping your head down and hid your smile as you slipped on your shoes. You wanted to brush off his little comment, but really it made your stomach twist with the possibility that he did really want to remember every moment of his time with you.

The feeling of his hands gripping your thighs barely an hour ago was still burned into your skin, and you were sure to find a few more streaks of paint along yours legs that a part of you was excited to see.

“Let me walk you home,” his words took you slightly off guard, not expecting the offer.

“Oh,” you stood up after tying the laces on your sneakers, “you don’t have to, I’ll be f –”

“I want to,” he cut you off, as you faced him. “And it’s late out and …” he paused, biting his lips together, “and I want to.”

“Okay,” you smile, wanting him to walk with you too. “That would be nice.”

He grabbed a lightweight black jacket that was sitting on the shelf by the door, slipping his arms through it as he held his front door open for you.

The two of you walked side by side, down the emptying street as the moon rose in the sky and the air cooled down. You discussed your day off, and what you had going on with some friends that you hadn’t seen in a while. He told you about how he had promised his friend to help him move, a feat that no one enjoyed.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that painting I started?” You asked, as your feet came to a stop in front of the stairs that led to your building.

“Hmm,” he raised his head slightly, as if thinking deeply about his answer. One of his hands rested at his side, while the other slipped around your back until he was hugging you from the side. “Think I’ll hang it above my bed.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling his hand pinch your hip. Shoving him with your elbow lightly, as if to try and push him away, but he quickly tightened his grip around you and pulled you into his chest instead.

Only laughing again, chest shaking against his and you felt his other hand wrap around you and keep you locked in close. You instinctively raised a hand to his neck, fingertips toying with the strands of hair that poked out above the collar of his jacket, while your other hand rested on his shoulder.

He kept his gaze locked with yours, smile in his features and on his lips as he mirrored your laugh. You only stared up at him, feeling like the two of you were the only ones standing on the street, like the only ones in the city.

You saw his smile die down a bit, before his lips parted slightly. You knew you were staring at his mouth, and when you finally looked back into his eyes you saw him staring at yours as well.

“Do you think things happen for a reason?”

He spoke lowly, his eyes meeting yours again. You felt as though his words carried the weight of the world, but his tone was light as he peered down at you.

“I don’t know…” you shook your head, unable to think. “Why?”

Harry only hummed, remaining quiet as he kept you pressed tight against his chest. “Do you?” You asked after a second, throat feeling dry.

His head dipped down the slightest bit, his nose nearly brushing yours. You let your eyelids close lightly, feeling his lips nudge yours as he spoke again. “Could be,” he hummed, the words pressed as kisses on your mouth.

You couldn’t remember what he was even responding to.

His lips pressed lightly with yours, a sweet kiss of opening mouths and whispers of names. His hands around your back held you tight, as he let out a shaky little sigh against your mouth.

Pulling away for a second, he murmured softly from across you.

“I think I’m starting to have a pretty good idea of what to do with that painting.”

It was the painting. He had added some details over what you had started, more than some. There was nearly an entire figure added, but it was the painting.

The one you had started with him the first time the two of you truly purposely hung out outside of the café, the second time he had kissed you. The painting you didn’t get the chance to finish because he had laid you down on the floor with his head between your thighs and his name on your lips.

Slowly walking towards it, you let your eyes scan over every stroke of the brush.

The figure on the canvas – you knew it was you. Lying there on the floor, only painted from the chest up. Your dress was blending in with the background, one arm bent with your hand resting just above your head. Face turned to the side, you had your eyes shut and your bottom lip between your teeth, though still a hint of a smile on your face.

Orange and pink highlights over your cheeks and under your jaw, lighting up your entire face as the rest of the painting was more gestural and less defined.

To anyone who looked at it, you were sure it must look like someone lying in the sun, perfectly content. You had absolutely no idea how he had captured your likeness. It was done in an extremely realistic manner, but it was you.

You glanced at the white card next to it, breath stopping in your throat when you read over it.

What did my fingers do, before they held you? Acrylic on canvas, 2020

Over the title, just as every other card in the gallery was his name. But with this particular painting, there was a little “, and” following his name, where yours was written.

You were in awe. Technically, the two of you had both put paint onto this canvas but for him to credit you?

Stuck in front of the painting for who knows how long, you had multiple people come and pass you as you stood there. It was when a familiar voice broke you out of your daze, that you finally turned around.

“It’s my favourite piece too.”

Your stomach twisted into a big huge knot. When your eyes fell to him, you felt like you had forgotten your own name.

He looked so handsome, and maybe even nervous with the way his hands were fidgeting with each other. He had a bright yellow sweater on, collar of a shirt underneath peaking through, with some light grey trousers and a longer black jacket over everything.

His hair was falling perfectly in soft curls around his face, that sweet little smile on his lips as he met your gaze.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come…” he spoke softly, fingertips rubbing over the skin of his bottom lip.

You were sure you looked like a deer in the headlights, eyes widened as you looked at him and failing to come up with anything to say.

“I was worried you wouldn’t even see that poster I put up,” he continued, after you didn’t say anything. “And that you wouldn’t have seen the note I left.”

“Aleena,” you finally spoke, voice quiet as you turned around for a second and waved your arm around to the general space behind you to motion to wherever Aleena stood. “She showed me.”

“Good, good,” he nodded, hands clasped together as your eyes met again. “That’s good.”

A small silence hung in the air, and you wanted to sink into the ground. “I actually saw the poster first,” you blurted in a quick breath, a small sigh leaving your parted lips as you paused. “I recognized your art.”

You saw a smile dance over his features, calming you down the slightest bit. “Really?”

Nodding, you couldn’t help the way your eyes darted over his features again. “Really.”

A pause in conversation again, the two of you stood facing each other, both unsure of what to say or do. “Harry I –”

You cut yourself off, just as he started to speak. “What do you –”

Another little silence hung in the air, before you cleared your throat and spoke again. “The show – it’s really…”

Again, you found yourself unable to properly finish a sentence.

Harry rocked forward on his feet slightly, a little furrow in his brow as he watched you attentively. “Do you like it?”

“It’s so,” you glanced around, completely at a loss for words. “Harry it’s so – it’s beautiful.”

His features relaxed. “Yeah?”

You nodded, feeling your nerves calm down. “Yeah. I don’t even know how you did all this,” your words trailing off as you glanced around once more. “I mean, its all…”

“You. It’s all you.”

You didn’t think you had ever heard him speak so surely about anything. Your heart twisted and jumped in your chest, pounding so heavily that you could barely focus on your breathing.

“Harry –” your voice shook, unable to finish your sentence once more as you didn’t even know what to say and you didn’t think you could properly control your voice at the moment.

He shook his head, lips pulling a bit higher in a smile, although you could still see the way his teeth anxiously pulled at his bottom lip. “Have a look around,” he spoke softly. “We can talk after?”

You nodded lightly. You didn’t deserve him.

“After.”

#i am nervous and excited !! please do come tell me what you thought !!!🥰#🥺 i hope everyone enjoyed #cb #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry syles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine

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angelisverba · 3 years

Text

come out, come out wherever you are

in which y/n agrees to do something really stupid, and harry is a bit of a shit

word count: 5k

pairing: vampire!h and y/n (different au from my other vamp!h fics, though)

warnings: drug use, mentions of drinking and alcohol, mentions of blood (duh, he’s a vampire).

author’s note: okay so i know that i put vampire!h in the pairing, but this h is a wierd succubus x demon x vampire mix where he can feed off the emotions he wants to?? i’ll explain it in the story. enjoy your reading :)

She shouldn’t have agreed to play hide and seek in a cornfield.

At night.

During a full moon.

On Halloween.

Y/n’s logic always disappeared when she was… under the influence. Whether that be with alcohol or other sorts of… fun substances. That was not to say that she was an alcoholic, or a drug addict, she just… hated to be a party popper. When her roommate invited her to college parties, she didn’t say no to the red solo cup because she knew that some way or another, she would end up giving in by the end of the night. Or when it was just her and her closest friends passing around a freshly rolled joint, she didn’t say no because she didn’t want to be the odd one out.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that she enjoyed it… most of the time.

This? This was not one of those times.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Josephine, her roommate, had barged into her room with a smile over her lips as the brightness of her phone lit up her face from the bottom up, casting spooky shadows since y/n’s room was dark and she was falling asleep.

“Y/n, look!” She said, turning the phone so beams that felt like they came from hell illuminated y/n’s pinched face, marks from her pillow decorating the place above her lip. She mumbled something, and Josephine kept speaking, “Travis just sent me an invitation to one of the frat’s Halloween parties! Come with me, it’s gonna be so much fun!”

And to get her to leave her room, she agreed. She must have, because the next morning as she was getting ready for her 10 a.m. literature class, she was bombarded with a series of costume ideas and questions about what was considered cheesy or overdone. Josephine had made it clear that it was okay that they didn’t match, especially because of their differences in clothing choices. Jo was more risqué, and y/n liked to dress in what she felt comfortable in.

It didn’t take her a long time to figure out what she was going to go as for Halloween. That same morning, just before she walked into class, y/n stopped to stare at a framed art print in the hallway.

La Belle Dame sans Merci by John Keats was a poem that she knew by heart, and the painting was one that she could get lost in for hours. Stopping to stare at it before walking into class was not an unusual occurrence for her, but that time an idea came to her, almost like it was written in the long locks of her red hair.

Y/n would go as a Victorian princess. The dresses had always fascinated her, with the intricate lace details and elegant rippled of muslin fabric that flounced in a puff around the hips of Countess, or trailed behind the average cottage girl as she frolicked in fields full of daisies. She could picture it in her mind, and it made her giddy to know that there was a possibility she could look as pretty as one of the poet’s muses. She spent the entirety of the class switching from writing notes to browsing the five pages worth of gowns on Amazon, looking for something pretty yet within her price range.

By the end of the period she’d had what she wanted in her cart. A baby-blue wisp of a dress with intricate lace detailing at the neckline that curved like the top-hald of a heart to cup her breasts. The sleeves bunched around her arms mid-bicep, and scrunched again around her wrists, the transparent fabric looking as if her arms were wrapped in the sky. Built in ribbing created a corset that added an extra curve to her waist to make way for the heaps of fabric that exploded from her hips and cascaded down to the floor like the foaming spray of a waterfall.

It fit like a dream. When it arrived a few days before the party she dropped everything she was doing to try it on. The moment Josephine patted her shoulder to tell her that she was finished zipping up the back, y/n twirled around in the limited space of their dorm room to see herself in the narrow mirror at the end of her bed.

Every penny she had spent on it was worth it. Sure, it was snug around the bust and refrained her lungs from expanding the extra millimeter they needed, but it made her feel… nice. Pretty. She liked the way it cinched her waist, how her wrists looked dainty covered in the lacy ends of the sleeves, and the way her breasts looked… accentuated by the frilly detail.

Jo had squealed once she had a full look at her friend, and wouldn’t stop talking about how good they were going to look walking in together. She was going as Cat-Woman, complete with the latex suit, boots, mask, and all. She looked every bit as fantastic as y/n, only on opposite ends of the Halloween costume spectrum.

Building up to the day of the party, the pair talked make-up and hair details, both of which Josephine would be taking care of because she was better at them. At one point, y/n thinks she even dreamt about making a grand-entrance, boys and girls gawking at how amazing she looked, and the most handsome guy stepping forth to profess his undying love for her.

Which wasn't really how it went the night of, but she attained the same satisfaction.

The party was located a little ways away from the city, at a plantation-style frat house in-front of a huge cornfield. Carved pumpkins with candles illuminating them from the inside out lined the pathway up to the front-doors, the trees nearby created crunchy pathways of orange and yellow leaves, and the moon was out; yawning tiredly, but glowing an eerie yellow color over the scene.

It looked like the opening scene of a horror film.

Y/n did receive a lot of stares, though. Most of them were from guys whose beady little eyes pointed straight to her chest, and the ones she got from girls were on the nastier side of envy. She could tell. But, oddly enough, she liked the attention.

Josephine y/n’s hand and led her through the mass of costumed-bodies. There was a variety of ‘sexy’ professions (the usual: nurses, cops, cowgirls, and school girls) and those that come from fandoms (Hogwarts’s students, Eleven from Stranger Things, Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction, multiple heroes from the Avengers) or those that came for shits and giggles (T-rex blow-up costumes with tiny hands, Joe Exotic, sumo-wrestlers, those things that sway outside car-dealerships, and even a Trojan condom packet). There was a lot to see, and honestly, it was beginning to overwhelm y/n.

Not only was it slightly disorienting to see everyone disguised, the interior itself was something to look at. Chandeliers and velvet sofas, gold lamps and fancy carpets and curtains. The epitome of privilege. She felt trampled, every once a while there was a tug on the ends of her dress.

“How about a shot to start off the night, y/n?” Josephine asked her, hooking a latex coated arm around hers. The music was a rumble on the backs of their heads, shaking them through and through as some nameless rapper sang of drugs, sex, and money. What it always came down to.

She agreed, and took the plastic shot cup. On normal nights, she would’ve usually required some type of coaxing, but not then. Y/n was almost looking for the hangover the next morning. She wanted fun.

Three shots later and her fingers were dragging in front of her face. Her knees were wobbly and cheeks tinged with spirits. Everything was funny and if you asked her what two plus two was she’d tell you five. There was a new swagger in her step, and some might say that was the influenced hand-eye coordination, but to her it was newfound confidence. She felt good, she looked good, and she was having a damn good time. Laughing, making the best conversation she’d ever made, and when Jo suggested they go dance, she danced the best she’d ever had.

And sure, she was drunk out of her mind. A light weight. Everything was under a glamourized rose filter. It only made sense that the crowd parted like the Red Sea at God’s feet.

Y/n’s lungs stopped working the moment her eyes locked with his.

He was her counterpart. Literally.

Dressed in a navy blue Victorian prince’s suit decked in gold trim and gold medals pinned to the breast. The tan pants that hugged his muscular thighs like they were made just for him, and his hair was slicked back. Jaw a sharp, smug line that worked as he popped a piece of pink bubblegum between his molars. A gleam of appreciation sparking in the forest of his eyes as they raked a path on her figure.

It was like the work around them stopped, put on pause by some higher power so they could relish the moment of their discovery. What was that shit called? Divine Intervention? The millisecond before and after and between the time Eve’s teeth sunk into the taught skin of that forbidden red apple, and the snake’s tongue slithered out to see her. He was a stranger to y/n, but it seemed as if the feeling he stirred deep in the core of her being was one she’d always known, one from a past life. Besides her, Jo stopped doing whatever lucrative dance she was doing to see what had caught her friend’s attention. Y/n stood, tongue dry, feet glued to the ground as the handsome stranger approached her, a clear path in front of him.

Then, he takes one step forward and whatever conversation he had been involved with before was no longer of importance. Besides her, Jo stopped doing whatever lucrative dance she was doing to see what had caught her friend’s attention. Y/n stood, tongue dry, feet glued to the ground as the handsome stranger approached her, a clear path in front of him.

“Oh,” Jo huffed in her ear, “he’s hot.”

“I-Is he?...” Y/n’s question died on her tongue.

“Coming right for you, girl. Good luck,” Jo pressed a kiss to her cheek and disappeared in the crowd.

The stranger stops closer than she would have thought him to; a finger away from her nose, and when he spoke, she could feel the vibrations of his speech through her breasts where they nearly grazed his chest.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever met before... princess?” His voice is deep, raspy and filled with grooves like the bark on a tree. He mocks a bow (given their costumes) and their nose touch before he straightens again. Up close, y/n can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and she hopes her mouth doesn’t stink (it probably does, given the alcohol she’d had). A chilled palm grips her bicep, and the fabric of her sleeve sinks under his touch, “Would you like to get off this shitty dance floor and speak somewhere else?” He asks her.

Her heart is pounding and she wonders if he can hear it because she certainly can, rushing in a taunting, roaring stream past her eardrums. Y/n nodded her agreement; yes, she did want to speak with him. A thrum of warmth comes from where he holds her, and he tugs her so that she’s standing in front of him, her back touching his chest as he pushes her through the crowd.

Her fingers shake as she lifts the fabric of her dress to avoid tripping, and her saliva goes thick. Not because of what might happen, but because the man who ripped her bicep tenderly, like she was made of the most fragile china, was the most good-looking man she had ever seen. Her mind ran images of things to compare him to, and almost all of them were of the Greek statues put up in museums for all to admire.

He leads her past the crowd and the kitchen where everyone was making drinks, past the wrap around stairs on the inside of the house, and even past the calmer sitting areas where couples were making out or groups of friends passed a smoking joint. He leads her right through the open back doors of the house so they faced the seemingly endless cornfield and the barn that was a speck behind it. The deck was less populated than the couches where kids smoked weed, but y/n guessed that it wasn’t to his liking because instead of turning off to the side so they could have a much less strained… conversation, he continued to walk- this time standing beside her instead of behind her.

Grass crunched under their feet as they got closer to the stalks of corn. Confused, y/n spared a glance to what she was leaving, and then to him. He stared straight ahead, but she caught his eyes flickering in her direction, and a smirk quirking cockily on his lips before they returned to the yawning face of the moon.

There was a short wooden fence separating the house from the cornfield that reached her hip, and he stopped there.

“Finally,” he sighed, “Some peace and quiet.” He makes a gesture to the fence, and pops his gum.

Dizzied, the tequila still in her head, she watches his tongue gather the gum back into his mouth, his lips shining with his own spit. Y/n doesn’t register that the movement towards the fence was his way of telling her to take a seat on the wooden bars.

“C’mere,” he murmured. Placing his hands on her waist, he lifted her up so she could sit on the wooden fence, and her hands went to his wrists instinctively, trying to keep herself steady.

Suddenly out of breath, her eyes shot straight up to his. There’s no way he can’t hear my heart right now, she thinks. He’s so close to her, his breath on her face. He smelled like pink bubblegum, cologne, and a liquor much more sophisticated than what she had to drink. His eyes held the same spell that she felt she was under.

“What’s your name?” He asked, his hands still on her waist. He didn’t look like he was in a rush to step away from her, and that was okay because she didn’t want him to.

“Y/n,” she whispered. It was physically impossible to raise her voice any louder. The stupid corset was making it harder for her to breathe, along with the added pressure of being in his presence. “You?”

“Prince Harry, at your service,” he smiled then, and y/n got a glimpse of shockingly sharp canines. They had to be fake. Longer than most in length, and she swore she saw one of those cartoonish-diamond glitter at the knife-like tips of his teeth.

She pointed to his mouth and said, “Are you a vampire prince?”

He looked at her strangely, his brows furrowing and his tongue running along the inside of his cheeks. Then, he laughed. “Something like that.”

“I-” She was gonna say something along the lines of ‘I think you’re a very good looking vampire prince’ until he cut her off.

“How about we play a game?” One of his hands lifted from her waist, and she let go to steady herself by grabbing onto the plant. Y/n hoped that her dress wasn’t getting dirty, but the moment that Harry brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear it flew out the window.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned into his touch like a purring kitten. She blamed her blatant carelessness on the alcohol. “A game?”

“Yes, y/n. A game,” he muttered, watching the way her eyes twitched under her eyelids.

“Which game?” Her eyes fluttered open again, and her breasts pushed against the corset as she took a deep breath, “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“Oh,”he glanced down, to her lips and for half a second, to the repressed mounds of her tits, “I promise the conversation is going to be much more interesting after a game of hide and seek.”

“Where would we even play t-that?”

“Right,” he pinched her chin with two fingers so that her lips smushed together, and gently tilted her head towards the field of corn. “There.”

That’s how she found herself, running for her life in the middle of a corn maze, at night, on Halloween.

What had started off as her giggling and running had soon into a panting, scared-shit-less run for no reason. Maybe it was because she just couldn’t get Harry off of her tail, or maybe it was that she was running with no direction into a cornfield she was sure was lost in. Maybe it was a combination of all those things.

Harry yelled, “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” and it only made her want to cry.

It was strange, really. Y/n didn’t know where this fear was coming from, it started out with them actually having fun, the tips of his fingers tugging at the fabric of the skirt before he let her run a bit, calling out how he was going to get her, how he was gonna catch the princess and she was giggling, turning to see him disappear when she turned.

Then he went quiet. The footsteps stopped. And his tone of voice dropped to something much more… sinister.

“Come out, little one,” he said, a clear whisper poured directly into her ear.

Y/n turned, and she felt him getting closer so she tried to run faster. But she was getting so, so tired, and it felt like she couldn’t get any air into her lungs. All she knew then was the moon, with her tired face, and the intimidating, tall stalks of corn.

Harry supposes that he’s doing her a favor. A lot of people wish they could run through a field wearing a dress like the one y/n has on. He was a bit of a shit, sure, setting her up for failure given he had abilities that she did not possess, but, he knew just as he knew the sky is blue- that she liked and wanted to walk into the corn field. Now, it wasn’t because Harry happens to be really good at reading people, no.

As an empath- one of the terms in the fine print of the being he was- he was able to connect into the funnel between her veins, the curved out thrum of what she was feeling. The witches he knew compared it to reading an aura, but it was much more than that. There was no need for interpretation of colors because it was like he was her, feeling what she was feeling. And she liked it.

Up until, of course, he switched up his game.

After a few minutes of running around and playing with her like she was a mouse, Harry decided that he wanted to scare her. He wanted to give her a taste of himself. He wanted her to be scared- to not like him. Because he was something that shouldn’t be liked. It was a sick thing, really, that he happened to be so good looking when he was a literal monster. Harry fucking drank human blood. He wasn’t something that should be thought of as Greek statues.

The part of him that remained human throughout the years felt bad for doing this to her. But, he had to. It made him feel better when he sunk his teeth into a victim’s skin. Almost like… he’d warned them, and it was their fault that they hadn’t taken the signal.

A scarecrow loomed overhead, and her lungs were running out of air, so he decided to go ahead and make his final jump on her.

When y/n broke through the final turn to reach the very small clearing in the center of the field where a scarecrow stood in between a few bales of hay, she felt his breath at the back of her throat, and her knees buckled.

She’d never really been much a screamer during a jump scare. Instead, she sucked her breath in, really loud and sudden, and because she was having such a hard time breathing, that instinctually breath caused black dots to litter her vision and suddenly those weak knees contributed to a faint.

Harry caught her, and picked her up, huffing a small laugh to himself as he laid her across the piles of hay.

She really was a sight to see. Flushed, hair a mess from all her running. Her lips were dewy and her waterline was agitated, he could see the moisture in the place where her eyelashes sprouted.

With a few pats to the cheek, her eyes fluttered open, he was still hovering over her. Harry did not make a move to scoot back.

“You’re awake, princess,” he said, smirking.

