#when hes blonde its usually like a neutral blonde or a sandy blonde | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atom-writings · 9 months

Note

Hi!!!!!!

Can I request the main 8 with a poet/writer s/o?

The main 8 find their s/o's poems or writing about them and it's like how much they love them !!!

(hopefully this makes sense :D have a nice day!

Also your writing super coolio )

hetalia allies + germany with a s/o who's a writer

1.6k words ~ gender neutral heacanons + mini scenarios

tw: swearing, thats it!

a/n: i believe this is after the cutoff so its only 6 characters sorry! also ty :)

America

Alfred may not seem like it, considering his less-than-stellar attention span, but he can be quite an avid reader if he wants to be.

In fact, when he was travelling the western frontier, he often wrote poems himself.

He loves your work, (he’s always the first one showing up on release day!) but he doesn’t love how much time it takes away from you.

Seeing you exhausted and frustrated after a long night, trash can filled with discarded drafts, just breaks his heart. He’ll make sure your office is always stacked with

Alfred wasn’t usually so easily swayed by cheesy romances, despite his sweet soft for them. But now, reading your book, he couldn’t help flushing at every interaction his favourite couple had.

The one he was reading now, well, it just took the cake. Spending the day wandering East Potomac Park? It was something out of his dreams- just endlessly… familiar?

Wait, hadn’t he done that recently with you?

Oh.

He set the book aside, burying his face in his hands as he blushed wildly.

Guess the blue-eyed, blond love interest hero was a bit more than a stereotype after all.

England

Ah, a writer. Arthur has long admired the literary arts, having many a classic writer come from his home. Yes, he’d quite enjoy someone like that.

He loves reading your work, regardless of what it is, but he’d prefer you read it to him. Then he can get all of your silly little notes along with it. Just for him <3

Although he wouldn’t appreciate you spending all day working. He’s not needy usually, but by the time you two go to bed, he’s DESPERATE for your attention.

He tries not to disturb you, though.

From the moment he picked up your work, he could tell where your inspiration for the main love interest came from. Sandy-haired, green eyes, tall but not too tall, always how you had described him.

Of course, that made his reading even more of a joy.

The only thing that bothered him was how the protagonist described themself. Always dismissed, below-par, never worthy of his love. Now, that just wouldn’t stand.

So he began to write as well. In between the margins, on attached papers, on the sides, everywhere. Correcting every disparaging thought.

Then when he finished, he handed the book back to you, with a cheeky comment.

“It was absolutely wonderful, my love.”

Whether you ever saw the notes or not didn’t matter. He had made the book even more perfect, at least to himself.

France

As said before, Francis is a very artsy guy. Very artsy. Although he’s not always skilled at making art himself… so having another artist would help with that.

He’s absolutely the number one collector of your works. Every scrap, every trashed draft, every misprint, he’s keeping everything.

He’s also pretty ok with how much time it takes! It gives him time to relax, or maybe even join in working on creative projects.

Although he would insist on regular breaks. Fortunately, Francis is a hedonist at heart, so those breaks will always provide much inspiration.

True beauty is rare. Living for so long had proven that time and time again for Francis. It isn’t natural, it isn’t easy, and it never lasts. But…that doesn’t make the pursuit of it any more meaningless.

Even more rare than its existence, is the constant presence of it.

But when he read your poems, venerating and elucidating your own feelings, he felt as if he had found it. God, it was beautiful. Your words, unlike any other’s he had read in his many years, made him feel as if he was falling in love all over again.

Instantly, he was transported into your shoes, viewing himself in a light that had never been shone on him before.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself now. It felt wrong- wrong to not give absolute reverence to this piece of art.

If he had had access to the Louvre, he would’ve kept it there. But, well, his kitchen wall would have to do for now.

China

Finally, some good fucking talent. He's very excited about his S/O being an artist! He's not much of one himself these days, but it's good to see the youth catching up to the old masters.

As much as he loves you, he's very opinionated. Everything you write he either LOVES or HATES. Though he's always excited to show off his favourites of your works, he's very proud of you.

Though he absolutely is not stand by while you spend all day sitting around and writing. Get off the couch and come with him, you're never gonna write anything real good if you don't have any life experience!