Y/n blinked, her eyes wide, and… gasped when Harry pressed a kiss to her cheek. His lips were cool against her heated cheek, and the curved ends of his slicked back hair tickled her chin.

“You chased me,” she gulped, “for a long time.”

“Yes, I did. And you liked it. Didn’t you, little one?” He allowed the tip of his nose to follow the line of her jaw, testing the waters. She liked it, he could feel the shudders it sent to her heart in his bones.

“I did.” Her eyes furrowed at her own admission. Why was she being so carefree? Why was she allowing herself to continue to stay in this cornfield? What was stopping her from questioning further what the fuck was going on? Her attraction, and his implied interest, that’s what.

Harry’s tongue slipped out of his mouth, and licked at her jaw before he placed another kiss to it, “Good. What do you say we have some more fun?” “What kind of fun?” Her head titled, and he was given direct access to what he wanted. Her neck. The column of her throat was pulsing with the beat of her heart, and the veins he could almost taste criss-crossed beneath her skin.

“Fun is fun, pet. But if you must know, the kind of fun I’m talking about involves a lot of mouth to mouth,” He moved so his face was directly in front of hers again, and his palm gripped her waist beneath him. Unconscioslu, her legs parted and Harry had more space to slide both of his thighs between hers, one of his knees resting on the bales of hay she rested on.

Y/n was no longer worried about the state of her dress, but rather, where his mouth would land, and where she would put her hands. Her eyes bounced between his, but they struggled to remain still under his intense hold. “O-okay. I’d like that.”

“The prettiest princess I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled into the hollow underneath her jaw. And it was true. He’d seen a lot of royalty all throughout his wretched life, and none of them had been as pretty as she was. He felt a shiver of arousal go through her at the same time the air came fresh into his lungs, and it felt like he was going to explode from the inside out.

“I think you’re the most handsome prince I’ve ever seen.”

Y/n wanted to slap a hand over her mouth the moment those words left her lips, but Harry only chuckled and the vibrations felt heavenly against her skin.

“You've been seeing other princes’, little one?” Harry teased, his mouth tracing their words against her lips. He pressed forward and kissed her; just a peck, testing. Again, she liked it.

“No, just you,” she shivered. Her words were coming out in pants now. The fabri of her dress was too thick and too abundant to allow for any frisky actions, but his mouth was enough. One of his fingers was running over the tops of her breasts. Her mouth opened, she wanted more. Harry tasted of pink bubble gum. She wondered where it went.

He chuckled and kissed her once more. “Then how do you know you know I’m the most handsome?”

“I just do,” she said, arching into his touch. His finger was hooking into her sleeve, and he let it snap into her skin.

“You do?” He licked her bottom hip, and she whined. This game, whatever it was, she wanted it to be over. It was too much for her to handle.

“Yeah,” y/n said in a dreamy, far-off voice. “I mean, yes. Yes.”

Harry relished in what she felt, and soon enough, his cock twitched in his trousers. He never let himself become… involved in his meals emotions, but it was different with her. She was tender, and sweet. Willing and not a nuisance that he drowned out before biting.

“Am I handsome enough... for you to let me bite you?” And that was another thing.

Harry never asked for permission. Y/n was drunk enough that she’d wake up the next morning and think that he was just some kinky dude who’d left a sick hickey on her throat, as all of his ‘victims’ were, but still. Harry had asked for permission.

“Bite me?” She was confused, head fuzzy with the same feeling that was heating in her groin. The lacy knickers she wore were probably soaked through. The bale on her bum was beginning to hurt.

“Yes, princess. Bite, right,” he licked a stripe right where her pulse was the strongest to accentuate his intentions. “Here.”

“Okay, Harry.”

He was handsome. And she was horny (with a mix of other things), she didn’t see a reason to say no.

“Thank you, pet.”

It was the same as it always was. Harry nuzzled into the spot, sniffing like a dog meeting a new friend, and with no preamble, he bit into her. The tips of his teeth pierced her flesh, and he allowed them to retract once the blood started to flow. When the first drop touched his tongue, he groaned. She was good, one of the best he’d ever had, and the heady flavor was just as sweet as she was. He was so caught up in his own satisfaction that he didn’t notice the moment her hands bunched the fabric of his suit from the late 1700s into fists, or her body going tense before he slowly relaxed, her heartbeat an irregular mix as she decided whether or not she should be panicking.

But, he knew that she continued to enjoy what she was doing.

“H-harry, I-” She went limp in his arms, and the small squeak that left her mouth was the mermaid’s song that enchanted Harry.

He knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see her again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hi! happy halloween babies! or better yet, happy harryween! i hope you enjoyed this peice, it was for sure out of my comfort zone and something new for me. if you haven’t yet, please check out my fanfic on wattpad in which harry owns a more aesthetic version of playboy mag. you can read it here.

#hunflowershalloweenchallenge #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3

- Chapter 4 -

Nie Mingjue attended his first discussion conference as a ward of the Wen sect rather than a son of the Nie sect and found it more or less the same misery as it had always been, except with the extra twist of everyone looking at him with pity in their eyes.

The Jiang sect averted their eyes the way they always did. For all his talk about attempting the impossible, the only impossible thing Jiang Fengmian had ever dreamt of was a peaceful life, and his wife was strong in power but bitter and vicious in spirit, parceling out her love and sympathy in small dollops as if she thought she would run out if she gave too much of it away. That being said, their indifference and purely superficial show of sympathy was still better than the steely eyes of the Jin sect, which looked right at him with nothing but empty calculation, as if weighing him to see what use they could get out of him.

Lan Qiren, at least, looked genuinely upset to see him standing there in Wen colors, a frown creasing his brow with distress. Nie Mingjue wondered cynically if the Lan sect would have preferred that he and his brother be dead as martyrs instead of living symbols of Wen cruelty that, despite all their high-flying talk of rules and ethics, the Lan sect would do absolutely nothing about.

Still, he had been the man’s student once, so he bowed his head politely and called him teacher when Lan Qiren came to speak with him during one of the rest periods between speeches.

“Are you well?” Lan Qiren asked. “You are not being mistreated…?”

“Would it make a difference if I was?” Nie Mingjue asked. When Lan Qiren flinched, he shrugged. “In that case, honorable teacher, I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find my brother; he needs to be properly prepared for the competitions later.”

A flimsy lie, intentionally so, and Nie Mingjue wondered if he really had picked up something of Qishan Wen cruelty after all. It was only that it hurt him to see them there, standing free and saying nothing – the Lan had once been the closest allies of the Nie sect, just as the Jiang and the Jin were often paired together – and he couldn’t quite resist wanting to make them hurt, too, no matter how much he knew it was beneath him.

You were friends with my father and they murdered him, he wanted to shout. Murdered him, and I had to watch him die twice over! How can I be well? How can you dare to ask that of me, have you been well, as if I were still free to speak my mind, to be straightforward and honest, without having to always think of the pain that will follow later?

Maybe Wen Ruohan’s lessons really were starting to sink in, he thought bitterly, and hated himself for it.

He still didn’t apologize to Lan Qiren, but he did go to find Nie Huaisang, making the lie into truth. There wasn’t any point in registering his useless brother in any of the physical competitions, of course, but at every discussion conference there were also smaller competitions in the arts – calligraphy, painting, poetry – and Nie Mingjue was more than willing to lose a little of the pocket money he received each month (pointlessly, since he wasn’t allowed to leave the main manor or visit the markets of the Nightless City for fear that he would try to run away or make a scene) in betting on his brother’s success in those.

He also bet on Wen Qing in the competition of doctors’ apprentices, and Wen Ning in alchemy, archery and weiqi; he even put some money on Wen Chao for mathematics and told him so.

Wen Chao gaped at him. “Me? Mathematics?”

“You always answer those questions faster than anyone else,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, and patted him on the head the way Wen Chao not-so-secretly liked. “Do your best. If you place in the top twenty, I’ll have the kitchens make something sweet that you won’t have to share, something just for you.”

“…could I share it anyway? If I wanted to.”

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, pleased by the unexpected question and happy to show it. “It’ll be yours. You can do anything you want with it, even share.”

There weren’t even a full forty people planning to compete in mathematics, so he was moderately confident that Wen Chao – who wasn’t as stupid as he sometimes let himself think he was – would be able to place somewhere decent, and even if he didn’t Nie Mingjue wouldn’t hold it against him. He wouldn’t demand perfection and then ignore it the way Wen Ruohan did.

“Mingjue-xiong!”

Nie Mingjue turned to see Lan Xichen hurrying over, insofar as the Lan sect ever hurried. Lan Xichen’s younger brother was probably also getting ready for the arts competition – the two of them would undoubtedly dominate the juniors’ music competition, as they always did, and probably many of the other juniors’ categories as well – so it wasn’t a surprise to see him there, but it was still nice. They’d only spent a few months together during the summer Nie Mingjue had spent at the Cloud Recesses, his father trying to get him away from politics for at least a short time, but they’d been friendly back then, maybe even friends, even though Lan Xichen was a couple of years younger than him.

“It’s good to see you,” Lan Xichen said, his voice warm. “I wanted to write you a letter, but everyone said it was a bad idea.”

“It probably is,” Nie Mingjue admitted. He didn’t even know what he’d say in response to such a letter – what he was allowed to say, and what he wasn’t. “It’s good to see you, too. Are you competing in the fights later on?”

“I am, though I’ve heard that the main competition this year – swordsmanship – is going to be melee style, which means you’re certain to wipe the floor with everyone. But I can at least hope to place, if nothing else.”

Melee style favored the saber and the aggressive style of the Nie, so Lan Xichen was probably right – it wasn’t as though the Nie sect had sent any disciples, given that it was still officially in mourning for its sect leader. Nie Mingjue should be in mourning, should be refusing to eat meat since he was too young for the obligation to refrain from sexual congress to matter much to him, but it had been pretty clear from his first day at the Nightless City that he would either eat meat or have it forced down his throat. In the end, he’d given up on all the rest of it as well. He could mourn later, when he was free.

Assuming he’d ever be free again.

“Pity you can’t bet on a competition you’re participating in,” he teased, and Lan Xichen did him the grace of at least pretending to smile back. “Maybe you can get ahead of me in archery instead.”

Lan Xichen snorted at that. “I’m still counted among the juniors for archery, while you’re with the seniors,” he reminded him. “But somehow I don’t think that would make much of a difference.”

“I’m not that good at archery,” Nie Mingjue protested cheerfully. “Besides, I haven’t been allowed to practice it in months, not since –”

He stopped, realizing what he’d just said, and what he’d been about to say, from the way Lan Xichen’s face turned pale.

“Don’t think about it,” he advised his friend, turning his head away. He didn’t want to see Lan Xichen’s face like that, all sick with grief. “I try not to.”

Lan Xichen squeezed his hands. “You’re still yourself,” he said. “As long as you can keep true to that, nothing else matters.”

Nie Mingjue hoped he was right.

Nie Mingjue won the melee but lost in archery to Wen Xu, which was a result that pleased them both – Nie Mingjue was still growing and didn’t have the arm strength necessary to fully pierce the target, which gave Wen Xu’s equally accurate hits the small advantage needed to win.

“You’ll win it next time,” Wen Xu told him, and Nie Mingjue shrugged. “You will! You’ve grown nearly a quarter chi in the time that I’ve known you, and you weren’t short to start with.”

“And maybe next time the fighting won’t be melee,” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “There are formats that favor the sword more.”

Not to mention that next time, the main event wouldn’t be the sword, since discussion conferences generally rotated between the various martial skills.

Wen Xu rolled his eyes at him, though, clearly disregarding his words, and Nie Mingjue didn’t disagree - despite his words, he was proud of what he’d achieved.

He was even more proud of the younger children, though: Wen Qing was first in her competition and pleased as a well-fed cat about it, Nie Huaisang had placed second in calligraphy and fifth in poetry, and Wen Ning had gotten seventh in alchemy, his best result in years given his usual anxiety about performing in public. Wen Chao was the biggest surprise, having actually managed to come in fourth in mathematics, and everyone crowded around him, congratulating him, even as he stumbled around in a daze.

“He’d never tried to do well before,” Wen Xu said, catching Nie Mingjue’s gaze and his train of thought with it. “There wasn’t any point, since Father doesn’t care about the smaller competitions, only the main event, and mathematics is never a main event.”

“Surely the fun of winning is motivation enough?” Nie Mingjue asked. “He did well enough this year without advance study that he’d be sure to place in the top three in the next discussion conference if he really put in some effort.”

“He didn’t actually think he’d win,” Wen Xu said dryly. “He just didn’t want you to lose money.”

Nie Mingjue was about to explain that he didn’t care about the money – he wasn’t allowed to go spend it, as Wen Xu knew, and he didn’t see much point in hoarding it when it could be taken away just as easily as it was given – but then the children saw them coming and ran over.

Nie Huaisang in the lead, shouting, “Da-ge! Da-ge! You won!”

“Of course he won,” Wen Chao snapped at him, but in a good-natured, excited sort of way. “Who else did you think was going to win?”

“We all bet on you,” Wen Qing told him.

“Oh, come now,” he protested. “Someone should have bet on Wen Xu!”

“I would have told them off if they had,” Wen Xu said. “Well done. How much did we win?”

“We? Wen Xu! You can’t bet on your own matches!”

“Oh no,” Wen Xu said drolly. “Is that so? My mistake. I must have missed that.”

“Can’t you at least try to make it sound convincing…?”

Wen Ruohan was pleased with the results of the discussion conference. He made them stand up and recite their accomplishments at dinner, nodding as they did, and when he was done treating them like dancing monkeys, he told Wen Xu, “Next time, you come in first,” and swept out without another word.

“What a shitheel,” Nie Mingjue said, a little blankly. To not even give a single word of praise…!

“He can hear you,” Wen Chao hissed, horrified, glancing at the door.

“He was talking about someone else,” Nie Huaisang said quickly. “That person back at the conference – you remember?”

“Of course, of course, yes, I remember,” Wen Qing said. “That person. He was definitely a shitheel.”

Nie Mingjue felt the warmth of their affection, and it only made Wen Ruohan’s negligence rub his heart the wrong way even more.

“You all did wonderfully,” he told them, since someone should. “And I have no doubt that you will do even better at the next conference. You should be proud of yourselves. I’m certainly proud of you.”

He remembered that much, at least, when he woke up two days later, the magnitude of the beating he’d received for his impertinence having apparently knocked the rest of the day cleanly out of his head. There was some more afterwards that he’d said, apparently, but he remembered the important point, and he didn’t want to press any further; the others looked so miserable already.

“Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson,” Wen Xu said, and flinched when Wen Chao kicked him in the shins and ran away sobbing. “I didn’t - I just meant…”

“No, no, I understand,” Nie Mingjue said. The advice had been meant kindly, even if it was phrased badly.

Wen Qing huffed. “I bet you don’t,” she said, rubbing her nose, her own eyes suspiciously red. “What is it exactly you think you’ve learned?”

“Wait until he’s out of earshot to call him a –”

“I am going to smother you with your own robes,” Nie Huaisang announced. “Or at least gag you for your own good. Who’s with me?”

Nie Mingjue raised his one hand that still worked in surrender at the array of murderous glares in front of him. “Don’t attack me, I’m injured?”

No one seemed very impressed with that argument.

“You can’t do that again,” Wen Ning said quietly. His fingers were tight on the blanket. “Okay? You need to be more careful.”

“I don’t know if I can be,” Nie Mingjue said honestly. He was born with a mind as straightforward as the clean slice of a saber – what he felt, he thought; what he thought, he said. He was trying to learn politics and diplomacy, but it was hard on him, difficult. He was not and would not ever be a subtle man. “I’ll try, though.”

“Good,” Wen Xu said. “We need you to stick around.”

Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure why – he felt more and more extraneous these days, with no sect of his own to inherit and little purpose to life other than his determination that Nie Huaisang, and now the others, live as good a life as possible under Wen Ruohan’s endless tyranny – but he nodded agreeably.

They didn’t seem quite satisfied with that.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wen xu #wen chao #wen ning #wen qing #lan xichen #my fic #my fics #fire and light

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itsuki-minamy · 3 years

Text

MEMORY STORIES: THE CURTAIN CLOSES, THE CURTAIN OPENS

* Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Neko stepped into the mansion to shelter from the heavy rain and lightning. There was an atmosphere where ghosts seemed to appear at any moment in a western-style building with a strict and intimidating feeling that you normally wouldn't want to get too close.

However, every time she tried to take shelter from the lightning and the cascading drops on the eaves, the entire area would turn bright yellow, and the shaky night atmosphere was scary, and Neko desperately snuck into the building through the small open bathroom window and she stepped deeper into the mansion.

At first she thought it was an empty house. There weren't many signs of people. However, admitting that a dim light was pouring in from a room on the second floor, she approached softly, speaking and cautiously.

And at that moment, she was called.

"Oh, something strange has come to pick me up from the other world. Are you a cat or a human girl?"

Neko was shocked and stopped. The lady said with an annoyed voice.

"I don't like it. I'm asking a question. Yeah, but hey, that's fine. Just answer."

Succumbing to the power of only those who were used to commanding, Neko stormed into the room.

"Fuwah, you are selfish..."

When she said that...

"Yes. I don't know what you're saying, but you look like Beppin-san. Come on."

As told, Neko obediently approached the lady's voice. Neko was invited by an old woman who got out of bed and looked to be in her eighties. She was wearing a red nightgown, stretched out her back and put her hands on her knees, but she had an oxygen cannula in her nose and an IV drip in her arm. A medical device that Neko did not understand was installed on the side of the bed and digital numbers were displayed.

"Do you understand, Wagahai?"

Neko had been conducting reconnaissance operations the entire time. However, this old woman saw Neko as a "human girl".

The old woman gave a stifled laugh.

"I've always had a keen intuition. It's like building this mansion with that intuition. Besides, I've been almost blind these days. You don't have to fool me with anything extra."

If she looked closely, the old woman's eyes trembled gray. She must have been a terrifying beauty when she was young and she had a clean face. Neko was intrigued and irresistibly asked...

"Grandma, what are you doing here?"

The old woman gave a high-pitched laugh like a witch. She then cleared her throat a little, and after coughing painfully over and over again,

"Greetings. Did you break in? But that's okay. I like being alone but I don't hate clients. What are you doing? That's right. I mean… I'm dying."

She smiled and said that. That was the meeting between Neko and Madame Fuyuko.

Madame Fuyuko seemed to like Neko for some reason.

"Lives here for a while and talks with me."

At those words, she decided to stay at the mansion. Neko who was tired from long trips was also thankful for the fact that she didn't have to hide her identity and she could eat rice three times without worrying about the night dew or being chased by dogs. Also, she could sleep on a futon and take a bath.

Neko spent most of the day in the room where Madame Fuyuko was, leaving her seat and acknowledging when the medical staff and caretakers arrived. And in the process, Madame Fuyuko realized that, as she put it, she really was "dying".

Although she was in a good mood talking to Neko, she would suddenly turn pale and sometimes painfully call the medical staff of the place. By the way, the staff were sometimes in the waiting room on the first floor, but in most cases they only came for regular visits every four hours. As a result, Neko would sometimes hold her hand and cheer her on until medical staff rushed inside.

"I'm going to die in this loving house that my last selfish mother designed herself. Because she made a lot of money for it."

Madame Fuyuko laughed and replied to Neko that she asked if she would go to the hospital.

Madame Fuyuko then told Neko about the various things that she had experienced. She was an actress at one point and wrote a novel. It was starred twice as a movie. The novel had won a famous award that every expert would know. She once ran a tourism company in Bali and was assigned to an international organization as a diplomatic adviser to a certain country. She spoke six languages, was familiar with art, and had a collection of paintings.

"I can't play it anymore, but I really liked the violin."

She said she in a mischievous way.

"In the end, I didn't have any children or husbands, but I got a lot of different types and nicknames. It was fun."

The name Madame Fuyuko seems to be a stage name when she was a fortune teller using her peculiar intuition. It seems to be the one he liked the most.

And when Madame Fuyuko finished telling her memories, one day she suddenly became serious and said to Neko:

"You should go now. Yes. I don't want to get in the way. I'll probably die in a few days. I know. So I don't want you to see it."

Neko had a feeling that one day she would leave, so she obediently accepted it. Still, the tears naturally spilled over. For a short time, she became fond of that proud old woman. Neko asked:

"Aren't you lonely, Grandma?"

Madame Fuyuko laughed.

"I have lived the way I really wanted to. I enjoyed being alone, having fun, being strong and living. I will never forget those days. And the last option is to die alone. Well, the hands of the doctors will be annoying. I will compensate them with money."

And for the first time she strokes Neko's hair.

"Feel proud and free. That is the most important thing to me. Do you understand?"

Neko blew her nose and looked back at her forehead. The old woman had a sweet voice.

"But you're different from me. Okay? Go find something important just for yourself. I'm sure you'll find it one day."

At that moment, Madame Fuyuko coughed violently. When Neko tried to help her in a hurry, she waved her hand with frightening eyes, saying "Come on! Go away!" She turned around slightly like a real cat and jumped out of the room, knowing that this was the last action to respond to Madame Fuyuko's thoughts.

Madame Fuyuko was laughing with her thumbs up.

She finally sent that message, to whom was old enough to be like her granddaughter. The two never met again.

++++++++++

When she was looking at the heavy rain hitting the window pane, she suddenly remembered Madame Fuyuko. The noble and beautiful demeanor that she had. The toughness she was showing when her death was imminent.

And the last piece of advice she received.

"Go find your own important thing."

At that moment, they called her from behind her.

"Neko. It's almost like rice. Today is Kuro's special okonomiyaki."

"I added as many dried bonito toppings as you requested."

Shiro holding chopsticks and a plate and Kuro in an apron was standing there. A big smile spread across Neko's cheeks.

Neko had traveled all the way since then and finally found him.

Things that seem to be important from the bottom of her heart.

#k #k project #k seven stories #k all memories #memory stories #neko #isana yashiro #kuro yatogami #silver clan

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detroitbydark · 4 years

Text

Previous part (as well as fan art and fic?!) can be found here

Chp 12

Character: Commander Fox x Mouse (reader), Padme Amidala, Bail Organa

Warnings: idiots in love, mild pining

Summary: The one where Fox knows what to expect but is still incensed when it happens. Bail Organa is a good bro to everyone. Padme Amidala is rocking motherhood and is not so subtle in her matchmaking attempt.

A/N: I apologized in advance but your gonna see that I'm working to make things better I promise! As always thanks to my lovelies @skdubbs @crimson-dxwn and @thelastbattlecry for being my sounding boards/betas/listening ears.

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

Naboo was beautiful. Not in the way that a rare gem or a fancy painting was, where one appreciated their grandeur because that was expected. Where they were looked at clinically and picked apart for sport.

No, Naboo was beautiful in a way that made Mouse's heart clench. The overwhelming majesty of the lakes and waterfalls bringing a tear to her eyes the first time she’d laid eyes on them. She’d never seen so much water, so much green. She could scarcely believe she wasn’t experiencing a fever dream in the claustrophobic bacta tank back on Coruscant. Even now, after two months, the view from the Naberrie’s Lake home (more like a palace than any home Mouse has ever imagined) gave her pause.

It was, in short, heaven.

The summer months had left the temperature near to perfect and the waters had receded from the great pastoral valleys, leaving them open for exploration, picnics and gathering wildflowers.

Mouse found herself sleeping most nights with the door to the small balcony off her room open, the not so far-off sound of running water lulling her to sleep. The nightmares had not gone, a twisted version of a reality she’d lived, but she rarely woke up screaming anymore. Instead she came to with a racing heart and thin sheen of sweat decorating her skin. She was haunted by the voice of Palpatine, the flash of light as Fox fires on her, the image of him being lifted and strangled by the force wielding Anakin Skywalker. It still happens like clockwork, the dreams. She just no longer has it in her to scream.

The senator had noticed the deep circles under her eyes quickly. She was a good woman, Padmé, and while Mouse was unsure whether she’d call her a friend just yet she did know she enjoyed speaking with her. Upto the birth of the babies, they’d taken daily walks, short sojourns along the estate’s lands. It was often the time Padmé had her husband speaking with his healer. Mouse was eternally grateful, as she wasn’t comfortable in the Jedi’s presence. To have him walking with them through the millaflower fields would have soured the experience. She liked to think Padmé realized such things without her saying it. When she did speak of her husband, there was a carefulness to her words, as if she had to think each one out to paint him in his best light. Mouse hasn’t spoken about Fox to anyone, and she wonders if she did would she feel the need to tread carefully? She doesn’t think she would.

Mouse's relationship with Padmé changes after the birth of the babies a short two months after their arrival.

Luke and Leia join the galaxy on a stiflingly hot night during high summer. Heat lightning flashes and grumbles in the distance as the doctor works to bring the children safely into the world. They hadn’t planned for two. Anakin paced the room, like an agitated Nexu, checking in with his wife after each pass. Staff and visitors were at a minimum, so Mouse volunteered to help as she could. It was still a state of the art set-up, one fit for a former queen, senator, and much loved daughter of Naboo. There was little to be done but sit at the Senator’s side and blot her head with a cool cloth while she worked, grunting and pushing through the labor like tackling an obstacle in her way on the senate floor.

Leia comes first, a squalling indignant thing already full of life and the need to tell everyone about it. The nurse attending offers her to Anakin while Padmé continues to labor. Mouse sees the fear in his eyes as he shakes his head, his eyes already trailing back to his wife. Mouse holds the bundle of blankets and moves out of the way, gesturing for the young Jedi to take her place near his wife.

“She needs you.” She says softly, fighting back the urge to tremble in his presence.

“Ani?” Padmé’s voice rings out, for the first time uncertain. That’s all Skywalker needs to go to her side.

Mouse watches as he takes her hand in his, kisses her fingers, tells her she’s doing great, that she’ll be fine. It feels voyeuristic watching them so she focuses on the little girl in her arms, who stares up with bright blue eyes. Mouse melts.

Luke is the wildcard, the surprise no one knew to expect. He’d been hiding behind his sister until just days ago when her last scan had shown an extra heartbeat and an extra head. Now he was malpositioned and the doctor has to manually correct it. Padmé makes an awful, wounded noise but pushes nonetheless when she’s finally given the clear to. The boy makes his entrance as a bolt of lightning cuts through the sky and the lights flicker. He’s quiet, and smaller than his minutes-older sister. There’s a tense period where he makes no sound at all, and a collective breath is held until he begins to make a soft plaintive noise before he’s laid against his mother’s chest. Mouse offers the wrapped baby to the nurse and she soon joins her brother. Mouse has to turn away as Anakin leans in and kisses his wife.

When she sleeps that night there is no nightmare. She dreams of her own swollen belly, a baby kicking away while Fox’s strong arms wrap around her middle and hold her protectively. She can feel his full lips as they press against her temple. She can feel the rumble of his voice.

The beginning of our family, cyar’ika.

She wakes with a choked sob and doesn’t sleep the rest of the night.

—-

“Run it by me again, Chancellor.”

It felt like they’d been in the black forever. The jump to the small outer rim was no milk run. Fox glances out the window again as they break atmo and the black of space turns to the bright blue of Naboo’s sky. He was ready to be off the ship. He’d never tell his brothers, would rather die than admit it, but he hated hyperspace travel. It wasn’t just the jump in or the fall out of it either. It was the whole damn thing. It was unnatural. He was meant to have his feet on terra and that was all there was to it.

The itinerary had them making a quick stop in Theed to take on supplies, then another bit of travel - this time in the blue instead of the black - to reach their destination, the Lake District.

“Commander, relax. This is a pleasure cruise,” Bail enthuses smoothly, “nothing to worry about.”

“Then why me and not one of the other boys? Thire would have been fine for this.”

Bail rolls his eyes. “Thire is a stick in the mud and I much prefer your company and conversation.” Bail explains “I’m going to spend a couple days doting on my new godchildren and discussing a few matters with their lovely Senator mother, some of which you may have strong opinions about that deserve being heard.”

The last bit grabs Fox’s attention. “I don’t remember that being mentioned.”

“Oh I didn’t mention that some of your brothers will be meeting us for an impromptu - and off the books - meeting on clone personhood?”

Fox purses his lips undercover of his bucket. “No you hadn’t sir.”

Fox had learned quickly that Bail Organa’s style of governance was worlds different from the previous chancellors. The secrets Sidious kept had been dangerous to the republic, his vode and the Jedi in particular while Bail’s all seemed fairly benign and were really only used to surprise and throw Fox from a dour mood.

“Well it seems I must have forgotten to put it on the official itinerary for our visit.” The older man’s eyes sparkle with mischief.

“It seems you did, sir. I suppose it’s already been planned. It would be a shame to lose out on such an important meeting.”

Personhood. That was one of those dreams all clones shared but few ever mentioned. It seemed silly that it should even be an issue to begin with. If none survived the war it was a useless conversation to have, wasn't it? Now, with Sidious no longer pulling his dark strings, the Seppies were beginning to fall apart. They’d already fallen on Felucia and Utapau. General Grievous was dead and Count Dooku had gone to ground, but he couldn’t stay hidden forever. Maybe the idea of life after war wasn’t such a dream. It was tangibly within reach.

“Who’s joining us for this little shindig?”

Bail smirks again, “I’ve left the guest list to the Marshall Commander’s discretion.”

Fox can’t hide the excitement in his voice, “Cody?” It has been ages since he’d seen his ori’vod. Before the second battle of Geonosis and well before Mouse had -

Mouse.

Because that was a wound that refused to heal. Kriff - it wouldn’t even scab over! It merely festered and hurt like nothing else Fox had ever felt. Whoever had said out of sight, out of mind needed to keep their head on a swivel because Fox was pretty sure if he ever saw them he’d break their jaw.

Mouse was still a guest of the Senator’s. He wasn’t proud to say he’d been keeping tabs, but it was one of the only things that kept his anxiety at bay when it came to her. Unlike with Fives, the bottle didn’t seem to do it. The pair of times he’d taken to finding out what was in the bottom of a bottle of Corellian whiskey he’d found nothing but nightmares and guilt.

Bail gives him a smile as the ship comes in for a landing, the capital of Theed rising up around them, always warm and inviting.

Fox vows to try not to think of seeing Mouse. He breaks it in five minutes.

——

To say Padmé Amidala’s wardrobe was expansive was an understatement. Like saying Coruscant was home to a lot of people.

What had once been an entire guest suite had been turned into a makeshift dressing room and closet for the former queen. Padmé was unapologetic in regards to the sheer amount of clothing she possessed, explaining that it had been expected she never wear the same outfit twice and that, honestly, she just really liked clothes.

It made her more human in Mouse’s eyes, less like the self-possessed politician and more like the young woman she was underneath all the finery.

Mouse supports little Leia’s head as she dozes in the sling across her chest while Padmé does the same, bouncing slightly from side to side on her toes to calm a fussy Luke.

“How about this one?” Padmé questions, pointing to an ornate, layered gown. It reminds Mouse of a confection, fluffy and frosted with layers upon layers of petal pink fabric.

“A bit much for a dinner party? You think?”

Mouse had never had much in the way of fine things, had never really needed them, but when Padmé mentioned that the new Chancellor would be coming and she would really like her to come to the dinner she’d had Mouse help plan, well she really couldn’t say no. Now it was important to find something to wear. It seemed since Padmé was not quite ready to leave the concealing gowns of her early pregnancy behind, Mouse bore the burden of her need to dress and accessorize.

Padmé hums quietly to Luke as he begins to drift off. “You’re probably right. Maybe something a little smaller, more cocktail appropriate?”

Mouse isn’t entirely sure what that entails but she nods in agreement. She’s discovered that even a month and a half postpartum Padmé was still a force to be reckoned with when she got on something. Motherhood hadn’t softened her drive - if anything, it had brought it to new heights as she made plans and strived to make the galaxy a place where her children could grow and thrive.

They’d been spending more time together, Mouse becoming a makeshift mother’s helper while Padmé balanced new motherhood and keeping up with her senatorial duties. Anakin, Padmé had confided, was slow to take to fatherhood and while he seemed to love the twins, he became frustrated easily. He’d increased his visits with the healer, but Padmé wondered if part of it was the loss of Jedi Order. General Kenobi had visited a handful of times since they’d arrived, but Padmé worried it wasn’t the same.

She didn’t mention Sidious but when she spoke of betrayal and upheaval Mouse knew what she spoke of.

She felt bad thinking it, but Mouse wasn’t unhappy with the children’s father’s absence. His nearness to her still left her uncomfortable and remembering the way his eyes had glowed amber and the hate that had been etched into his features as he’d used the force to-

“Remind me again why this is important?” she asks as the new mother begins pulling out more dresses. Mouse works Leia from the sling and cradles her near while she ambles over to her nearby bassinet. Leia was the simpler of the two babies while Luke seemed to require a bit more coddling from his mother. She wondered in the personality differences between the two. She places a thin blanket over the sleeping babe before going back to the pile of dresses that had been laid out.

She holds a deep emerald green dress in front of her and Padme's brows knit together assessingly. “Next,” she chirps as Mouse grabs a blue dress that shimmers in the light flooding through the room's large windows. “Maybe pile. Definitely. Tonight is important because I said it’s important,” Padmé says digging back in the closet. “Obi and Cody arrived earlier this morning.” She glances one more time before sitting on a nearby settee. Luke is awake and beginning to fuss and Padmé quickly works open the front of her dress to allow the hungry infant to nurse. “Have you met General Secura?”

Mouse shakes her head ‘no.’ She’d heard of the twi’lek though and wonders if she might ask her some questions she had. She’d begun sponsoring little Me’kar and wondered what it would take to keep a child of another species in touch with her own heritage if she were to be adopted by a human. Not that she’d been thinking about adoption-

“You’ll like her. Her Commander Bly will be with her. They’re very… close.”

Mouse can read between the lines. Close. Close like she and Fox had been maybe? More so? She’d heard battle forged bonds that were unbreakable, maybe it also could form a love connection that could withstand the burdens of both war and the Jedi’s vows.

She and Fox hadn’t had anything so deep.

She tries the lie on herself again. It still doesn’t sit true. Maybe another hundred times and she’d start believing it.

“The Chancellor will be here in a few hours-“ As Padmé continues to speak, Mouse digs through the pile. A red dress, slick and satin smooth catches her eyes. The skirt feels cool under her fingers. Padmé stops mid sentence as Mouse works it from the pile. The neck is scooped shallow from shoulder to shoulder across where her collar bone would be and a thin golden chain connects the apex of the straps and offers to drape and dip low between her shoulder blades. It would do little to hide the scars on her left arm and shoulder, but Mouse wasn’t self conscious of them the way most would think. Though she could never speak of their true nature she didn't once regret them.

“- seven hells... I forgot about that one. It’s perfect,” Padmé enthuses, again reminding Mouse of truly how close in age they actually were. “Please, pick that one?” Luke grumbles as his mother’s bouncing interrupts his meal. “Hush sweetling,” she soothes.

“It is very pretty.” Mouse hums quietly as she holds the dress in front of her and turns in front of the mirror.

“Some earrings, a pendant maybe… oh a tiara!”

“Earrings will be fine I think.” Mouse can feel her cheeks heating up. Padmé chuckles softly. “What’s so funny?”

“I just realized that color matches the Coruscant Guard colors perfectly. I wonder what Commander Fox will think of it?”

Mouse feels the color drain from her face. Her voice comes out as an ungainly wheeze, “Fox?”

“Yeah, have you met?” Padmé is giving her a wondering look. “He’s not as bad as people make him out to be.”

“Oh- uh- we’ve met.”

“Really?”

There’s a twinkle in the senator’s eye, something that clues Mouse into the fact that the woman in front of her just maybe wasn’t as clueless to the state of her relationship with the Guard Commander as she let on.

“It’ll be nice to catch up or something won’t it?”

Mouse nods. Or something.

——

Fox feels a little cheated. All the times he’d accompanied Senator Amidala to her home world not once had she brought him to the Lake District. The Chancellor looks at home, unswayed by the beauty as he marches through the open halls with confidence. Maybe it was because he was Alderaanian, Fox thinks. He’s never seen the Chancellor’s home but he’d heard its beauty was unrivaled. After taking a glance out the tall transparisteel window looking out directly at one of a half dozen waterfalls he’s sure that it can’t be true.

“Sir? Should we wait for an escort?” Fox asks as Bail takes a sharp turn down another hall.

“No worries, Commander. If I know Padmé she’ll have set up shop in her office. The day is still young and she’ll be hard at work.”

“Sir, she’s just had a baby- two babies. Surely she’ll be taking it easy.”

Bail barks out a very unchancellor like laugh before he levels his eyes at Fox. “If she’s not in her office, I’ll eat my boots for dinner.”

“Laces and all?” Fox can’t help the way the corner of his mouth draws up, though he tries to smother it. Bail raps the back of his knuckles twice across the armor of Fox’s chest before pointing one finger at his face, his own smile broad and for the world to see.

“See, I knew that stick wasn’t as far up your ass as everyone says.”

“Don’t go telling everyone. I’ve got a image to maintain.”

Bail’s bark of laughter echoes down the hall. “And this is why you’re here and not Thire.”

It was new and fascinating to see the Chancellor in this different light, more relaxed than he ever was on Coruscant with its many eyes and wagging tongues. Not for the first time since he’s begun working closely with the Alderaanian, Fox thinks that he truly does enjoy his company.

Fox adjusts his bucket under his arm, hesitates for a moment as to whether he should replace it or continue to carry it. He’s not sure of the proper protocol in this situation. It was one he’d never been prepped for back on Kamino. What was one to do when addressing a senator on maternity leave in her palatial lake house?

He decides to leave it off and immediately wishes he’d put it on as they push through large wooden doors into the senators office. Like everything else, it’s beauty is unimagined. Sumptuous wooden bookcases filled with flimsy tomes fill the shelves, natural light spills in from windows showing off a pristine late afternoon lake with the sun just beginning to set behind the waterfalls surrounding it.

All of that fails to capture his attention because there’s his Mouse swaying gently from side to side smiling down at a cooing baby. Her hair pulled back into a messy bun with tiny tendrils escaping, framing her face in fly-aways.

Karking Naboo could get sucked up by a black hole for all he cares. Mouse is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sun spilling across the room.

She looks so relaxed, so natural cooing to the infant in her arms - until she looks up and catches him staring.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t the look of surprise, her eyes thrown wide before cool indifference washes over her.

This wasn’t a holoromance. She wasn’t going to run into his arms and he wasn’t going to dip her low, kiss her passionately, and promise undying love. Not that he hadn’t thought it in that perfect split second moment of her inattention.

She holds the baby close, protectively as Bail moves to embrace Senator Amidala, herself holding an infant.

“Bail!” The young senator’s smile could light the senate halls for a standard rotation. “It’s so good to see you. I was just finishing up.” Fox pulls his eyes away from Mouse long enough to assess the amount of flimsy and datapads stacked across the senators desk. She was nowhere near done.

“And Commander Fox!”

He startles slightly as the petite force of nature insinuates herself in front of him.

“I’m so glad you could make it. Have you seen Cody yet? I know he was pleased when he heard you’d come.”

Fox shakes his head, his eyes drawing magnetically back to Mouse. He used to be able to read her like one of the flimsy books on the senators shelves but now? Now he doesn’t know what he’s seeing, a whole new language he has no experience translating .

“Commander” she offers after a moment, her voice tight but bright in a forced kind of way, “it’s good to see you. You look well.”

Fox swallows hard. “As do you. I hope your stay has been well?”

The infant in her arms turns and roots against the top of the plain dress she’s wearing and Mouse turns her attention away from him, mumbling some pleasantry dismissively. It feels like a slap in the face.

“I’ve got nothing for you sweet girl.” She hums to the baby who is beginning to make plaintive, angry noises, “Padmé I believe miss Leia is hungry again.”

The senator sighs quietly before moving to swap children. She looks at the two men in her presence. “You’ll have to excuse my children,” she jokes, “they don’t know the meaning of office hours yet.”

Bail gives a hearty laugh. “I’m shocked, with you as their mother.”

“They must get it from their Dad,” she offers cheekily, “Boundaries are not his strong point.” Fox watches as Mouse heads for the door with the other infant.

“I think I’ll go deposit this one in bed. Maybe he’ll get some sleep without his sister pestering him.”

Padmé nods as Mouse leaves and Fox fights the urge to follow after her. Like a child himself, he wants her attention. He runs a hand through his hair roughly as he watches the empty door frame willing her to come back. They could try again, start from scratch. He would put himself on his knees and beg for her forgiveness.

Something angry flares in his chest.

Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard didn’t beg. No, Commander Fox was the man everyone looked to for leadership. He would not beg. He’d stand in front of her and dress her down like one of his petulant kits.

She didn’t get to just walk away from him, give him the cold shoulder. Did she not realize he sacrificed a bit of his soul just to send her here? That the wound it left became a little more infected each day?

No, she probably didn’t. She’d obviously moved on and he was the one that was left idling in the past.

——-

“Bail already knows his way around the estate, obviously.” Padmé laughs. The chancellor had excused himself a short while before and blatantly refused Fox when he’d attempted to follow after.

“I’m an old man,” he’d said though he was nowhere near the age Fox would seem old , “and I need a nap and a holo with my wife, neither of which I need your supervision for.”

That left Fox in the senator’s good company as she led him through various halls to the guest wing. Wonder that! A whole wing set aside for people who didn’t even live there. For a clone who’d spent the better part of his life bunking with dozens of brothers, the thought was beyond what he could comprehend.

Padmé readjusts the baby in her arms not for the first time as they talk.

“I could take the little biter for a few minutes if you’d like.” He offers not thinking she’ll take him up on the offer. Who would let a clone handle a baby that was damn near galactic royalty?

Apparently, Padmé Amidala.

“Oh that would be amazing!” She stops and turns toward him and before Fox really has a clear idea of what’s going on, he’s got an arm full of ik’aad.

Fox freezes for a moment and stares down at the little face staring back at him. Her eyes have a depth, he thinks, far beyond her few months. When he looks back to her mother, the senator is stretching her arms with a contented smile. Leia squirms in his grip.

“Well hello princess” he murmurs softly as he cradles her closer. She offers a gummy yawn in return and Fox is surprised he doesn’t melt into a puddle right there.

Padmé claps quietly. “Oh! You’re a natural!”

Fox gives her a lopsided smile. “She’s a baby, not a thermal detonator.”

When he glances up Fox sees just a flash, a far-off look in the senator's eyes. “You’d be surprised to know not everyone takes to it so easily. Maybe you’re just meant to be a father?”

“Padmé, you know that-“

“Screw the regulations,” she says with a steel to her voice he’s only heard a handful of times, “You’re not a droid. You're not a thing, and if it’s the last thing I do, the Republic will do right by the men we’ve made fight our war.”

Fox raises a brow. “You know, I was going to say it usually requires a partner to have a baby.”

Padmé’s face flushes a pretty shade of pink. “Well at least you know where I stand.”

“With all due respect, I’ve always known where you stood.”

The pair continue down the hall taking a sharp right before Padmé is pointing to a door.

“This one is yours,” she states as Fox begrudgingly passes Leia back to her mother. There was something incredibly soothing about holding the little girl and he misses that feeling the moment she’s gone.

Padmé points at other doors down the hall. “Commander Bly, General Secura, General Kenobi, Marshall Commander Cody…” she rattles off, pointing to a seperate room for each. She does a lousy job of biting back a smile as she points to the last door, conveniently across from his own. “Our little Mouse.”

Fox can’t help but shake his head. “I feel like I’m being set up.”

“You are,” Padmé agrees sagely.

“I regret to inform you, after earlier, I believe that ship has really and truly sailed, hit hyperspace even.”

Padmé gives him a skeptical look before peeking down at her daughter. “Men are the silliest creatures,” she educates the infant before glancing back up at Fox, “but not all of them are lost causes.”

Fox chuffs softly.

“I was once told that the Force controls everything around us,” Padmé says earnestly, “but as I’ve grown I’m not sure that’s true.”

He’ll bite. “Well what mystical force controls our destinies then?”

“Hope, Commander. All life,” she looks down at her daughter, her eyes shining when she looks back up, “is built on hope.”

#fox and mouse #commander fox/reader #commander fox #cc 1010 #tcw #star wars

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cosplayinamerica · 3 years

Photo

Satori Tal-May Baylin (original character) : sno_italever // photo: @greyroamer

Cosplay is for fun and, for some, to grow their skills. It is something that is done to celebrate characters, people, and each other. I truly believe this, but it didn’t start that way.

I started wearing costumes before I could walk, started sewing at 6 years old. My first con was when I was like 12 or 13, wearing kimono my mom made me and my twin, based off of a sewing pattern that was horribly inaccurate looking back at it. Shiny fabric from the ‘oriental’ section and all. I tried my hand at making my own costume, with significant help from my mother, the next year. Chii and Freya from Chobits for my twin and myself.

At that time, my mom mostly made our costumes, and my twin and I helped in whatever way we could. Yet, we wanted to try and compete sometime, to show of our (mom’s) work. We did a skit. A small little thing about twins, based off the Chobits’ lore. We ended up winning best skit when we did. There were only three skits that had competed, yet I was on cloud nine. My twin and I had won something! An accomplishment; look what we did! Gotten a plaque for our skit, which was promptly put up in my mom’s sewing room.

My mom humored us, let us show guests when they came over, let us dress up for trusted friends and show off our ‘work.’ My twin, my mom, and I all shared the little pictures on social media, and we got maybe 5 responses, if that. Yet, to me, I had won the Olympics. I could be successful, someone I was not, I could work on my anxiety and social phobia, and people would like me. I could be popular.

I began crafting more on my own, though still with the heavy help of my mother and sibling. I competed yearly at this little con near us. I wanted to win, thinking it was because I wanted to grow my craft. Really, I just wanted to be famous. I got a rush from strangers telling me I looked good, or my outfit was nicely made. It went to my head, my ego grew.

This only became more problematic as I continued competing, coming to a head when I won best in show at this little con. The outfit I made, Seth Nightroad from Trinity Blood, I made exactly 60% of, since that was the ruling at the time of something you could compete in to win something.

My mom made the other 40%, or at least, I tell myself that. Looking back at it, it was probably gracious of me to say I made 50% of the costume. But you couldn’t deter me, I marched into judging like I had made it by myself. I was in my head, looking amazing and no one could stop me. I knew how to talk the talk (so I thought) and walk the walk. And when I won Best in Show, my friends and complete strangers all crowded around me to congratulate me. I was queen of the world.

I started thinking that, because I had won best in show at this little con, I was in the big leagues. I was still a novice (now, at best I am a journeyman). I bragged, applied to be a judge for a craftmanship contest I had no business being in.

When I got selected simply because all the other judges except one had dropped out, I thought it was truly because I was qualified, not because I was the only one left within a short distance who could get to the competition in time. I knew my stitches, my craft, after all, what else did you need? This ego continued for years. I still struggle with it. I have since stopped competing.

Cosplay was supposed to be fun, a way for me to build my confidence, work on my anxiety, increase my ability to converse and engage. Instead, I grew into a monster. I wanted to be famous, popular, and nothing else. It was a toxic environment I grew into. I am still working on finding what drives me. I have tried to fix the friendships I have lost, tried to regain respect but I also realize now the damage I caused by getting so wrapped up in the want to win. It’s a long time coming and I am working on getting out of the toxic mindset of “cosfame.” One way I have done this is making outfits of original characters.

Satori Baylin, an original character of mine and my twins, was how I started over. She was a labor of love and a way to focus on my skills and not the want to be popular. I still get a kick, that high, when people compliment me about the craftsmanship or details, but it is a costume I cannot compete in. It forces me to step back and focus on those who helped me get that far. Satori’s first gown I made almost entirely on my own. She was the first time I made armor. First time with organza. First time silk painting. First actual prop. First time really styling a wig. But even with all those firsts, I could not have gotten there alone.

Satori also sports wings and ears from a wing seller, a custom cloak that I got at ren faire, a coworker of mine made me hair fancies. She is a group project, spanning almost 5 years (10 if you count when my twin first commissioned an art piece of her for me). Satori is a labor of love, made only for me and no one else. She belongs with no fandom, she has no reference art that I could submit for craftsmanship, but she does what cosplay should do. She empowers me, allows me to grow in my craft and allow me a talking point, a safe high without falling back into the pageantry. It still comes, I still act entitled, elitist, but I am becoming able to step back. To step away. To listen to those around me. To know it is okay to buy something, wear someone else’s costume and just enjoy myself. To see I am there to just dress up and have fun, not do it solely to win.

I have a lot more growing to do. I cannot do it alone. I hope, now more than ever, that I will continue to learn, to take time to dress for myself and not for the likes. Cosplay is empowerment. Cosplay is a tool. I just must wield it the right way.

First Photo (2018)

Photo: @greyroamer Wig: @ardawigs Westly Classic and XL clip in extension classic in dark blue. Gown pattern: @fireflypath Ranger pattern (simplicity pattern 8363)

Last Photo (2020)

Photo: @karamelphotography Wings and ear fancies: @glimmerfaecreations Staff mentor: @skybulletcp Wig: @ardawigs Westly CLASSIC and extra long hair clip in dark blue. Outfit pattern by @fireflypath, the simplicity pattern fantasy ranger 8363.

#cosplay #cosplay interview #Original Character #OC cosplay

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jungcity · 4 years

Text

love, eternal. | iv

genre: reincarnation!au, fallen angel!au

[supernatural-ish, angst, use of blunts and intoxicants, extra asshole jaehyun, smut, vulgar words]

pairing: jung jaehyun x reader

words: 9k

notes: it’s been really hard for me to write these past few days. i don’t know if i’m writing sense into this fic. but i do hope that you enjoy this chapter! please leave some feedbacks (bad or good is appreciated! :) ) it would really mean a lot to me! thank you so much! also, this chapter is unedited, so forgive the errors xx

part i | part ii | part iii | part v

“There is a halo in your mouth

and I like how it burns.”

— Sincerely, Joanna

You lay in bed awake, the kiss you shared with Jaehyun occupying almost all the space in your brain. Tugging on your hair, you forced yourself to sleep and not let yourself drown into the feeling— for the kiss still lingers on your lips, making your chest swell in unbelievable happiness.

The dinged of your phone pulled you out of your fantasy, you grabbed it from the nightstand and saw Soojin’s name displayed on the notification panel.

[Are u ok? R u home?]

You typed in your answer, squinting from the brightness of the screen.

[Yes. I’m home. U?]

But before you decided to keep your phone, Yuta’s caller ID flashed on the screen. A frown slid past your lips, then you slide the red button. You currently do not have the energy to deal with anyone. But you at least owe Soojin a message to let her know that you’re home safe.

You stare at the ceiling, the image of Jaehyun flashing into the white color above. Jaehyun’s lips tasted of tequila and mint— so soft against yours. Out of all the boys that you’ve kissed in your lifetime, the one you shared with Jaehyun stood amongst others. Yes, you’ve kissed boys when you were drunk or sober, but none of their kisses made you feel light yet heavy— like you were flying and drowning at the same time. It thrilled you to the bones. You subconsciously touched your lips just to feel it one last time, and just to prove yourself that it happened. Jaehyun kissed you, and you kissed him back.

The realization of how happy you were of the experience blows your mind, and that how the touch of his lips felt like a distant memory. The caress of his lips, so familiar you started to wonder if you’d ever kiss him before.

But that’s impossible, right?

Dreaming again? The voice inside you asked.

You stare at the queen size four poster bed. Roaming your eyes around the room, you saw a vanity resting at the corner in front of the gothic-styled windows, and a dresser probably bigger than the bathroom you have home is located on the side.

The thick red curtains drapes down, their edges touching the tiled floor. You spotted a vintage hand mirror on the nightstand, the glass reflecting that of a moonstone you wonder if it’s used to mirror things or just a mere display. Shrugging, you placed it back and sat on the bed.

Your butt slightly sunk into the soft mattress, allowing a soft gasp to escape your lips. The mattress was so inviting, you laid on the pillows, and the same happened to your head— it also sunk in the cushion. You could sleep forever if you wished to. For there was no one in the whole room but you.

A sudden tardiness hugged your body whole as you lay still, your mind blank from everything. Not even the kiss you shared with Jaehyun could make you think of something other than the comfort of the room. You wonder who could be the owner of such a classic and magnificent room. He or she must be sophisticated to have owned such grandiose space. Despite the somnolence, you compelled yourself to stand. The room felt suddenly eerie because of its vastness. You would’ve shivered if not for the sunlight that’s infiltrating it through the glass windows.

Roaming your eyes for the second time around, your vision caught sight of the small veranda attached to the room, making you realized that it must be located on the top floors of a house. You pulled yourself up, the cold tiled floor biting on your soles. Barefooted, you walked to the veranda, night dress swaying in every step.

Vast green fields greeted you as you pushed the door open. Tall trees standing here and there with thick foliages. There was one who bends on the veranda: making everything looked like a Romeo and Juliet’s scene.

There was an easel supporting a finished canvas. Paintbrushes and different oil pigments sat atop a table beside it. A separate table with teacups and spoons resides in the nearest corner with two chairs around it.

Everything seems like a fairytale. The whole place felt so removed from the loudness of the society. A dream you once had as a child; serenity, with only your canvas, paintbrushes and pigments beside you. Now here it is, and it felt so real, kindling an ember inside you it could start a fire. You inhaled.

You stepped closer to the canvas. The hues of it being illuminated by the sunlight made everything so marvelous. It was bright, it was alive, and it feels like your own.

“Fallen angel,” you breathed.

It was an angel, falling from the heavens. Wings splayed, like he forgot how to use them and blend with the wind. The artwork gave the impression of an unending fall. His eyes had that horror of being banished, yet when you look at the wholeness of his face, you saw the fury that lies within.

“It is indeed a fallen angel,”

You jumped and turned around to greet the voice. Heart hammering against your chest, you saw a pretty woman standing behind you. Hair black as the night, eyes as the blue of the skies— she’s the one you saw in your reflection in the mirror. How?

“I am Aurora,” She extended her hands. You looked at her outstretched hands before reluctantly taking it with your hands and shaking it. It was so soft. No callouses could be felt.

“I am… Y/N.”

Aurora smiled. You’ve never seen someone as beautiful except for Jaehyun. She looked like a goddess ready to bring peace in to the Earth. Her smooth steps enthralled you, every move of her feet towards the canvas is like a silent wave of the waters in the ocean.

“This is unfinished.”

Her voice. It could lull any crying children to sleep; so soft, so serene.

“Really? What could be missing?”

You both stare at it and you noticed that your dresses are similar to each other.

“A tear.” She smiled at you. “Will you do the honors of completing it for me?”

Even if you don’t understand a single thing, specially her favor, you nodded. What could possibly be the reason of her asking for you if she could paint it on her own? And as if she heard the voices in your mind, she turned to you.

“I… don’t have the ability to finish it anymore.”

There was sadness in her eyes which quickly reflected on you. Almost like you feel what she currently feels. So you grab the paintbrush and started to dip it on the pigments. With Aurora guiding you, she pointed where exactly to put the tear. You oblige and started painting it.

“It’s don…e.”

Where is Aurora? You searched for her with your keen eyes, but there wasn’t any trace to tell you where did she possibly go. The door is silent, a proof that no one pushed it. All that you could hear is the rustling of winds against the leaves.

You longed to touch the canvas, to feel the bumpiness of the paint against it. Hair’s breadth away, you suddenly curled your finger. It was so perfect that you’d feel ashamed to taint it with your hands, even though you touched it with brushes, it feels wrong to let your hand feel it. So you look and look at it until you drank all the details in, with a promise to recreate it once you wake up.

Three knocks, those were the sounds that woke you up out of slumber. You heard the muffled voice of your sister against the door that’s separating you from the life outside.

“There’s a delivery for you,” said she, voice a bit louder for you to hear. You told her you’re awake, and that you’d just compose yourself so she should entertain the delivery personnel for a minute.

Delivery? You rack your brain of anything, thinking of the last thing you purchased online. And that is a new drawer to keep your art materials in place.

With a creased brow, you swiftly tied your hair while still thinking of what could the delivery be. Then the realization slowly hit you, your eyes widened and you ran outside, abandoning your hair half tied into a bun.

“Good morning, miss.” The delivery boy greeted, a soft smile on his lips.

“G-good morning,” You stuttered, heart rumbling.

“We’re here to deliver the painting purchased by Mr. Jung. Is he around?” He was still smiling, eyes roaming around the living room, searching for a man who isn’t there.

You composed yourself by breathing in and out, silently wishing that Jaehyun has already handled the shipping fee.

“He’s not around. But can I… can I receive the parcel for him?” You asked, surprised that you’ve said the sentence without stuttering.

It would cause a lot of trouble if you tell them that you mistyped the address on the mail you sent their company, so it’s best that you accept the package instead of asking them to deliver it to Jaehyun’s house. And you’re certain Jaehyun would kill you one or another.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. But yes you can, Ma’am. Just show us your valid ID so we can tell Mr. Jung that one of his relatives accepted the parcel,”

You nodded at him and walked back to your room to gather your ID. He must’ve thought that Jung Jaehyun is living in this small apartment and that you’re one of his family members. The thought almost made you laugh and you scoff. Relative? I’m not even a friend, you mumbled.

You handed him the ID then he wrote your name on some paper and on the horizontal line at the end of a separate paper he’s laid on the table. He handed you the pen, then you wrote your signature above the name. He tipped his cap, walked back to the delivery vehicle and when he came back, he’s carrying an average sized parcel. By the looks of it, you bet the canvas is of the standard size. You guided him towards the sofa, where he laid the parcel carefully.

“Thank you,” You smiled, which he answered with the same gesture, tipping his cap again and bidding his goodbyes.

“What is that?” Yuqi asked, scrutinizing the parcel with a mug of hot chocolate on one hand. Sighing, you slumped in one of the sofas, covering your face with your hands.

“I’m seriously fucked up,” You told her.

“Why? What happened?”

“That is the parcel which was supposed to be delivered to Jung Jaehyun’s. Not here. I mistyped the address because of my agitation by Yuta’s arrival,”

“That jerk really couldn’t do anything right, could he?”

Yuqi was still a baby teen when she met Yuta, but her blood did not settle good in him. She warned you about her gut feelings towards him— that he’s bad news who’d shatter your heart in pieces. Guess what, in her young age, she was right.

“He even punched Jaehyun,”

“Wow! The audacity! Jaehyun could literally throttle him,” Yuqi stated, a scoff leaving her lips.

“Jaehyun did not fight back. Brawling with Yuta must’ve seemed so pathetic to him.”

“I guess so. Rich bachelors like him does not indulge themselves to useless—”

Your phone rang all the way to the room, making you jump in your seat and literally dive for it in your drawers. Jaehyun is calling. You gulped and pray before sliding the green button.

“The fuck is this, Y/N?! One job! You had one job! And you couldn’t even do it right!”

By his shouting, you pulled your phone away from your ear. You could see the veins in his forehead protrude in your mind, adding more to your anxiety.

“I’m—”

He breathed, “I don’t need your apology.” Then paused, “Deliver that here in thirty-minutes, or else…” He breathed again, and you swear your knees started to wobble. “You know what’d happen,”

Then he hang up. You hugged your phone to your chest, recollecting the sanity Jaehyun kicked out of your body. He couldn’t expect you to arrive in his penthouse in thirty-minutes when it’s literally one hour away from your house. But he’s Jung Jaehyun, and he always gets what he wants. It doesn’t matter how you get there, you just need to get there. Thirty-minutes, you dashed for the bathroom. Half an hour isn’t even enough to scrub your body clean. Dissatisfied from the five-minute bath, you rapidly put things in your bag and settled for a hoodie and pants.

Nice, twenty-minutes left. You didn’t even have any time to dry your hair, so you comb it on the way to the bus stop with the parcel tucked in your arms. It wasn’t as heavy as you’d expected it would be, but nonetheless, it was tiring to carry it all the way to the bus stop. Luckily, there’s already a bus waiting when you get there. You climbed on to the vehicle and made yourself comfortable by listening to some music.

It’s impossible to reach his place in less than twenty-minutes. So you disregard his death threats and think about something else. And that something else is the kiss you shared. Your heart suddenly made a jump, realizing that you’re going to Jaehyun’s house. The awkwardness settled in your bones, and the fact that you’ve never been there made you wary. You have no idea what to expect; a model walking out of his house?

Jaehyun doesn’t seem really interested in the opposite sex, but then he kissed you, ravenously. You blushed at the memory of him trying to suck the breath out of you.

The hotel where his penthouse is located loomed over you. You gasped while trying to see the peak of it, so high it made your nape hurt a little. And you frowned by the realization that you need to carry the parcel all the way to the top where his penthouse is located. Blowing out air from your mouth, you walked inside the hotel.

You stare at the canvas resting beside you while you stand in the elevator, wondering what kind of art it is. You’ve never taken Jaehyun to be fond of the arts, but here he is, proving your impressions wrong again. Coincidentally, you’ve also dreamed about a painting. Its memory already printed in your mind that your finger itch to start drawing it.

You stepped outside once the elevator door dinged, carrying the parcel in your hand. There was a single door at the end of the hallway. You have no idea how to tell Jaehyun that you’re already outside, and you don’t want to risk pushing the buttons and scanners in his door, so you sent him a text message instead, hoping that he wasn’t too busy to glance at it.

The door opened, but there was no one who greeted you. Automatic doors? Can’t relate, you whispered to yourself. You pushed the door wider, peeking your head on to the space. The whole house is as silent as a mausoleum. One word to describe the interiors? Magnificent. An expensive looking bachelor pad for a bachelor such as Jung Jaehyun. Everything in sight seems so modernized yet minimal. The hues of the furnitures blends in well with the color of the floor and walls. The ceiling is also high, and of course, a floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

You stepped your foot inside, expecting Jaehyun to appear in the corner to throttle you of your incompetence. Shaking the bad thoughts away, you completely entered the penthouse.

“Sir?” You called against the emptiness of it.

“Jaehyun! Faster!”

Chills ran down your whole body as you heard something erotic. It isn’t what you think it is, right? But the scattered clothes splayed on the sofas and floors told you that it is indeed what you think it is. Another grunt echoed of the whole floor, then a scream followed it. You couldn’t move your body. Maybe you wanted to run, or you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Because, Jesus Christ, you couldn’t stand and watch a live porn!

The moans and the grunts halted. And you still stood there, palms sweating with your forehead despite the ventilations.

“You’re here,”

“Holy mother of rectangles!” You jumped, your hand flying to your chest.

“I said thirty minutes,” Jung Jaehyun stated while leaning on the door frame with a glass of liquor in hand. He’s wearing a thin white long-sleeves, its fabric clinging on to his sweat beaded body, accentuating his chest and muscles. You thank God that he’s wearing pajamas, because let’s be honest, you’re not ready to see a limp dick today. God really do have mercy.

A girl slid her hands around Jaehyun’s chest. Despite her bedraggled hair, she is much fully clothed— maybe the clothes on the floors all belongs to Jaehyun. But you’re sure you’ve seen a female underwear— so the girl is not wearing her panties inside that body-fitted dress? You gulped down the thoughts. People could be really wild sometimes.

Wet, sloppy kisses filled the whole floor. You could only assume that the girl was giving open-mouthed kisses to Jaehyun’s back.

“Until next time baby,” She cooed, grabbing his crotch— grabbing his crotch?!— in front of you. She made it seem like there’s nobody standing there with them. You wanted to gag, but there was something in Jaehyun’s eyes as he looked at you while the girl literally shoved her hand inside his pajamas, doing God-knows-what with his penis.

The intensity of his stare suddenly makes it harder for you to breath. You felt something in your stomach uncurl as Jaehyun’s mouth slightly parted by the pleasure he’s currently feeling. Run, damn it. But your body felt leaden and you couldn’t move your feet. As much as you wanted to deny it, Jaehyun’s pleasured face made you feel hot all over. To your face down and in between your legs.

If the girl doesn’t stop giving Jaehyun a handjob, and if Jaehyun, himself, wouldn’t stop staring at you with that gaze, your knees would absolutely collapse any time soon. And as if Jaehyun saw your predicament, he pushed the girl away.

“See you soon,” Jaehyun muttered. Then the girl leaned forward, giving his neck a sloppy kiss.

You tucked the strands of you hair behind your ear, suddenly embarrassed of letting yourself watch the little scene that unfolded before you. The sound of heels echoed everywhere when the girl walked past, completely ignoring your whole existence. Like you didn’t just see her give your boss a handjob.

Jaehyun walked towards you while drinking the liquor in one go. Eyebrow already raised as he stood face to face with you. You didn’t meet his gaze, for the fear that he might see how flustered you were right now. And you didn’t want to give him any satisfaction of knowing that you were affected of his little foreplay exhibit.

You cleared your throat then offered him the parcel, “Here.”

He pointed the sofa with his lips. You have no other choice but to oblige. Heaviness tried to pull on your feet as you walked to the sofa, your nerves still in a frenzy as you lay the parcel above the cushion.

Jaehyun was still standing behind you, watching you like a prey he’s not sure whether to kill or to let go. Either way, you forced your feet to move, and walked past him. You have no more business to do for him, and you badly wanted to go home. The scene the two of them made in front of you is enough to knock your consciousness and put you in a coma. And maybe you’d need a dextrose full of holy water to cleanse your body.

He stopped you by holding your arm, “Where are you going?”

You deadpanned, “Home.”

“The kitchen is there. Make me something to eat,” He pointed with his finger, with the hand still holding the empty glass.

You stared at him, not believing his words. He didn’t just order you to make him food when he literally made some random girl give him a handjob while you’re watching, right? What kind of drug is he inhaling? You badly want to try some. Just to become as detached as him.

“It’s Sunday, Jaehyun.” You reminded him, dropping all the professionalism to make him remember that he couldn’t boss you around outside of work. And that he should probably head inside a church and cleanse his soul of anything ungodly lurking within. But of course, you didn’t say that.

“Don’t make me repeat it again.” He warned, then walked back to his room, leaving you irritated. To do what, you have no idea— maybe he’ll jer— okay, calm down Y/N.

There’s no point making sense with Jung Jaehyun. The man thinks he owns everything and everyone around him. He’s standing on a pedestal higher than your own height. You know you can’t argue with people like that. So you trekked the direction Jaehyun motioned earlier, and then you found the kitchen. It’s a U-shaped kitchen with an island on the center. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the tall buildings outside.

You placed your bag above the island, then you sauntered up to the two-door refrigerator. Of course, even his refrigerator screams ‘rich’, full of goods you bet he doesn’t even try to cook nor eat. You grabbed something that is easy to cook— eggs. Maybe you’ll make a soufflé egg, or a pancake— or maybe a meal that he could eat until dinner. Then you shook your head and reminded yourself not to be frustrated over what he wants. He’s a grown ass man, he could take care of himself.

Yes, he’s a grown ass man who could definitely take care of himself. But here you are, cooking soy garlic chicken for him. Jaehyun was still nowhere to be found, giving your head at least the peacefulness it deserves.

You pondered about what happened earlier. A girl moaning inside his room, then that girl giving him a handjob in front of you. The realization of him kissing another girl after he kissed you hit home. It shouldn’t even hurt you, but it did. Does he badly wants to rub your kiss off his lips? Of course it was a mistake, you know that. But it didn’t feel wrong to you.

What is wrong with me?

You calmed yourself by drinking a glass of cold water, forcing to forget everything like how you forced to swallow the cold liquid. But you know that’s impossible. You couldn’t just forget a kiss like that.

To keep your mind off things, you decided to make a coffee for Jaehyun. The chicken is all ready, but he still locked up on his room. He should really give you a large bonus for your effort of dressing his breakfast plate. You laid all the food in the dining table: soufflé eggs, vegetable salad, hotdogs, soy garlic chicken, rice, and his coffee.

Jaehyun showed up the same moment you gathered your bag to go. He’s wearing fresh clothes on: black shirt with a new and clean sweatpants, hair still wet and his face looking refreshed. Obvious that he just got out of shower. You stopped yourself from asking what could be his skincare routine when you remembered that rich people like him doesn’t need one.

He eyed the foods laid on his dinner table, you’re sure it’s his first time seeing that many dishes for his breakfast. Did you overdo it? The sudden thought of making an effort for him made you blush. You’ve never cooked food for someone other than your mother and Yuqi before. The reality of doing it for the first time for someone— let alone a man— flustered you.

“I left some of the chicken in the oven, you can heat it up later for dinner. Eat well.” You started to walked away, but he grabbed you again when you trudge past him.

You inhaled, closing your eyes. What is it again? Somehow, being this close to him made you feel lightheaded. Because of what? You don’t know and you don’t want to know. The mere touch of his fingers could send electric bolts in your whole body and you didn’t like the way he makes you nervous just by being near.

“What more do you want, Jaehyun?” You snapped.

He doesn’t let go of your hand when he said, “Aside from sipping a nice and warm coffee, maybe I want you to bend over this very table so I can fuck you raw,”

Jesus Christ. The next thing you heard was a loud slap of skin to skin. You stare at him, dumbfounded with a stinging palm. His cheeks turned ruddy by the contact.

His head was still in a sideway position when he smirked. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears, so loud and so frantic you thought you’d go deaf.

“Do you… do you really want a lawsuit filed against you, Jaehyun?” Surprisingly, your voice box is still working on your throat.

If Jaehyun could laugh because of your statement, he would. But he only stared at you as if you’re the whole circus.

“I’d like to see you try, chérie.”

The caress of his voice made your skin prickle. You dared stare at his eyes, into those dark orbs no one could ever read. Hatred that no one could quenched stared back at you, with the intensity of the storm that lies within fueling it. Convoluted as it was, the hatred isn’t meant for you. It’s more like a tattoo, permanent in his eyes. But hatred isn’t the only thing that was reflected in those eyes— there was something else: desire. You shivered. In defiance of the hate that’s showing vehemently on his irises, you couldn’t deny that Jaehyun’s beauty is not of this world. With his face looking ethereal like that, he could be a deity.

“I’m… going.” You gulped down saliva, trying to salve your thundering heart. He did not say anything, not a word when you turned your back on him and walked away.

But you could swear you felt him looking at your retreating back all the way to the door.

—

Jaehyun stared at the foods lay before him on the table. Unable to process why did you cook so many. He palmed his cheek before sitting, feeling like a thousand ant is crawling on his skin, the others biting. It was well-deserved though, for being so callous of his words. Yet the words that came out of his mouth was not a joke, just ended up lecherous. And the emotion on your face while you watch Mina giving him a handjob flashed in his mind without warning.

There and there, in your spot, with your innocent doe eyes trying not to run from the scene made something in him twitch. But your expression was so priceless— forcing yourself to not give up any emotion as you watch them. It made him feel hotter, hornier even. That if he could pushed Mina away and grabbed you just to kiss you as he did in your living room yesterday night, he would. Yet a force inside him locked him in place, reminding him that the kiss you shared was nothing but the result of his impulsive ass.

He tried to erase it, you know. He tried to erase your soft lips— tasting of everything sweet against the cruelty etched in his— but he couldn’t. The way you kissed him back made him mad— mad at himself for enjoying it, mad at his heart for feeling something familiar. A familiarity he buried together with Aurora.

He tried to shake it off by grabbing the hips of the unfamiliar girl underneath him, sure it’s going to leave bruises. Her fake squealing and moaning filled the whole house, but it didn’t even reach the emptiness inside him. So unlike the brief kiss you shared that sparked the fire long smoldered in his system.

He fucked her ‘til you arrived, just to let you know that what you shared was wrong. Not because he didn’t want it— heck, if he could claim you here and there, he would— but because he couldn’t taint another human being with the evil inside him. And he couldn’t afford to go down the path of trying to be good, just to be reminded that he’s not. And never will be.

What he felt for you, he couldn’t quite understand. When he sees you, he feels excited— alive even. And he’s certain Aurora would’ve cried of happiness if she knew he’s feeling something towards another girl again, after so many fucking years. After all, it was her wish before she blew out her last breath. For him to never forget love, instead cherish it. Hold on to it. Because it was salvation, she said. Yet Jaehyun couldn’t still believe it, if it was salvation, why does it feel punishment? Because it is a punishment, you fool, he whispered to himself.

He thanked his phone ringing of saving him into his thoughts. The name Johnny Seo displayed in the screen. He slide the green button, turning it on speakers.

“Bastard,”

“Puppy,” He reared back. Johnny is an alpha, and calling him puppy always raged him. Which is why Jaehyun branded him the name, to piss him off.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?” The wolf retaliated. Jaehyun nodded, taking a bite of his food.

“Anyways, you do know that my birthday is in four days, right? Or you don’t?”

Jaehyun could even see Johnny’s brow rising.

“I don’t. Birthdays are dramatic,” He prattled.

“Yes, because you don’t have one dickhead.” Johnny laughed.

If Jaehyun was an emotional wreck of an angel, he would’ve been hurt. But it’s the truth. He doesn’t celebrate birthdays because he doesn’t have one. He came into this world without going through the process of a mother’s pregnancy. But Johnny, and his whole pack of wolf has, being that they were all human once. Chaelin is the only one who shares the same struggle as him.

When Jaehyun didn’t bother to say anything, Johnny continued his sentence. “I’m celebrating it here, of course, in London.”

So the bastard is in London, Jaehyun whispered in his mind.

“You better go or else I’m pulling out my share in your company.” Johnny threatened. He would’ve laugh. Jaehyun is richer than all of Johnny and his pack of wolf’s riches combined. But he’s already planning to go to London for business, and he thought seeing how his comrades are faring with life every now and then isn’t a bad idea.

“I’m coming,”

“Come in my stomach then,” Johnny laughed.

It took Jaehyun a second to realize the joke. “Damn you, Seo.”

Johnny continued to laugh. Jaehyun attempted to pressed the red button when Johnny said something that perked his ear.

“Bring Y/N. Everyone will go. Including Taeyong’s clan and Doyoung’s group of warlocks.” — He said your name like you’re a friend— “Say I’m inviting her. I’ll handle her ticket, I know it’d hurt your ego to handle a pretty lady’s fare.”

“Shut the fuck up Seo, she’s not coming with me.” Jaehyun stated in a clipped tone. The thought of you meeting Johnny’s pack and Taeyong’s clan made his temper boil. At least you’re safe with Doyoung and the other warlocks if ever.

“Shall I call her myself then? She does not need to fly with you. She could arrive first, your choice.”

Jaehyun knows Johnny has his ways to contact you despite not knowing your number. And he couldn’t think straight of the possibility of you flying alone to London. Without him by your side.

“No, she’s my secretary. It’s just right that she flies with me.”

“You’re one hell of a complicated douchebag, Jung J—”

Jaehyun pressed the red button, not letting Johnny finish his sentence. Then he continued to eat, the thought of you going to London with him making him zestful than usual.

Then he remembered the forgotten canvas lying on his sofa. He stood up immediately and dashed to the living room only to slow down when he’s near. Heart thudding against his chest, a reminder that Aurora still have a part of him wrapped around her fingers.

He sat and stare at the parcel for a whole five-minutes. Readying himself to see the canvas inside that he knows too well— like the back of his hand. He grabbed it and slowly tear the thick carton wrapped in it.

Every inch of color sending bolts in his body. The familiar feeling of the canvas in his palms taking the breath out of him. He continued to tear the carton until nothing is left wrapped up around the art.

There it is. Aurora’s painting. In his hands. After so many years, he finally found the courage to stare at it. And the feeling is overwhelming. It’s overwhelming to see his own self, painted in the canvas made by the girl he loved more than life itself.

Of course Aurora knew.

Of course she knew that he was The Fallen.

And she never once judged him. Unlike all the people in the world, Aurora never turned her back on him despite knowing the truth.

That’s why his world crumbled for the second time when she died,— the only person who understood that Lucifer, himself, also needed love— slipping away from his fingers.

The art was wonderfully preserved, with only little to no dents. The pigments weren’t as bright as he remembers, but it’s the art of Aurora nonetheless.

His wings, the glowing of it intelligently captured by her. It made his lips slightly bend into a smile. But it quickly receded when he noticed something on the face. A detail he doesn’t remember noticing when he first saw the canvas one hundred years ago. A… tear?

It was so small, but it’s surely not a dent. For when he looked at it, the pigment stared right back at him.

—

You feel like shit when you came back home. It felt like you trekked a whole mountain from the unrest that you feel inside. Your bones feel heavy, your eyes too. And you blame Jaehyun and that girl for it. Her face, and her lips pressed into Jaehyun’s skin made you unexpectedly irritated. The mere thought of her sleeping on his bed made everything worse than it is.

Sure, she’s maybe a supermodel, or an actress, or an influential person and you’re just a secretary barely hanging on to life— but you could feel that the bond you have with Jaehyun is more meaningful than what they possibly have. Hearing yourself prattle about your vexation towards the girl and your boss, you tugged on your hair. You’re saying nonsense, Y/N. Of course, you and Jaehyun do not have any ‘bond’ to begin with and—

“Are you okay?” Yuqi looked up from her notes to you.

At her words, you realized that you’re already standing in the living room.

“Of-of course,” You blinked.

Yuqi shook her head, “Yes, Jaehyun and you do not have any bond. What else?” She teased.

Oh, so you said the words aloud. Your cheeks heated by Yuqi’s teasing. She’s just caught you thinking about your boss, and heard you blathering nonsense in the air.

Frustrated by everything, you decided to just paint something. The canvas from your dream begging to be recreated. You changed your clothes and readied your materials. Luckily, there’s a remaining canvas resting at the corner of your room, slightly smaller than the one in your dream but that could do.

You tied your hair in a messy bun before securing your canvas on to the easel, placing it facing the only window you have in your room. Light filters through, but not hot enough to make you wince. The weather is perfect with the sun hiding in the thick clouds.

Making yourself comfortable on the stool, you grabbed the canvas again. Hugging it onto the crook of your arm and tracing lines here and there to make the shape of the falling angel. The passion burning in your fingers prevented you from taking a rest, albeit your neck is starting to freeze and cramp.

Craning your neck left to right, you stare at the sketch. You couldn’t proclaim that it’s the same as your dream for the lack of colors it has, so you started to mixed oil pigments, with the hues of the painting from your dreams being your guide. You mixed blues for the skies, whites for the angel’s silk robe wrapped in his waist, blacks, reds, and oranges for the smoldering wings. But the one color you’ve had a hard time figuring out is the iridescence coating his wings. You needed your phone to search how to mix colors that’d look gleaming against the canvas. In the midst of your search, you’ve found out knowledge beyond what you expected.

Lucifer was God’s favorite angel. You could see it in his wings— for it glows unlike any other angels.

So, the painting must be an interpretation of Lucifer? You wondered.

Shiver like no other covered your body, the divine knowledge sipping in your mind. Because of that, you became more eager to finish the canvas. After mixing a lot of pigments and trying it to different papers, you’ve finally succeeded in making a glowing color. You laid the small jar on your study table, careful not to spill a drop, and continued to paint all around the sketch.

Yuqi called for you to dinner, the only time you allowed yourself to rest. You straightened your back and massaged your palms, numb from all the drawings and paintings you did. Before departing your room, you stare at the canvas. It’s not even halfway through, so you couldn’t make out the result in your head yet. You supposed you can continue painting it once you have the time, since it’s obvious that you wouldn’t be able to finish it today despite wanting to.

“What’s that you’re working on? Commission?” Yuqi asked as she swallowed a spoonful of ramen soup.

“Nope. Just… had an idea.”

Still, you remained quiet about your dreams. Not that anyone could understand them. You couldn’t decipher them yourself. And you know it’s best to keep them a secret for now.

Your phone lit up in the corner of the table, a text had just arrived. While munching on your food, you slid it open.

[We’re heading to London in three days. Send me your infos. Got it covered. Don’t ask too much questions.]

You forcefully swallowed your food, not wanting your mouth to spit it. Throat tightening, you drank a glass of water.

“What is it?” Yuqi asked, patting your back and peeking on the screen. “London?!” She exclaimed upon reading the message. You could only nod.

Jaehyun told you to book him a flight to London. It never occurred to you that he needed you to accompany him. The thought of flying to London with him gave you the good kind of goosebumps. But you didn’t allow your emotions to get the best of you. You typed in a reply.

[Okay, Sir. E-mailing it to you now.] But you really wanted to type in all-caps and make sure that you’re really coming with him.

You’re not certain you could get enough sleep tonight.

—

Days went on in a blur, and now you find yourself seated across Jaehyun in a first class plane. You decided not to move much, for you don’t have any idea how should you act around. Jaehyun does not spare you any glance at all. He’s reading a book for an hour now, completely ignoring your presence.

But before you got on the plane, he told you the real reason of bringing you with him after days of not telling you. Johnny’s birthday is tomorrow, and he invited you. The mere thought of him remembering you as you are and not as Jaehyun’s secretary warmed your heart. Unfortunately, you couldn’t buy an expensive watch or necktie for him so you sticked to what you do best— drawing. You drew him for days, leaving the other canvas you’re working on in the corner of your room. You could only hope that Johnny would like the gift.

Many things agitated you the whole hours that you’re sitting or leaning on your seat. Like, what would you wear? It’s not like you could wear your uniform in there. And you have no money to buy a dress. The money you have in your wallet is only enough to buy you, Yuqi, and Soojin souvenirs. As for Yuta, after days of trying to contact you and bombarding your phone with text messages, he finally gave up. You still haven’t had the guts to talk to him about his and Jaehyun’s brawl. Jaehyun never opened the conversation to you, too.

There’s many things that he does not try to address to you; the kiss, the little scene he made on his own house, and his comment about your soy garlic chicken. Yes, you bloody want him to say at least something about the food you prepared. But days had passed, no words came out of his mouth. He’s back to being the most cold-hearted man yet again.

You shifted on your seat, trying to rest your eyes. Jaehyun said there’s still three hours remaining before you land— the only thing he’s said to you. Clearing your mind off your thoughts, you close your eyes. This time, there’s no dream that accompanied the void in you.

You felt a nudge in your arm, Jaehyun’s voice looming around you, waking you up. The sting in your eyes hit the moment you opened them, squinting against the light around you. You noticed a small blanket wrapped around you, not remembering the moment you wrapped yourself in it.

“That… is the attendant’s doing.” Jaehyun pointed out, staring at you. And honestly? He didn’t need to do that. You know his personality too well to even assume that he’s the one who did it.

“We’re landing in five minutes,”

—

You arrived in Ridgemount Hotel after a hectic ride on a limo rented by Jaehyun, himself. Hectic because none of you uttered a word, your mouth has gone dry and jetlag kicked it the moment you stepped inside. You couldn’t even bring yourself to read something for the pulsating ache in your head.

Jaehyun’s hotel room is located across from you. Of course, he would prefer to spend a lot of money that to be wise and stay with you to the same room. Not that it matters to you, anyway. You’re definitely alright being your own specie in your room.

You have no idea how long did you sleep the jetlag away. There were no messages from Jaehyun when you opened your phone. You guessed he’s also getting some rest for the party tomorrow now that will be celebrated at Guildhall. The moment Jaehyun told you the venue, your eyes almost fell from its sockets. You only see Guildhall when you browse the web for medieval halls in London, and now you’ll get there tomorrow evening. The excitement is unbearable. You could literally jump from happiness. But a loud knock on the door stopped you from flinging yourself on the soft mattress.

“Hi!”

“Ms. Chaelin?”

The woman is smiling at you, wearing a white cardigan with a large belt wrapped around her waist. What is she doing here?

“Come in!” You said, letting her precede you to the door.

“Oh, your room is so cozy.”

She scanned the room with interest before sitting on the bed and looking at you.

“You’re probably wondering why I am here bothering your beauty rest,” She laughed. “But I’m just wondering if we could, you know, have some fun before Johnny’s birthday.”

“I— I’m afraid I don’t have…” Your voice faded, the sudden embarrassment coating you. But Chaelin only smiled at you, her face gave up the notion of telling you not to worry about a penny.

“Don’t worry about it! Everything is on me.”

“I can’t possibly accept that, Miss.”

“Just call me Chaelin. Please let me treat you. I wanna make up to the last time we’ve met. I know it wasn’t pleasant.” She wheedled.

She’s talking about your first week at Jung’s Fiscals. You waved your hands to tell her not to worry about it.

“It’s okay… you don’t need to. If there’s a person who should be doing that, it’s Jaehyun.” You told her.

“Yes! That’s right. Jaehyun told me— oh, nevermind. Do you have anything to wear?”

Jaehyun told her what? You shrugged off the curiosity. By her question, you slowly shake your head. That’s a problem you’ve been pondering on for hours now.

“Then all the reason for me to treat you!” Chaelin wrapped her arms around yours, not giving you any chance to argue.

You changed into comfortable clothes, fit for hours of shopping you assumed would take place. Chaelin waited for you, scrolling through her phone the whole time. According to her, all of Johnny’s friends will attend the anticipated party of the year. Not to jump into prejudice, you assumed Johnny is the kind of guy who throws absolutely crazy parties by the way Chaelin anticipates the event.

Knowing about the attendance of Johnny’s friends is the sole reason why you’re trudging the shiny floors and garish interior of a famous boutique near the hotel you’re staying in. You sent a simple message to Jaehyun, informing him that you went outside with Chaelin. As usual, he did not bother to reply.

You and Chaelin had fun. She literally made you her own personal doll, pulling you in and out of boutiques to dig every clothes there is that would fit you. You let her do her fairy-godmother work, being that you are lacking knowledge when it comes to the matter of class and magnificence. And you trust her taste enough to let her on her mission of finding the best dress for you.

Every now and then, she tells you about her friendship with Jaehyun. Not that you ask, but it made you curious nonetheless. According to her, they’ve been friends for a really long time now. It made you think that maybe they’d met in their elementary school. But Chaelin did not give you any specific date of their first meeting.

The day went on, and now you find yourself staring at the dress and stiletto Chaelin bought you. A promise to pay her was answered with a scrunch of her nose, telling you not to worry about the money and that she gave you the things wholeheartedly, not expecting any payment. It didn’t make you feel comfortable, but at least you relaxed by the assurance of wearing something decent tomorrow.

The door suddenly clicked open, and you jumped by seeing Jaehyun. He stares at you for a minute, obviously wanted to say something, but he rubbed his nape and closed the door again.

What was that?

You shrugged but after a second, the door opened again, revealing your boss with his back straightened, ready to give orders.

“Eat with me,”

Jaehyun did not wait for you to answer, giving you no chance to change your clothes. You supposed your current attire was enough, so you trudge outside and followed him to the hotel’s hall.

He sat, food in his plate. You followed after mere minutes of filling yours with delicacies you don’t know the name and haven’t tasted yet in your whole life. Jaehyun said nothing, just silently bite and munch his food. This is your first time eating with him, and you noticed that he’s feminine when he eats. There’s nothing wrong about it though, you just found the way he dabs the napkin on his mouth and the way he munches food so quietly, fascinating.

A glut of silence enwrapped the air around you. It could literally suffocate you, so with all your might, you tried to talk to him.

“Why did you let me come with you?” You have no idea why did you ask such questions, but Jaehyun only looked at you as if he’s had any choice.

“Johnny requested,” His curt answer.

“Johnny’s birthday must be so special. You even took your time to celebrate it with him.” When he does not answer, you continued your talking, “How about you? When’s your birthday?”

By your question, Jaehyun dropped his fork on his plate, creating a loud clatter to make the other hotel guests turn on the both of you. But he quickly regained his composure, giving a curt nod to everyone as a way of excuse.

“I don’t— it’s next month. 14th.” His laconic response.

“Okay…” You said, wary of his sudden lack of control.

“Excuse me,” He said, pushing his chair with the back of his knees. You nodded at him. But even after finishing your meal, Jaehyun did not go back to finish his.

You went back on your room calculating if you’d said something to irk Jaehyun. He wasn’t exactly annoyed, just taken aback? Nevertheless, you’ve gathered one information about him, and that’s his birthday. You no longer want to vex yourself by his constant berating, you thought knowing something about him would help pave the way of your bond.

While thinking about what could you give Jaehyun on his birthday, you wrapped the canvas you’d give Johnny tomorrow. After ten-minutes of cutting and ribbon-tying, you changed into new clothes and slept, a smile creeping up your face as you think about the event tomorrow.

—

Spectacular is an understatement to describe the Guildhall. Its chandelier hang high in the ceilings, with curtains draping down around them and with lights illuminating their color against the columns standing as posts of the whole hall.

Tables are decorated with a sophisticated yet manly touch. You assumed Johnny requested for a medieval touch to adorn the venue, which the organizers did an absolutely amazing job on. You feel like you were back the past. The period movies you’ve seen and books you’ve read all coming back to you— every scene and every word you thought won’t come to life is here, in front of you. The overwhelming happiness sits on your stomach, waiting to be unleashed.

“Y/N!” Chaelin waved, then she walked towards you with a wine glass in one hand. Jaehyun excused himself the moment Chaelin arrived beside you. He walked towards a pool of boys gathering around Johnny. Someone clapped his back, a man his age. But the younger ones nodded at him, reverence clear in their faces.

“You look stunning, Chaelin.” You greeted. The woman is wearing a velvet dress, hugging her curves, with a fur scarf wrapped around her arms.

“No, you look magnificent, love!” She cheered, pulling your hand and swirling you playfully, both your laughs joining together.

You’re wearing a tulle long dress, a mixture of champagne and blue fabrics adorning it. The stiletto you wear goes with the same hue as the dress. To be honest, you felt slightly out of place when you arrived, for the people around you wears monotone colors only. And you obviously stand out. But now Chaelin is here, you felt the pressure being lifted off of you.

The event started when Johnny went on to the platform, thanking each and everyone of the guess for joining him on his day. The bellows and laughters of his friends stood out among the crowd, their cheers slightly distracting Johnny. Your eyes automatically searched for Jaehyun, despite not screaming with the other boys, he has an unusual and once in a lifetime smile on his lips which made him more handsome that he already is.

He wears a simple black tuxedo, with his hair neatly parted and brushed up, a cowlick straying on his forehead. The color of his suit accentuated his pale features, making him ethereal in your eyes once again. He shifted, and met your eyes in the crowd.

His beauty locked you in your place with a heart thudding as you continued staring at him. He lifted his glass with a curt nod, a silent sign for you to enjoy the night. The small gesture made your heart swell in happiness even more, so you smiled at him. And he smiled back.

The evening moved on. You remained in your location, Chaelin giving you company. Johnny’s still walking around the venue, greeting acquaintances. And Jaehyun, he’s still talking with his friends.

“Aren’t you friends with them?” You suddenly asked Chaelin. She whirled at you before taking a sip of her drinks. Then she looked at the men surrounding Jaehyun in a sideway glance.

“Oh yes. Been friends with them for a really long time now. I’ve seen some of them grow up into the man they are today.” There was passion and love in her voice that you didn’t expect to hear. “That boy is Jeno,” She pointed at a boy with the warmest eyesmile, “We’re probably the closest, aside from Jaehyun. I adore that pup, quiet but knows when to enjoy.” She has that certain smile with her now, her eyes twinkling. Then she pulled you towards the boys suddenly.

“Let’s meet them!” She cheered. Although you were nervous in every step that you took, you let her sway you towards the men. Jaehyun met your eyes the moment you stood in front of them.

“Who’s this pretty lady?” A tall guy emerged from nowhere, bright smile directed at you. He was nudged by a smaller man.

“Jaehyun’s date,”— then he whirled towards you, offering his hands for a handshake— “I’m Ten.” You took his hand, expecting for a handshake, but instead he kissed it. Loud cheers emerged from the group, making you blush.

All of them shook your hands then, and you noticed they were glancing at Jaehyun as they did so, like they’re waiting for his permission.

“You must be Y/N?” The guy with a red hair emerged from nowhere. You slightly jump from his appearance; red hair, pale features, and his eyes, there’s a little red in his irises. Jesus Christ, he was beautiful.

“I’m Taeyong,” He offered his hand, then you shook it, still mesmerized by his exquisiteness. Taeyong, then, started to entertain you with his stories, never leaving your side until people started to slow dance in the middle of the hall. He excused himself then walked towards a pretty woman. You watched as almost everyone danced. Chaelin was with a boy you remembered named Doyoung. Seeing everyone enjoying themselves, it felt lonely suddenly. Out of place, even.

Then for the third time that night, Jaehyun met your eyes across the room. He’s got a wine glass in his hand while looking at you. Then seconds later, he drank all the contents, leaving the glass to the care of the waitress. Jaehyun walked towards you, every step making your heart beat louder, faster. He walked the earth like he’s a king. His mere steps could make the world stop on its spinning.

Then he’s standing before you, offering you his hand.

“Are you gonna dance with me or…?” He asked, the baritone of his voice sending you shivers. You locked eyes with him then took his hand. His eyes, never leaving yours too.

The slow music lulls the whole place with its softness. Jaehyun held your hip in one hand, and your hand in the other. Your heart maybe thundering, but deep in it, you know you’re in the safe place. You’ve never felt like this your whole life— like you’re becoming something other than the girl you are. There’s an ember inside you as you looked at Jaehyun’s eyes. A small fire waiting to be ignited. His familiar scent whiffed your nose as he spins you away and towards him. The familiarity of his face is staggering, yet you blame your dreams for it.

Your faces were too close, so close in the edge of the music. One push, and you’ll kiss in front of the people. One push it all it takes— then the music stopped. You held on to each other for a bit longer before Jaehyun guided you towards your table.

“I’ll get us drinks,” He whispered.

Your head was still swimming with the feel of dancing of Jaehyun when Johnny approached you, eyes bright. He automatically has his hand lifted for a high-five.

“Hey!” He called out.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Seo!”

“Please, just Johnny Y/N.”

You practiced the name with your mind before saying it out loud, “Happy birthday, Johnny!”

“There! Better!” He laughed but stopped when he saw the wrapped gift above your table, “Is that for me?”

“Uh, yes. I’m sorry this is all I could afford.”

“No, no, Y/N! Whatever is this, I’ll cherish it.” He smiled at you, “What is it by the way? You know, I really get too giddy whenever I receive gifts.”

“Oh, a portrait of you.”

His mouth formed a big ‘O’, asking for permission to open the gift, you told him yes since it’s his now. Johnny’s eyes bore an amazement that made you flustered. He stared and stared at the portrait.

“Wow, I am really touched, Y/N. Thank you for this.” Said he. You waved your hand to tell him it’s alright.

But then his eyebrows creased, his face shows an expression that of remembering something. Then he put his finger on his lips, contemplating the portrait.

“I know someone who had a similar art style as you,”

“Really? Who is he?”

You waited for Johnny to answer, an unfamiliar agitation rests in your bones by every second that passes of not knowing who the person might be. Then he snapped his fingers, creating a sound.

“Yes! I remember now! You have the same style as Aurora!”

If Johnny could clap, he absolutely would. You sat there, speechless. His other compliments were drowned by your screaming thoughts.

Aurora.

He said your art style is similar to Aurora’s.

Whoever she might really be, the mention of her name— specially in real life— never failed to send shivers down your spine.

You gulped and asked Johnny, “Who is Aurora?”

“None of your business,” The man behind you answered. Jaehyun.

You wanted to tell him she’s not ‘none of your business’. She was a product of your imagination, she was. And now the people around you knows her name. Johnny knows her. Jaehyun calls out for her name in your dreams. Your intuition tells you something is going on. But your throat has gone dry. No matter how much you wanted to tell Jaehyun that you dreamed about Aurora often, no words came out of your mouth. Your body feels heavy. And you know, you’re scared. Scared of the answers once you ask.

Aside from night black hair and blue eyes, who really are you, Aurora?

—

#jung jaehyun au #jaehyun imagines #jung jaehyun imagines #yuno imagines #nct imagines #nct au #yuno au #pls leave some feedbacks i would really appreciate it!!#tHANK YOUUU!!!

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elysicndrcvm · 3 years

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━♡ guess the 23 YEAR OLD FEBRUARY baby just arrived to dallyeog! it makes sense, because CHU EUNHA is just as BEDAZZLING as the month of FEBRUARY. wait, why do they remind me of JACOB BAE? beyond that, they seemed JOYOUS and SAVVY upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of DELICATE and QUIXOTIC though. i hope they get acquainted here in COMPLEX 1 / APARTMENT 0215 / FLOOR 3 ; HE seem(s) to have a lot going on with HIS job as a PATISSERIE OWNER/NUTRITIONAL SCIENCE STUDENT. ( ez, 21, she/they, gmt. )

well hey there !! im ez but you fellow dallyeogers can call me ezzy, i have been in dallyeog before so some may remember me as having someone v different to my new bb i bring u now, i joined before with miss tam carmen !! anygays i return with this lil angel who i am all ‘ i say that’s my baby and i’m proud ’ over already even tho i literally came up with him like two days ago. you can find his pinboard here ( which btw i fuckeN love like he’s so aesthetic to me u go king ) and i made him a lil playlist which u can vibe to here. you can learn more about him under the cut but he’s a super soft-hearted gentle dove of a muse and quite...simple for me ?? sdhdh that’s not the right wording but U GET IT djjflg he isn’t super full of angst or trauma he’s just kinda viBIN livin his best life so that’s fun !! but ye without further ado:

so as u kno from his app he owns a patisserie, it’s his lil babey and he is very dedicated to his craft and makin sure all his ideas for the place and the baked goods he sells are like rlly quirky and avant-garde. like he is so passionate about it u dont even KNOW, he tries to make sure most of the stuff on his menu is something like fun and new u wouldn’t get at just any old patisserie or cafe and that it’s super varied and also kinda aesthetic af? the place is very like trendy. it’s called patisserie d’elysian cause ya know he’s an extra biTCHH and proud.

he has three pupperino’s. all as adorable as each other, snickerdoodle is his golden lab and often ppl shorten it down to snickers, butterscotch is his dapple daschund pup, shortens the name to scotchie often. toulouse is his fancy toy poodle boi, shortens the name down as toto. if u are on the shortened name basis with his pups then u can consider urself one of his close pals.

he’s actually adopted by his aunt but she raised him like she was his mother so that is what he considers her, she’s on his mother’s side but they are half-siblings. in terms of first name reasoning as well she just liked eunha as a name and didn’t even think about how it is traditionally for a female, she liked that it meant gift from heaven so it stuck. his father is still around, he’s just quite elderly so it felt like a better living situation for him to be raised primarily by his auntie. unfortunately his mother has passed on but no tragic story, she just went peacefully in old age.

he dyes his hair quite often, it’s currently like a really pastel blue with black streaks consistently throughout like lil ones so it looks super cool. but he’s also had it be a more electric blue, lilac, and a duck egg kinda faded silvery blue. it’s naturally dark brunette. has brown eyes kind of a hazel hue.

his style is kinda androgynous ig?? he just lives for soft retro fashion, lots of color in his wardrobe but also lots of tapered short and t-shirt fits frequented, sweater vests, rolled up jeans, high skater boi socks, soft jumpers with shirts, shirts in bright colours or satiny texture worn over plain white t-shirts, cardigans, pastel denim jackets, jeans with printed patterns on like clouds, flowers etc, favors yellow and blues. sometimes does eye makeup, occasionally wears heels bc he’s a baddie or super heeled boots/chunky shoes.

obsessed with music, can play violin and guitar. he’s a big mitski and rina sawayama fanatic, likes anything that sounds peaceful or calming or has like a good fun vibe to it. also likes the trademark gay icons like carly rae jepsen, lorde, etc. he’s not ashamed. obsessed with mamma mia movies. but also likes rap which is rlly funny cause its like the bad bitch female rappers only and like he’ll listen to it while arranging his sock drawer or making his bed or something ajdjdj it’s like hype anthems for being a baddie and a hoe and he’s just doing his night sleepy routine adkfkf.

showers, blankets, music, baked goods especially bagels are his happy places.

very much a sensitive lil romanticist, falls in ‘love’ like five times a day, he just likes to giggle and smile around pretty people and admire the artwork hnghdh, he’s like yeARNS though ya know?? like he’s all i will flirt by making prolonged eye contact, i made you a playlist, this song makes me think of you etc. it’s either memes as flirting with him or elaborate love letters u never know what ur gonna get akdkd.

awful sense of humour, loves his friends more than anything on earth except his pups, would fully live in a huge house of just like his pups and all his closest buds for all eternity. likes fruits way too much, enjoys puns about fruits way too much. milkshakes, sushi, orange hues and bus rides are some of his absolute favorite simple pleasures of life. clouds, flowers, salt lamps, the sunrise over the sea, skateboarding, fresh soda, teddy bears, busy street markets, parasols, fish tanks with exotic fish, sorbet, bike riding, polaroids, record players, rain at night against floor to ceiling windows with a fresh steaming pot of tea on the desk beside it and warm fresh sheets from the laundry on his bed, ponds, skateboarding. all little joys in life that give him like the biggest pleasure dopamine hit in the world.

his cousin actually owns a florists so he has flowers just littering his apartment like a lot and it just looks like he has ten million suitors from the late eighteenth century attempting to court him but no all these flowers are from him to him or worse from his aunt djfjg she sends him some for valentines every valentines, pls help him, pls send him flowers.

studies nutritional science and he fucken hates it. do not ask him shit cause he doesn’t KNOW OKAY? he doesn’t understand it either. he took it because he needed something to go alongside the passion for baking that was a real ‘qualification’/job so that is the only reason he’s doing it. no point doing a baking degree after all when he’s already a baker with a business, he’s super young still he gotta keep his prospects open. so YAH. he’d rather be doing culinary arts but eh. nutritional science sounded better and more logic based. the real miracle is he still gets top grades all the time even tho he spends his life like wtf am i even doing is this even legit akdkdk. school is the worst thing in the world for him watch his mood instantly deflate the second its brought up.

despite being a quixotic, he’s a lil afraid of intimacy. like oh god does he love it, those small touches and acts of affection u kno? the subtle things that normally go unnoticed, eye contact, brushing of hands, linking of little fingers, rubbing a thumb, kissing eyelids or foreheads or palms or shoulders in little gentle pecks, back massages and rubs or finger tracing patterns absent-minded, shoulder massages, laying your head on someone’s shoulder or on their lap, knocking knees together, exchanging a small glance only the two of you get before bursting into laughter, smiling into kisses, napping together, having blankets placed over you warm and fresh, or towels put ready like it, someone making you something they know you like a lot. that’s his sHIT. but like he’s terrified still, someone skimming their fingers on his skin makes his breath hitch like he’s a scandalized and alarmingly aroused victorian woman sjdjd. he’s literally still a virgin, he hasn’t even had his first kiss okay my baby is delicate be gentle with him akdkd but he still LIKES PASSION AIGHT kfkf.

real soft spoken, honey tinted voice like i shit u not this boy talks like he’s an angel sent from heavens above to guide you to the paradisaical garden of eden or some shit akdkd. ur gonna fall in love with eunha’s voice before u even fall in love with any other part of him like his adorable beaming smile or stunning eyes akdkf.

has dance parties around his room when getting ready in the morning, listens to bella’s lullaby unironically yes from twilight yes u heard right, bit of a himbo streak sometimes in his obliviousness djfjf. quite silently subtly funny actually much like jacob himself.

he is gay, afraid of driving, cannot do math, blanks out often and he is valid for all of those things. has a collection of cartoon and disney animal movie dvds. has a dream notebook. always has blue painted nails in some kinda shade.

does not enjoy turning in assignments bc he is scared he’ll fail, avoids looking at his grades for weeks after they’re released and hates knowing that they’re out.

cannot dance, dances often. collects vintage stuff esp clothes and mostly sweaters. likes midnight trips to corner stores and fields where he can just lay and look at the stars. makes friends rlly easily but has super bad performance anxiety. cannot ever have a messy room like even the tiniest bit messy. even like clothes being stacked on a chair instead of away.

bakes peanut butter, banana and choc chip muffins (they r called monkey bites normally) whenever he’s super stressed. if u want to cheer him up when he’s anxious or stressed then u should give him french lavender honey, chia seeds and caramelized pear on toast/bagel. it is his comfort food. he fancii when he needs a pick me up. treat urself and all that.

#dallyeog:intro #i'm literally in love with him he's the softest most goodest boi muse i have ever made and i just #im that meme of the samari sword guy with the cat in his arms akfkfk #IVE ONLY HAD EUNHA FOR TWO DAYS BUT IF ANYONE HURTS HIM I WILL KILL THEM AND THEN MYSELF AKKDK

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cuddletime-blog · 3 years

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Lucien: The Fairytale

I had just finished showering after my workout and was drying my hair with a towel when I heard a knock on the door. I frowned because I didn’t expect anybody today. After all, my only plan for today had been a movie date with Lucien, but I cancelled it due to my period. I wondered who it could be as I left my towel on the couch, went to look through the peephole, and then immediately opened the door. It was Lucien.

“Elise,” he greeted me in a soft voice, entering my apartment when I moved aside to let him inside.

“What are you doing here?”

“We had a date,” Lucien said with a gentle smile. “I know you cancelled because you weren’t feeling well, but we can always spend time together at home. I brought you a little something, too.” He offered me the bag he brought. Inside, there was a box of Haagen-Dazs ice cream bars, my favorite. “I would have brought you some warm ginger tea, but it’s such a hot day today. I hope these can cheer you up a little.”

“Lucien,” I said with a smile. “Thank you. You really didn’t have to, but it means a lot to me.”

“Buying ice cream is no trouble to me at all. It’s the least I could do for you since you’re not feeling well. I’m glad I can do this for you and much more,” he told me. “Is there anything else you need? Pain medication? A heating pad or perhaps a shoulder, back, and belly rub?”

I shook my head. “I don’t need any since my cramps are not painful today. I already have a heating pad.” I blushed a bit at the thought of a shoulder, back, and belly rub. With another smile, I nodded in the direction of my living room. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll just put these away. I don’t want them to melt.”

I could feel Lucien’s eyes on me as I put the ice cream in the freezer. I was tempted to grab one for myself right away, but I decided to leave it for later. As I walked back to Lucien, I noticed my towel in his hands.

“I just showered,” I explained, sitting down on the couch next to him. “I wanted to see if I could boost my mood and energy with a workout earlier. It got a bit sweaty.”

He looked at me with concern and said, “Please remember not to overdo it with your exercise. You should take it easy and rest more today, if possible.”

“I will,” I promised. “I was about to get some rest when you came.”

“Please let me dry your hair first. You shouldn’t let it stay wet for too long if you’re not feeling well.”

I suddenly remembered the horrible headache I got the last time because I didn’t dry my hair, so I agreed without a second thought. Lucien was delicate in the way he patted my hair with the towel. He told me about his day and asked about mine, all the while carefully running his fingers through the tangles in my hair to smooth them out.

“How about taking a nap?” Lucien asked once he was satisfied with his work. “I will tell you an interesting naptime story.” Curious about the story, I agreed to his suggestion and Lucien carried me in his arms bridal style to my bed where he gently set me down. We found a comfortable position sitting side by side on the bed and he began telling me his fairytale.

“There once was a girl who lived in an ancient and tiny European country. She was a talented young painter and liked to especially paint the ocean.”

Lucien’s voice was as calm as the ocean at low tide as he told me about the girl’s dream to travel around the world and paint various sceneries so she could remember them forever. She hoped that her artworks would help others preserve the memories of such wonderful sights as well.

“One day,” Lucien said as his breath hitched softly, making me look up at him with expectation, “a merman happened to see the girl paint by the ocean. He admired her paintings very much and came to watch her paint at the same spot every day. The merman gradually fell in love with the young girl deeper each day. He wanted to follow her on her travels around the world so he asked the sea god for a favor that would make him human.”

It reminded me of The Little Mermaid, but the merman’s wish soon proved to cost more than a voice and pain in every step. To have his wish granted, the sea god told the merman that he would have to sacrifice his immortality and complete eight great trials. The sea god stated that for the first trial, Adrian must learn how to start a campfire. As a merman, he had never seen fire before, but he knew humans use fire as a source of light, for warmth, and for cooking. Secondly, Adrian must learn how to cook. The sea god said that cooking will teach Adrian patience so he commanded him to learn how to peel 30, then 50, and 100 bulbs of garlic. Adrian was told to separate pomegranate seeds too.

His third trial was to learn how to keep a small garden or learn about farming. Adrian’s fourth trial was to learn how to dance and sing. Singing was easier for him learn than dancing. Dancing was more difficult and he had to practice often. He shyly asked the girl to be his partner and give him dance lessons. The fifth trial was to learn at least two to four languages. Adrian asked the girl, his friends, and coworkers to teach him new languages. For his sixth trial, Adrian had to learn how to run, climb a mountain, and exercise to keep in good physical shape. The sea god said that the seventh and eighth trials were “extra credit” and would make more sense to Adrian over time, so those trials would take much longer to accomplish. The seventh trial was to learn how to become a loving husband and father. Lastly, the eighth trial was to learn how to become a citizen of the world and figure out what his life’s meaning and legacy would be. The merman completed all of the trials one by one and was transformed into a human.

“He must have loved the girl a lot if he went through all these trials just to be with her,” I said quietly. Lucien smiled and stroked my hair, saying “He really did.”

My feelings for the one I love are strong too, I thought in amusement. I could have easily fallen asleep by then, but I loved Lucien’s fairytales too much to miss out on any of them.

“Now that he was a man,” Lucien continued the story, “he took the name Adrian Finn, got a job as a sailor, and saved money to buy his own boat. Adrian wanted to write books about the many places he planned to show to the girl. He and the girl became friends over their shared interests in art and traveling. Adrian confessed his feelings to the girl and they dated. Eventually, he proposed to her, asking her to travel around the world with him on his boat. She agreed and they got married in a simple but beautiful seaside wedding ceremony. Adrian and the girl traveled and lived happily for many years together.”

I smiled after hearing the couple’s satisfactory conclusion. “That’s a great story,” I murmured drowsily. I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, but Lucien didn’t seem to mind.

“Sleep now,” he whispered and kissed my forehead. “Have a peaceful nap, Elise and pleasant dreams as sweet as those Haagen-Dazs ice cream bars that you like so much. I hope you will feel much better soon and well-rested when you wake up, my Little Butterfly.” It was indeed a peaceful nap with Lucien by my side and dreams full of vast oceans and world travels.

Thank you very much to my amazing Beta Readers for helping me write and proofread this fanfic. I appreciate your suggestions and advice. @belovedstill @dreamer-hyun @sunshinejihyun @sonicloudbat @lia-jones and my good friend Cyllan

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crystalgirl259 · 3 years

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The Flame and the Dragon Ch2

Chapter 2: The Dreamer

"Shit! Fuck! Dammit!" Kai growled as he once again reached the last page of the leather-bound novel he had been reading. He turned the last crisp leaf only to find the last page, telling that the Dragon Lord still had to find his true love, so yellowed with age and stained that it was beyond readability. No matter how many times he read his favorite story, it frustrated him to no end that the ending remained a well-kept secret. With expert care, he closed the antique book, being extra careful with the antiquarian treasure.

Gold claps and hinders lined the corners so the leather would not wear out too quickly.

Red, orange, white, and blue jewels were embedded into the twists of each corner, while a gold clasp with a leather strap kept the book locked when it wasn't being read. Gold patterns adorned the exquisite cover while faintly glowing letters spelled out the title. The spine was equally studded with gold corners binding it together and studded with dully-glowing jewels. The pages were aged and yellowed but worn in a way that made it clear the book was not only well-used but well-loved.

Running a hand through his spikey brown hair, he gently placed the book back in his bag.

Then he interlaced his hands behind his head before leaning back against the trunk of the tree he currently occupied in a laidback manner before gazing at the clear blue sky above him. The teen had tall, thick spiky brown hair, shaped like fire, and bright amber eyes that shined like burning embers. He had a focused expression on his face, with a scar visible on his right eyebrow and a bandage above his left. He wore a red half-zipped-up jacket over a white shirt with some kind of Japanese symbol on the back of the jacket and brown pants.

Nineteen-year-old Kai Smith closed his eyes with a contented sigh before happily trying to drift off to sleep.

He wanted to escape the shackles of life outside the wide acres of land and forest surrounding the small home he occupied with his beloved sibling. If only to escape for a moment.

"KAI!"

"AHH!" He cried out as the sudden noise caused Kai to bolt from his serenity, and momentarily forgetting where he was, he maneuvered to see what it was that had woken him. The sound of giggling from above forced his eyes open, and he came face to face with the adorable face and sweet, innocent smile of his younger adopted brother. He had long, blonde tousled hair, and brown arched eyebrows with bright emerald green eyes that many people would state could sometimes glow in the dark.

He wore a dark green jacket with a white t-shirt and black pants and black and dark green sneakers.

"Good morning!" Twelve-year-old Lloyd smiled down at his older brother with a wide, bright smile and innocent eyes cutely shut. "Sleep well?"

"I did," Kai smirked with a tone of mock irritation. "Until a certain someone conspired to kill me by knocking me out of a tree." He answered with a mock glare, but his brother simply burst into laughter before taking a step back. Recognizing the game, Kai smirked and took a step forward. Lloyd took another step back, but Kai was quick to follow him until finally Lloyd turned and sprinted. The chase had begun. Letting him have his fun, Kai let his little brother win for a moment before putting on a sudden burst of speed and tackling the child to the ground.

The two rolled around for a few minutes before finally collapsing in a field of colorful flowers in a heap of laughter.

"You have been a very, very naughty boy, Lloyd Montgomery Garmadon-Smith." Kai scolded playfully, wagging his finger in front of Lloyd's face as if punishing a small child. Lloyd pouted at this, succeeding only in making himself look cuter, but Kai had helped raise him and was immune to his little brother's tricks to getting out of trouble.

"Perhaps I should ask Nya if she could cook a veggie casserole for dinner instead of pizza?" He mused thoughtfully. Lloyd's reaction changed in an instant.

"No!" The younger boy squeaked in pure panic and quickly jumped to his feet. He tugged harshly on Kai's arms and ran around him to push him to his feet when that didn't work. "Let's go, please! We can go right now! I'll even carry everything home, I promise." He started saying quickly and desperately. It took all of Kai's willpower not to fall to the ground laughing at his brother's response.

"Alright, alright green bean, we'll go." Kai chuckled at his brother's relieved smile while reaching to retrieve the bag that he had lost during their play. "But you have to promise to behave." He added and Lloyd groaned in defeat but nodded, his love of seeing the town outweighing his pride. The siblings had moved to the sleepy town of Ignacia when Lloyd was eight and Kai and Nya had just turned fifteen. They had instantly begun rebelling against the role society had dictated for him.

The trio's father Ray, a retired blacksmith, had settled his family in the small town not long after the family lost their mother to illness.

When the Smiths first arrived in Ignacia, Maya, the trio's mother and a fantastic artist who was very talented with watercolors, and their father Ray shared a love of adventure and traveled around a lot, studying the different cultures they came across. They continued their adventurous life after they were married. They had settled down for a short time when they received the joyful news that Maya was pregnant with Kai and Nya. After the twins were born, the couple decided they wanted to adopt another.

It wasn't long before they adopted a one-year-old Lloyd.

Once Lloyd was old enough to travel, the family continued their adventurous lifestyle. Unfortunately, news of her mother's illness sent the family rushing back to Ninjago City for treatment, but sadly no medicine was enough to save her. Maya's dying wish to her children and husband was for them all to be happy and to never stop following their hearts. Shortly after, the remaining family members moved to the sleepy, provincial little town of Ignacia.

The town of Ignacia was built in a large glade of a mighty forest and was truly an ancient phenomenon.

Its appearance was matched by the backdrop of giant mountains which have helped shape the city into what it is today. The materials that these mountains brought were of great importance. The village itself looked elegant. With its seagrass rooftops, redwood walls, and native bird species, the place had a pleasant atmosphere. The main attraction in the town was the fountain, which was built thirty-nine years ago. Ignacia had an unhealthy economy, which was mainly supported by fletching, wood-crafting, and armorsmithing.

But their biggest strengths were sustainable hunting and advanced medicine.

In the town of Ignacia Ray set up a small shop selling glass objects, paintings, sculptures, and anything he could craft in his forge. Even though they were quite wealthy compared to the rest of the small town. It hadn't been too difficult for the family to settle into small-town life after almost four years of traveling. Nya, like their mother, adored all forms of art around the world, but she found the Japanese style of their home inspiring. Soon her own art flooded the shop.

As long as Nya had her art, she was happy.

Carefree and fun-loving, Lloyd found a new adventure in everything he could find and delighted in the woods and the fields around his home and the town and the many buildings. If he wasn't exploring, he was plotting to steal candy from the grown-ups. Kai, unfortunately, hadn't adjusted so easily. He missed those days. Traveling and seeing many exotic places and cultures, and learning about the world ever since the morning they came to this provincial, backwater town.

It was already mid-morning and the streets were alive with bustling people, carrying out identical routines to the rest of the week.

The smooth cobblestone streets lined the city, identical massive stones corbelled together. Identical red and brown houses on batches of dirt or elevate on hills lined both sides of the streets with windows for houses on top and shops on the bottom. They were smushed close together while stone chimneys lined each roof. An enormous wall surrounded the town, separating it from the lush woods and fields, already starting to change color in the late autumn.

Kai noticed every morning just the same.

The baker carried his tray like always, the aroma of baked goods filling the crisp autumn air as people opened up shop and carried out their daily routines. People were gathering their goods and running errands, the same routine, saying good morning and asking how they were and how their families were doing. Even though the Smiths were different, they were no exception.

"Good morning, Lloyd! Good morning Kai!" The baker called, carrying a tray of bread and rolls.

"Good morning!" Lloyd chimed and rushed over with Kai behind him. The child bounced from shop to shop, delighting in his favorite past time while Kai tried in vain to strike up a conversation with the baker.

"Where you off to?" The baker asked.

"The library," Kai answered. "I just finished the most amazing book about a spellcaster and–"

"That's nice." The baker replied, having clearly stopped listening after Kai said library and called to his assistant to finish making the croissants for the day. Kai rolled his amber eyes and called for Lloyd. They continued their stroll to the only real place Kai felt at home in the dull, little town. Already, townspeople began to gossip about them as he walked by.

"That boy is strange, no question." A group of gossiping old ladies muttered amongst themselves.

"He's always distracted."

"He's never part of any crowd." An aristocratic woman pointed out. "He's always by himself reading books."

"His head's in the clouds, all the time." An old man grunted.

"No denying he's a funny boy that Kai." A group of shoppers conversed amongst themselves, while men running shopped, bowed, and tipped their hats respectively to any woman who came by. Kai growled in annoyance as he heard the gossip. A caravan drove by, ignoring the two boys after the driver said the usual good day, while three teenage girls giggled like school girls when the brunette walked by.

"That boy is so peculiar."

"I wonder if he's feeling well?"

"He's too wild." A man said to his wife. It took all of Kai's will to not growl in frustration.

"He always has a dreamy far-off look on his face."

"If his nose isn't in a book, he's scribbling away in a notebook."

"He's so strange but special; it's a pity he doesn't fit in."

"Oh yes, he's ravishing isn't he?"

"Quite, he is a funny boy though."

"A beauty, but a funny boy."

"Very different from the rest of us."

"FSM take me now if I ever become part of this life!" Kai growled to the heavens, stomping his foot in frustration. His fists clenched whenever the words odd, strange, funny, or peculiar were mumbled over and over just like yesterday and the day before that. Every day was the same thing and he had half a mind to turn around and tell everyone in town to piss off and mind their own business. But he forced his tongue in check. He cared nothing that such an outburst would only warrant more disrespect from the town and they'd treat him even worse than he already was.

It was solely out of respect for his family that he kept his cool.

Kai had adored and respected both his parents. He, Nya, and Lloyd had been devastated when age robbed them of their beloved father. Shortly after the disease killed their mother, their father's broken heart followed her in death less than a year later. The town could say whatever they wished about him, but Kai would never forgive himself if he accidentally tarnished his parents' good name because of his inability to control his temper. That and he knew the only thing losing his temper would accomplish nothing.

Except the residents marching up to his house and complaining to Nya about how her twin brother was too wild and lacked discipline.

Quite frankly, Kai loved Nya too much to let her put up with their nonsense simply because she was Kai's twin. It simply wasn't worth it. Kai had never denied he was different from everyone else, even in his own bizarre family. But after years of traveling and seeing so many different cultures and places, his own mannerisms seemed minor in comparison. However, in this backwater town so pedestrian and old-fashioned, those simple characteristics were all the town seemed to care about.

Unlike most boys, he wanted to become a writer and travel rather than marry and inherit and run a vast estate.

Kai loathed the mannerisms that many considered normal, and as headstrong and outspoken as he was, wasn't afraid to voice it and for that, he was considered odd and freaky. Not that Kai cared, he'd long since ceased caring about what others here thought of him. But despite that, he truly wished someone would look beyond his looks and accept him for who he was. An individual and not another handsome boy bound for a wealthy marriage and was simply just too headstrong for his own good.

His sharp eyes barely caught his reflection in the glass of one of the shop windows when he and Lloyd stopped to gather the groceries on Nya's list.

He turned to meet the lovely boy staring back at him. People always said the twins were lovely like their parents. Nya possessed their father's charcoal black hair and their mother's ocean blue eyes. Her brother had their mother's brown hair, even though his hair was a lighter shade, and he had his father's burning amber eyes. Lloyd may have been young but Kai could already he was going to become a handsome young man. Kai was fully aware of his appearance and what others thought of him.

But in his mind and his normal standards, he wasn't beautiful or even handsome.

To be beautiful you had to be tall and lean like his mother or Nya, and you had to have a perfect tan and look like prince charming. Compared to Kai, Nya was a gorgeous princess and Lloyd was an angel, while Kai looked more like a damsel in distress masquerading as a boy. Yet while Kai didn't see the beauty in his appearance, everyone else in the town saw nothing but his fair facade. They made no attempt to look behind it and considered him odd, peculiar, and strange.

Though he couldn't care less what others thought of him, it saddened and frustrated the fiery teen to no end, not one in town could accept him for who he was.

"Kai?" A sweet voice broke the older teen from his thoughts, and he diverted his attention from his reflection to his worried little brother, holding two large paper bags of already paid for food. "You okay?"

"I'm fine bro," He smiled, "Just lost in my thoughts." He replied following his reflection until the glass faded into the wood, they continued on their way...

#ninjago #ninjago zane #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #ninjago lloyd #ninjago nya #ninjago jay #The Flame and the Dragon #lavashipping

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destinygoldenstar · 3 years

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Based on my fanfic season ‘Sketched Artistry Pretty Cure’

Rei Takeo is a highly talented loner. She values good will and effort with a passion, and does everything to show people these things, no matter what format she has to show them with. She is also highly talented with her athleticism, her intellect, and especially her singing and her writing, as she is highly known by the teachers as a fantastical novelist. But while she does have some well meaning moments, Rei comes across to others as unapproachable, given she is tough, hot headed, and incredibly strict about helping others. She can have a really sarcastic demeanor at points. When she sees something she doesn’t approve of, she’s quick to jump in the fight and call people out, even if she becomes a victim in the process. If it gets to a point where Rei becomes in the wrong and things don’t go her way, she becomes distant, and even stubborn. Rei really does care about people’s well being though, and she does her best to stand up for them. However, she can never seem to stand up for herself, and its because of this that she refuses to show her creative side to anyone, telling people that she’s not creative and that she can’t write, even if the opposite is the truth.

Her refusal to show people her artwork came from trauma in her past. Before Rei was this tough jock, she was an even sweeter girl, more energetic, and kinder, where she came across by many as weird, but beautiful, and back then she showcased her talents to everyone, especially through her writing. It was bad enough that her tough demeaner now made vocalists shun her out despite her good voice. But one day, her elementary class had to write a fantasy story for a school report, and when Rei wrote her story, it blew her entire class away, to a point where she was granted an award for her work by her entire school that she would receive in the spring... that would have changed Rei’s life forever, if it weren’t for the fact that when she revealed her talents, it caused people to become jealous and turn on her. Someone she thought was a friend did exactly that, manipulated Rei and got her suspended, ensuring that people Rei thought were friends looked down on her and called her a hack, that she didn’t deserve her admiration and that she was essentially worthless, that Rei’s writing was nothing but a crime that would destroy her in her life. All of that, where this ex-friend treated it as advice, that Rei should not show her creative side because stuff like this would happen again. And that scared Rei for life, where she only gained enemies by showing her creative side and she felt so ashamed of her reward that she threw it away and hid her book somewhere she could forget. Rei never trusted anyone again, and never let people know that she could write. She still did write, as it was what made her happy, but she never showed anyone them. She even cut her hair to ruin her gorgeous look, so that nobody could think she was worth anything, even if her kind will still lingers in her where she tries to help others be better at themselves.

Rei was taken to Sketching Crafts Academy against her will by her mother, because her mother recognized Rei’s writing talent and wanted her daughter to express it to people again. Rei was not thrilled with going to this school, and she kept her nose in a book and pushed people away. That is until she meets Keiko Sakura, a girl who was just as naïve with showcasing her art as Rei was, but when she first crashed into Keiko at the art museum, she pushed her away, but not before she granted Keiko advice on how to better her bird painting.

About a week later at a park, Keiko ended up getting run over by jocks who scold her for her sketch she was making on the spot. Rei sees this and jumps in to defend Keiko, claiming that she was minding her own business and so should they, but when they don’t listen, she throws her book at them. Once they retreat, Keiko thanks Rei, but Rei only stubbornly tells her to be careful where she steps before she continues her walk to class. Keiko however, not only thought Rei was cool, but also followed her because Rei didn’t pick up her book after the encounter, so Keiko tried to give it back. Keiko does figure out that Rei is in her class, and becomes confused when Rei claims to their teacher that she couldn’t write, but ends up getting the highest score in the class on storyboarding, and Keiko realizes that she had never seen a fantasy book like the one Rei had in their libraries. Keiko does eventually find the chance to give Rei back her book, and she asks where Rei got it, but Rei states that it’s none of her business. Keiko however recognizes a yellow neon pen Rei was using to write in the book, and she realizes that Rei wrote that story herself. They do get to express their efforts to each other, with Rei presenting herself as an altruist and Keiko looking up to her as a talented writer and leagues ahead of her. Keiko even tries to encourage Rei to show off her book for their upcoming short story project, but Rei refuses and comments that Keiko doesn’t understand the success of art as much as she thinks she does. Keiko manages to tell Sora about Rei having a neon pen, but by the time their project gets explained, Keiko is partnered up with Rei on it. Sora does try to look after Keiko given that fact, but Rei and Keiko are eventually forced to work on it as just the two of them. The whole time, Rei offers Keiko’s ideas for a story, but its soon realized that Keiko is both creative and disorganized, where Rei tries to improve her ideas as a logical yet passionate writer, and Rei isn’t afraid to call out Keiko’s wild style. (Honestly, Keiko and Rei were the first OCs I made for this series, and they became huge foils to each other as a result, Keiko being an open yet overly naïve with a wild creative style, and Rei being more stubborn and practical with a passionate style in artwork.) They get their short story with some extra editing from Sora, and it becomes a good success... except for the fact that Rei completely denies having any credit for the project, where Keiko felt the opposite. Keiko finally decides to reread the storyboards they made together, as well as look into Rei’s novel to see her talent for herself, and it only makes Keiko want to figure out why Rei is so hard on herself when she clearly has a creative passion. Keiko finds Rei at the same park where she helped her, and Keiko tries to convince Rei that she should embrace her passions, and that Keiko saw for herself that she has it, but it only makes Rei throw the book away and tell Keiko that no one cares for her, or her passion, why would someone care now? Keiko claims that she cares, and that gets Rei to hesitate, asking Keiko if she actually liked what she read, to which Keiko claims that she loved it.

A new monster is created awhile later, and Rei is knocked to a tree. Keiko and Sora transform into Cure Cherry and Cure Azure to fight it, but because the creature fights with fire, neither of their finishers manage to work on it. (I forgot to mention, Cure Cherry fights with paint, her finisher being ‘Cherry Splatter’ where she uses paint bombs. Cure Azure however fights with glitches and can use fabric as chains, her finisher being ‘Azurica Calculation’ where she glitches color onto the monsters) The general finds the short story Keiko and Rei made together, and he rips it apart in disgust, where this catches Rei’s eye as she wakes up, triggering her. Rei scolds the general for destroying a great fantasy, recalling her previous talk with Keiko that gets her to realize Keiko’s identity as Cure Cherry, and Rei actively jumps in front to protect her new friend, even throwing an extinguisher at the monster with equal hot headed energy. Rei expresses that she doesn’t know how to show people her art, but she loves writing fantasies, and those fantasies should be treated with the same love she put into them. This awakens her power as the third member, and the fire powered cure of the team as the golden writer, Cure GoldenAsh. (Cure Cherry nicknames her Cure G)

Rei still continues to be a foil to Keiko as a counter to the pink lead, as they both have different ways of approaching being Pretty Cure that they don’t always agree with. Keiko is a kind and active leader, but had insane ideas that don’t always pan out, plus she is naïve about criticism, especially when the pressure of public appreciation for artwork and the ego that plagues every artist comes into play later in the story. Rei meanwhile is very strict with how things run and isn’t afraid to call out her teammates for better or worse, and it sometimes blinds her into thinking she’s the only one who knows what to do, even when she doesn’t. However, the two despite being opposites, are able to call out each other and compliment each other at the same time, Rei helping Keiko deal with social pressure in being an artist, and Keiko encouraging Rei slowly but surely to return to her authorship.

So I kind of created an art themed Pretty Cure. Add it to the list of Wattpad stories I claim I’m going to make, but never do. And if you know me, I love this concept of literal creativity, and since I’ve been on a magical girl run lately, why not make an art themed Pretty Cure. Seriously, I only briefly made this about a year ago, forgot about it, and bought it back in just two weeks with characters and their story arcs. So let me know if you want me to do something like this for the other Cures in this fanmade season, or if you actually want me to make one.

#Pretty Cure #Sketched Artistry Pretty Cure #Rei Takeo #Cure GoldenAsh #Cure G #Fanmade #Artwork

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sweet-savvy-slytherins · 3 years

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Hi, everyone!

Developing characters is something I really enjoy, so I had a lot of fun putting together a twin set of MCs! This is the first of the two, Evangeline! I’d love if people would give her a read, and let me know what you think of her!

For clarification, I used the Classified Text Generator in a few spots. That way, I didn’t have to leave any information out, and those who had reached that part of the game would recognize what I was talking about regardless, but those who hadn’t wouldn’t be spoiled.

Name:

Hypatia Nadine Linwood, originally

Evangeline Nadine Desrosiers, currently

Usually goes by Vany

Initials spell “END,” which she finds hilariously ominous

Gender: Cisgender female

Age: 16 years old

Birth Date: October 20th

Species: Human (despite her mother’s insistence that they’re part Veela)

Blood Status: Pureblood

Sexuality: Openly homoromantic and homosexual

Alignment: Chaotic good

Ethnicity: Afro-European

Residence: A condo in Bristol

Myer Briggs Personality Type: ESTP-A, the Entrepreneur

1st Wand: When she was eleven, Evangeline was matched with a dogwood wand that was nine inches in length, with a dragon heartstring core.

2nd Wand: In her fifth year, after she unwisely challenged Madam Rakepick and had her wand broken as a result, Evangeline found herself paired with a spruce wood wand, this one nine and two thirds inches in length with a phoenix tail feather core. While she resents Rakepick for breaking her first, Evangeline does admit to feeling like her second wand suited her better.

Animagus: Evangeline never becomes an animagus.

Miscellaneous Magical Abilities: Unlike Jacob and Enola, Evangeline is not a born legilimens. However, just like her mother, she is a Seer. (Because that is just like her mother, isn’t it? To pass on the world’s shittiest super power?) Most of the time, this ability manifests in the form of a vague sense or a murky dream. To this day, she’s only had one proper vision, and it was when she was very small.

Boggart Form: Her mother showering her with praise, and saying she was proud of the witch she’d grown to be. This tends to confuse her peers, since it seems so positive—but Evangeline knows her mother. The narcissist that she is, Mireille would never have praised her like that unless she molded Evangeline into her double. That is Evangeline’s worst fear: becoming her mother.

Riddikulus Form: Mireille more or less being turned into a cymbal-banging monkey, with a kazoo in her mouth, cymbals in her hands, and a silly hat.

Amortentia: When Evangeline smells amortentia, the scent is a combination of broom handle polish, leather, and buttered toast. If someone’s amortentia were to smell like her, it would smell like cherry lip gloss, orange pekoe tea, and, again, broom handle polish.

Patronus: A crow. Although they’re best known for supposedly being an omen of death, they’re also believed to symbolize destiny, flexibility, and mischievousness.

Patronus Memory: About a month before Evangeline turned nine, there was a night where her entire family—Aunt Felicienne, Jacob, Enola, and Casper—all let her paint their nails. They all talked and laughed the entire night, drinking cocoa and admiring their nails, and it was the first time they felt like a proper family.

Mirror of Erised: Her family not only together again, but being treated with the respect they deserve. Her brother’s bad reputation erased, the whispers about her aunt for being a squib silenced, and the ghost of their parents’ actions exorcised.

Specialized/Favorite Spells: Evangeline has an affinity for fun spells, like Colovaria and Orchideous. They may not be the most practical, but is that such a crime? Not every spell can serve a greater purpose.

Physique:

Athletic build, due to her involvement in Quidditch

Strong limbs and a toned figure

5′8 in heigh

Eye Color:

Dark grey in color

Always decorated with pristine eyeliner and a light brush of mascara

Hair Color:

Deep brown

Occasionally experiment with different hair colors using Colovaria

Naturally curly, but is often straightened

Hip length (when straightened)

Skin Tone:

Light brown

Warm undertones

Body Modifications:

One piercing in each ear

Scarring:

Extensive burn scars on both forearms — gained at 7 years old

Thin scar directly across the bridge of her nose — gained at 25 years old

Inventory:

Her favorite cherry lip gloss

A bag of butterscotch candies

A hair clip or two

Her treasured leather journal.

Fashion: Though Evangeline consciously tries not to be vain, knowing it was one of her mother’s vices, she does take pride in her appearance, and enjoys looking good. When not outfitted in her school robes, she usually tries to aim for a classy, feminine sort of style. More often than not her outfits consist of trendy sweaters or turtlenecks (never t-shirts), tea length skirts, and oxford pumps. As for accessories, Evangeline is quite fond of dainty earrings and delicate silver rings, as well as pretty hair clips. The one exception to her style tastes is Erika’s sweaters: they’re over-sized, a little more traditionally masculine, and more worn out than Evangeline likes to let her clothes get. Still, she absolutely covets them.

Hogwarts House: Slytherin, house of the cunning and ambitious. It’s garnered such a reputation for being the “mean house” that people always seem to be surprised to learn that Evangeline was placed there. But, as she’s always quick to remind them, “mean” is not a requisite for being in Slytherin. It’s just an unfortunate trend.

Ilvermorny House: Thunderbird, house of the soul, home to the adventurer.

Affiliations/Organizations: Obviously, as first a student and then an alum, Evangeline is affiliated with Hogwarts. She also joins ███ ██████ ██ ██████ out of support for Enola, and, later on, is a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

Professions: After working as a spy for the Order during the second wizarding war, Evangeline builds a career as a grief counselor for magical children.

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: A

Charms: E

DADA: O

Flying: O

Herbology: P

History of Magic: A

Potions: A

Transfiguration: E

Electives:

Divination

Muggle Studies

Both are total goof off classes, considering she’s a Seer who was raised in a muggle community

Quidditch:

Seeker on the Slytherin team from third year onward

Played one season as a beater in her fourth year

Extra Curricular:

Art Club

Frog Choir

Favorite Professors:

Professor Hooch — fellow Quidditch lover

Professor Trelawney — endearingly kooky

Least Favorite Professors:

Professor Snape — killjoy

Professor Sinistra — uptight

Brother: The eldest of the Desrosiers children is Theron, who renamed himself Jacob after his parents’ death. Of his three younger siblings, he’s arguably closest to Evangeline, since she shares his charisma and occasional haughtiness. Evangeline understood, better than any of the others, how badly he wanted to restore both the Kastellanos and Desrosiers family names to their former glory. No, actually, not their former glory—a new glory, built on talent and respect, rather than on the subjugation of those considered “beneath” them.

Other Siblings: Older than Evangeline by six minutes, Enola is the second oldest Desrosiers sibling, and easily the one Evangeline is closest to. People can dismiss the notion of twin ESP all they want, but Evangeline believes it. Different as they may be, her and Enola have always been finely attuned to each other. They can read each other easily, and always know exactly what the other needs. There isn’t a chance they could ever be as close with someone else as they are with each other.

Evangeline also has a younger brother. Helios Kastellanos, renamed Casper by their Aunt Felicienne, is five years younger than the twins, and truth be told, Evangeline’s never had too strong of a relationship with him. It’s not like they argue, or they hate each other. They’ve just...never connected. He’s always clung to Enola, so Evangeline figures that it’s a trade off she had to make. She gets to be close with Jacob, at the cost of being close with Casper. Enola gets to be close with Casper, at the cost of being close with Jacob. It evens out.

Father: Truth be told, Evangeline remembers very little of her father, Proteus. Beyond not spending a lot of time at home, Proteus was more concerned with his male heirs than either of his daughters. Everything Evangeline knows about him, she’s learned secondhand, and even then, it’s very little. Felicienne and Jacob always waved off her questions, telling her she didn’t want to know about him, Enola remembered as little as she did, and Casper was only three when he died. Evangeline knows that he was a Death Eater, and that’s more or less it.

Mother: Now, her mother, Mireille, on the other hand...Evangeline remembers her quite vividly. Mireille was a woman who prided herself on beauty more than anything, and wanted to raise her daughters to be just the same—as long as they were never more beautiful than she was. Though she came from a family of blood purists, Mireille was the first Desrosiers to become a Death Eater, and Evangeline suspects that she got in over her head. It’s her theory that the stress drove Mireille crazy, and that was why she was so prone to paranoia and explosive bursts of anger. One of Evangeline’s most vivid memories of Mireille attempting to throw a pot of boiling water in her face when she was seven years old; Evangeline threw up her arms to defend herself, and she still bears the scars from the attack all these years later.

Love Interest: Evangeline has a big, fat, gay crush on Erika Rath, and she’s not ashamed to admit it. She’d already been attracted to her on an entirely physical level, and then Evangeline had to seek out her tutelage when the Slytherin team was short a Beater. Discovering the awkward, uncertain girl that existed beneath the gruff exterior completely sealed the deal. They bonded over their love for Quidditch, continuing to train together even when Evangeline switched back to playing Seeker, and with time, came to find that they really enjoyed each other’s company. Evangeline could make Erika laugh like no one else, and Erika felt like one of the only people Evangeline could be entirely herself with, even if that meant exposing the ugly pieces of herself as well as the polished ones. Finally, Evangeline asked Erika to the Celestial Ball, and the rest was history. It’s rather funny to see them side by side, with Erika, perpetually dressed in her jersey and scowling, towering over Evangeline, with her pressed skirts and sunny smiles.

Best Friends: One of Evangeline’s dearest friends at Hogwarts is local contraband dealer, Jae Kim. Truth be told, he was initially quite intimidated by her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but despite Evangeline’s bubbly disposition, something about her always struck him as distinctly...eldritch. Like she was something unusual, and not entirely human. Maybe it was just the way she could flip her emotions on a dime, entirely of her own volition. Watching her be seething mad and then slap on a bright, sunny grin as she turned away, easy as flipping a switch, was unnerving. Regardless, the two bonded throughout their time spent in detention, and Enola is quite proud to boast that she’s one of the few people that can almost wrangle Jae into following the rules.

She’s also quite close with Penny Haywood and Diego Caplan, two Hufflepuffs who share Evangeline’s popularity and social skill. Evangeline likes to joke that she’s “Penny, but with edge.” Penny gets a kick out of it. Diego, on the other hand, did initially have slightly selfish reasons for befriending Evangeline—namely, his hope that she could help him get closer to Enola, who he had a crush on—but ended up genuinely bonding with her somewhere along the way. She’s his favorite dueling and dancing partner, and they trust each other more than anyone seems to realize.

Rivals: Some people might not understand how two people on the same team can be rivals, but Evangeline and Skye Parkin make it work. It’s not a mean rivalry by any means, but it’s an intense one, with both of them aiming to be the star player on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Evangeline also considers herself rivals with Emily Tyler, who reminds her uncomfortably of her mother, and Merula, who competes with her in, well, everything.

Enemies: Logically, Evangeline knows that there’s really nothing wrong with Talbott Winger. He’s an entirely decent guy, who minds his own business and keeps his head down. She has no reason to dislike him the way she does. But she just can’t help it. Maybe it’s his aloofness that rubs her the wrong way—Evangeline’s always liked to be liked, not to mention the nosy streak she possesses and she finds people that reserved and guarded frustrating. Maybe it’s the fact that she thinks he has eyes for her sister, when Enola could definitely do better. (Of course, this is only Evangeline’s perception. If she really wanted to know who had eyes for Enola, she’d have better luck looking at her best friend, Jae.) Either way, Evangeline isn’t a fan.

Dormmates: Evangeline shares a dorm with Rowan Khanna, Liz Tuttle, Skye Parkin, and her twin sister, Enola.

Pets: On the record, Evangeline has only one pet, and it’s a very old, exceptionally grumpy, melanistic Sphynx cat named Toodles. Despite being more or less a crotchety old man in cat form, Toodles is absolutely the light of Evangeline’s life, and she dotes on him like he is her actual child. The amount of money she’s dropped on Toodles is honestly kind of staggering, but Enola insists that it’s entirely necessary. Sphynx cats require a lot of careful care, and if Evangeline has her way, Toodles is only going to get the best of the best.

However, off the record, Evangeline has also grown unusually close to one Thestral in particular. She’s been sneaking into the Forbidden Forest to study them since she was in her 2nd year, and during one such excursion, she witnessed a Thestral foal being birthed. Since it provided a prime opportunity to study the life cycle of a Thestral, Evangeline focused most of her observations on that foal, which she named Melinoe, after the Greek goddess of ghosts and spirits. It took some time to build trust, but eventually, Melinoe and Evangeline were thick as thieves, and Melinoe greeted her like an excited puppy whenever she came to visit the forest. Leaving Melinoe behind is perhaps what Evangeline’s dreading most about her graduation from Hogwarts.

Closest Canon Friends: Jae Kim, Penny Haywood, Diego Caplan, Nymphadora Tonks, and Tulip Karasu.

Closest MC Friends: Outside of Enola, none yet, but looking!

Pre-Hogwarts: Hypatia was born the third child of Proteus and Mireille Kastellanos. She spent the first eight years of her life in Greece, living on her father’s family estate, roaming the grounds with her siblings, enjoying the abundance of wealth at her fingertips. It should’ve been a charmed life...but it wasn’t. See, Proteus and Mireille were both Death Eaters, and neither were much suited for parenthood. It was a household strife with unease and contempt, and if the ruthless mental (and occasionally physical) abuse Hypatia experienced wasn’t enough, her childhood was also plagued by terrible visions. In this visions, an explosion burst in her family parlor, leaving both her parents dead on the floor.

Then, when she was eight years old, the premonition came true. Aurors raided the manor, and in the ensuing fight, both Proteus and Mireille were killed, with their two young daughters bearing witness. The children were whisked away from the home, and eventually sent to live with their maternal aunt, Felicienne Desrosiers. A squib who had fled her Pureblood-supremist family to live in England, Felicienne was hardly equipped to take on four young, magical, traumatized children, but still, she stepped up to the plate, determined not to fail them the way that their parents had.

The first thing she did? She sat them down, and helped them choose out new names. While her family name wasn’t exactly sparkly clean, it carried less of a stigma than their father’s. And thus, Hypatia Kastellanos died with her parents, and Evangeline Desrosiers was born.

From that point on, Evangeline grew up to be a rather well-adjusted girl. Or, as well-adjusted as a girl with her experiences could be. The only real point of concern was the fixation she began to develop with death; she played funeral director far more often than she ever played princess, and was prone to checking out books on embalming methods from the local library. However, she wasn’t hurting anyone or thing and showed no desire to, so Felicenne decided it wasn’t anything to worry too much about. It was simply Evangeline’s way of coping. Throughout the years, Evangeline found happiness with her new family, and despite Jacob’s disappearance, despite Felicenne’s failing health, Evangeline is determined to protect that happiness.

2nd Wizarding War: As the war starts picking up steam, Evangeline establishes her allegiance to The Order of the Phoenix, and starts working as a spy, able to rely on her charisma and family heritage to gain the trust of dark wizards. She’s not accepted into the inner circle, not nearly, but she’s silver-tongued enough to get information from those that are. During this time, she secretly elopes with her long-term girlfriend, Erika Rath. She fights in the battle of Hogwarts, and in doing so, gains a scar directly across the bridge of her nose.

Post-War: Following the war, Evangeline finds that her ambitions have changed. Despite having wanted for years to be a mortician, she finds that the idea now lacks the appeal it did when she was young. Perhaps she’s just seen enough death. Still, she’s determined to put all of her years of research to use. She ends up finding her calling providing grief counseling to children, and, specifically, to magical children. She makes the unconventional choice to train Thestrals as a sort of therapy animal for children who have witnessed death. Her and Erika, now going public with their marriage, also adopt a set of siblings—an eight year old named Winifred, and a six year old named Josephine, the daughters of a friend of Erika’s who was, unfortunately, killed in the war. It’s difficult, considering both girls are old enough to remember and miss their parents, but Evangeline’s grief training comes in handy in helping them cope with the loss. It may take time, but eventually, they do truly feel like a family.

There's a lot more to Evangeline than there appears to be at a glance. Upon first meeting, she seems...well, vivacious. She loves to laugh and lights up a room with her smile alone, and is playful and a little mischievous by nature. She's also quite the hopeless romantic, and ultimately wants to end up happy with someone she loves. Some may say that this makes her pathetic, but she doesn't view it that way at all. What's so wrong with wanting to be happy?

Though Evangeline may not hand out her trust too quickly or freely, she is always willing to provide a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on. Her loyalty to those who find a place in her heart is admirable, especially when it comes to her family, and she would willingly fight to the death to protect those she loves. She always finds some way to show her affection, whether it's through a warm hug when one is needed or a good laugh provided when sadness seems to be taking over. She’s charismatic and enigmatic and attractive, and most everyone she meets consider her to be a delightful young woman.

And then her smile sharpens just slightly, glinting like light on the blade of a dagger, and all of a sudden, it’s abundantly clear why she was sorted into the house of the cunning.

Now, the image Evangeline puts forth isn’t a lie. She is genuinely friendly and outgoing, and the majority of the time, everything she says and does is sincere. However, certain traits are exaggerated because she wants to present a specific image of herself—or rather, she wants certain parts of her to go unnoticed, so she emphasizes the ones she wants people to see and lets the other ones slip out of the edges of their perception.

Beneath the girlish laughter and perfect grins is a master manipulator, always poised for battle, whether they be fought with words or fists. The sweetness, the flattery, the pretty little smiles, they coax information out conversations faster than threats ever did. A true Slytherin at her core, Evangeline has long since learned how to use her beauty and natural charisma to get what she needs out of people and accomplish her goals, which are, fortunately, mostly altruistic. Who knows what sort chaos she could wrought, if she put her mind to it?

Total theater kid. She attended muggle primary schools prior to Hogwarts, and you can bet your bippy she jumped on every opportunity to get on stage that she was offered. Notable roles include Belle in Beauty and the Beast, the Wicked Witch of the West (ironically enough) in The Wizard of Oz, Wendy in Peter Pan, and Queen Zixi in Queen Zixi of Ix.

It’s no secret that Evangeline’s one premonition was of the raid that her parents died in. Her siblings all know, and none of them blame her. She was just a child; she didn’t understand what she was seeing. The secret is that, even if she had understood, Evangeline doesn’t think she would’ve warned anyone.

#hphm oc #hphm mc #jacob's sibling #hogwarts mystery #hphm #harry potter #hogwarts #slytherin #evangeline desrosiers #evangeline and enola #hogwarts mystery mc #hogwarts mystery oc #oc

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imaginesbymk · 4 years

Text

PINK + WHITE.

—chapter eight ; the flapper girl.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing, drinking

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

“TERESA, would it kill ya to quit staring at me? I'm tryna do my work here." He fumbles for the ballpoint pen that fell out of his shaky hand. Even when his eyes were down, he still felt hers following his every move when he picked up certain sheets, watching his lips curl when he read a sentence on a report from his father, or just overthinking if Teresa was judging his appearance. There's nothing on my chin, is there? Food in my teeth?

"Am I making the Italian mafioso Luca Changretta nervous?" Teresa leaned over the desk to trail her finger down Luca's chest where she could tease him by gripping the line of his blazer and rip the buttons off. "The same Italian mafioso that got some amateur in Los Angeles to beg on his knees?"

Luca didn't look up from his work. "He was trying to be sneaky and spent nearly a hundred dollars worth of gin for his mistress."

"Is that something you would do? Spend every dime to make his mistress happy?"

"I spend money on myself, to make myself look and feel good, some for business and for special occasions. But I also save," Luca glanced at her, mostly at her cleavage. "And you're not my mistress. I'm not even married. My mother wonders when I'm ever gonna tie the knot with a woman back home." Luca sighs and takes a break, resting his head for a moment. He grunts, rubbing his temple.

"Want me to take over?"

"No," Luca pulls her closer, using his other hand to set his folders to the side so carelessly. "Come here."

She obeys, allowing him to lift her up and carry her on top of his desk.

Luca kisses her. "Ciao, bella," he whispers to her. He kept going, making his way into the sensitive spot of Teresa's neck, his lips pressing against it so gently.

Teresa chuckles, feeling his hand run up her dress. "Who are you? Dracula?"

"Hm?"

"I mean you sort of look like him. You're about to drain the blood out of my neck, so you need me to be in the right position."

"Dracula draining the blood from a flapper girl, eh?"

The sounds of knocking on the heavy wooden doors made Teresa hop off the desk, thinking it was one of his men, or even his mother. She wouldn't contain the embarrassment of being affectionate and intimate with someone's son. It could possibly be the maids, but not the same ones from the hotel Luca stayed at. He fancied staying at a manor his father bought somewhere up north, his family members occupying the other rooms just a few ways down, but just spacious enough for everyone, even for a Welsh named Teresa.

Luca clears his throat and turns the knob. The servers come in with the trolley cart of a decanter and two glasses. "You ordered whiskey, Sir?"

The Italian watched the servers roll in the bar cart and nodded at him before shutting the door on their way out. "You like whiskey, amore?"

"Love all kinds of poison." Teresa walked over to the cart, picking up the vessel. She lifts the glass lid and brings it to her nose to let in a good smell. "Rich, like you."

Luca scoffs. "Yeah, if you drink out of that decanter, you'll become a part of us."

Teresa scoffs back.

"What? Teresa, becoming a soldier was like striking gold."

"I'd rather stay here and sit in the gardens, or walk around this palace wearing only my stockings."

Luca shrugged, imagining the erotic sight. It's happened before and he experienced it first-hand. "I bought you those stockings," he comments, staring down at her legs.

"I'll become a part of your family when the cows come home."

"Oh, come on! Don't gimme that. My family likes you."

"Seriously?" Teresa makes a face at him, and he responds by rolling his eyes.

"Okay, maybe it'll take some time."

"Your mother called me a brazen hussy the other day. Like what you said, she wants you to marry a woman in New York. She's mentioned a name, the woman is close with your family and she often visits at dinner parties? She came to the wedding." Teresa smirks. "She's Italian."

Luca grunts, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "Viviana."

"Signora Viviana must be the whole package."

"We consider her family, but I can't imagine marrying her," Luca shook his head, pouring himself a glass of the whiskey. "Matteo would be crushed."

Teresa was already ahead of him, nearly downing the whiskey, ready for a refill. She brings the glass to her lips, about to take in the last sip. "Do you want to get married?"

"Someday."

Teresa nodded.

"When we were at my cousin's wedding, as best man, I watched two people who were so in love exchange vows. I really felt the love my cousin had for his wife that day. And I know one day that'll happen to me. I'll marry the most beautiful bride who is my whole world. I'll be able to wake up next to her and remember how she likes her coffee in the morning."

"She'll be the luckiest wife."

"I'll treat her like a diamond."

"She'll come around. I'm sure she's somewhere out there, searching for you. Hell, she could be right on your bloody nose," Teresa jokes.

Well to be fair, the woman named Viviana was right on Luca's nose for quite some time. She shared her beautiful smile with the family, and Luca did admire her, respected her when she paid her contribution to the family. She could be waiting for him to return home as of right now, and throw her arms around the Italian so they could spend a night drinking champagne on a balcony.

Yet, Luca didn't set his lust and attention on Viviana. Not even at his cousin's wedding. Luca was picky when it came to his preferences with people, that's part of being a Changretta. But there was someone he wished his mother showed at least some respect to, a woman whose eyes light up like stars whenever Luca says her name...

Yeah, he answered to himself, watching Teresa refill her glass from the whiskey decanter. Maybe I already found her.

TERESA ran her fingers through her head, thinking about what she told Finn the other day that made the young boy rush back to Small Heath before she could settle down for her lunch break, taking her words with him. The blinds that gaped in between to let in the last bit of afternoon sun into the dark room of her office gave out the blonde locks she styled for yet another casual day. Simply walking down each corridor and back to the departments was a way to wastefully tear down the strands to her cheeks as she kept her head down so carelessly.

See what happens when you open your mouth, 'Resa? She sighs, knowing that revealing her past love to be the man that's after the Peaky Blinders would either cause high tides between her and them, or maybe even her and Luca himself, or maybe more pestering phone calls from Tommy.

Luca. He's a malicious man, she couldn't deny that. He would get his way without an issue, and if someone had to object about that, if someone were to challenge a man with such high power, would they live to tell about it? She would hate having the idea of handing the one thing she has all to herself to a man who would gladly have paintings hung in his gigantic home. The Changretta family distributes gin in and out of America with the exception of handling Alfie Solomons' rum, anyways, so why would he want to claim an art gallery all the way in Wales?

The thought of Luca threatening to put a bullet through hers or any one of her loved ones' heads sent a chill in her body. Would Luca ever do that to her? Would the Italian ever have the thought of harming someone he had a past relationship with? Would he regret it?

What was even left of Teresa's loved ones, anyhow? She wasn't as close to her team to consider them family. Perhaps one time she scolded the manager for not realizing one of their employees smoked a cigar when the gallery has a strict no smoking indoors rule, but she couldn't live with the thought of having them indirectly killed by the New York mafia. Come to think of it, she didn't have anyone, which is just as disheartening as having someone to protect. Maybe if she never got her brother killed that day—

She walks out after setting her teacup in the tiny space left open on her desk. Normally she would hear distant chatters from the tour guides speaking to the guests, or just guests speaking among each other, talking about whatever piece they lay their gaze on. But she frowned when she noticed how empty the gallery was, except for maybe five guests. Given that it's still hours in the early afternoon. Why wasn't it busy?

Teresa approaches two guides, asking the question that swirled her head. "Where is everyone?"

"I believe the gallery is in need of an upgrade." One of the tour guides spoke out, a bit of nervousness in their voice to speak up on feedback to the owner.

"Was deco not enough?"

"Most of it has already been seen, Miss."

The Welsh shook her head. "What does that even mean? The people wanted to see deco, we gave them deco. I provided rum to the guests on the grand re-opening, I made sure this place is clean and shiny from every inch of every corner. How could this place already be dead? At this hour?"

The tour guides slightly shook their heads, shrugging.

Teresa sighs. "Fine. Have any of you seen Mason?"

Mason Miller was hired on the spot when his well pressed suit and love for Rococo struck admiration for Teresa. She saw her younger self in him, almost like she was looking in the mirror of the past. Someone at a young age so passionate, she needed him as extra help.

"With all due respect, Miss Griffith, there hasn't been enough—I would say razzle-dazzle, to the place. We have a lot to catch up on, or guests will yawn and find themselves out the exit."

"Mason, this is a gallery, not a circus." Teresa scratches her neck. "It's been days since the opening. Our blood, sweat and tears shouldn't be a one time thing and dropped down to rubbish."

Her assistant shrugs. "Well, these days people don't wake up and think about visiting a gallery, y'know? You can find art deco everywhere you go; fancy dinner parties, manors. It inspires what we wear on occasions."

Teresa stares at her desk. "If Luca Changretta were to ever own this gallery, would he fix this problem? Make the place go fucking bankrupt?"

"I'm sorry, w-who? Luca Ch..." Mason asks, skimming through his clipboard of names he might have missed pinpointing and scheduling a meeting with.

Teresa looked at her assistant, realizing she spoke out her thoughts. "It's nothing. You're dismissed."

"Thank you." He smiles to himself as he bid an exit out of her office for Teresa to be back with her thoughts. Her jaw clenched. I will not let my team down, and I will not give my gallery to a mafioso.

"Actually, Mason?" the young lad stepped foot inside again, peering in with his full attention on one odd request. "Luca Changretta, that's his name. I'd like for you to find where he is at the moment and set up an invitation via letter. Let me know when he responds at your earliest convenience."

"Miss...?"

She didn't stop rationalizing it. She even settled for it faster than deciding not to ally with the Peaky Blinders. Mason Miller stared awkwardly at his boss as she set her focus back on her notepad laid on her desk. "I'd like to meet up with Luca Changretta."

+ enjoy my scene edit above! my peaky blinders editing account is @/fcknshelbys via ig.

#pink+white #tommy shelby #luca changretta #luca changretta x oc #luca changretta fanfiction #luca changretta fanfic #peaky blinders fanfictio #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x oc

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