Because of that, he's gonna be a little hesitant to cater to you while you're writing.

Your last work was good, to be sure, but nothing like this. Your newest release blew him off his feet with ease, captivating him with every turn of the page. One of his favourites, he thought to himself, that'll be one he'd have to return to.

The only problem was that it was almost over already. He wasn't that much of a fast reader, was he? Well, I guess it's easy to go quickly if you love it.

And love it he did, to the very last page. Wait, this is the last page, isn't it? Why are there three more?

He flipped through them, his eyes quickly widening as he read the last page.

A love letter? To... him?

“Is this in every edition?” He asked you shakily, looking to you for reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“That's...” He brought a hand to his mouth, covering his blushing cheeks trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes, “That's such a waste of paper...”

Russia

Frankly, Ivan doesn't care much what you do. The most exciting part of you being a writer to him is just that you'd need to spend plenty of time at home.

But he'd always read your work. (Especially rough drafts, he's really good at being blunt but not mean.) And as time goes on, he'll fall in love with your talent more and more. Despite his country's many famous writers, he thinks none of them stack up to you.

He wouldn't mind how much time you dedicate to your craft, but he'd make sure to take good care of you while you're writing. He's truly very worried about you withering away in that desk chair of yours...

“Oh, I absolutely loved the part where-“

Ivan had been ranting for hours, going over every single detail that had caught his eye. Every time he thought of something new, it would lead to another excited train of thought. But there was one thing they all had in common... he really loved one character.

”He's strong!“ He'd gush, ”He's kind, and loving, and I just want him to have a happy ending!“

You let him explain over and over again how much he looked up to this character, wanting to change to be more like him in every way.

But it wasn't until he calmed down a little bit that you felt it was time to reveal the truth.

”Yeah, you know... he's based on someone I know.“

”Really? Who? I must meet him!“ He clasps his hands together in excitement.

”You, you big dummy.“

He pauses for a moment, his smile fading. He looks upset for a moment, trying to figure out how.

”But... but I am none of those things.“

”You are to me. I mean, whenever I thought about you... I'd just write that character.“

He laughs awkwardly, “You are joking, right?”

“No, of course not. You're strong... and you're kind....” he shifts away from you, tears welling in his eyes, “You're loving... and... and I'll give you a happy ending, ok?”

Before you can react, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, burying his face in your hair.

”Promise?“

”Promise.“

Germany

Ludwig would definitely love a S/O who writes. Mostly for one specific reason, though. Writers, well, they see the world in a different way. Whether that be in a more romantic, more objective, or more sympathetic way, he doesn't care. He wants to talk things through with someone like you.

He wouldn't be a total fanboy, but he'd still love your work. Although, he might not show it the way you want... it's hard for him not to criticize. He wouldn't be too harsh though!

He wouldn't mind how much you get sucked into your writing either. He knows what it's like to be dedicated to your craft, and he won't bother you too much.

Ludwig had never been an emotional person. Never, not once, throughout his many years was he truly moved to tears by fiction. Art depicting real life? Of course, many times. But he simply never found fiction as compelling as reality.

That was, of course, until he read your own works. Now, going through what you had so effortlessly created, he couldn't help tearing up at nearly every turn of events.

The way you were about to put him into the character's shoes without him even realizing, forcing him along the same journey they had gone through. It was... stunning, to say the least.

But when one of the characters began to fall in love, it was like nothing he had experienced before. Not because of any significant jump in quality, but just because... you had written it.

For a moment he sat in silence, pondering the book when he realized.

Was this what it felt like for you to fall in love with him?

It sent a chill down his spine. No, he didn't feel any differently, not at all. But... he had assumed you couldn't possibly love him as much as he loved you. Except... now?

Well, if this was how you had felt. He couldn't possibly let you go anytime soon.

108 notes · View notes

nagitoandkokichioneshots · 3 years

Note

OKAY HELLO OMG I HOPE YOU ARE TAKING REQUESTS !! i really like the way you write its super cool and i want you to keep going lolz anyways can i request a scenario where nagito, reader and hana are spending an afternoon together, the reader came home early from work which means that they can hang out, i think that would sound fun. i would love to see hana interact with her mom !!! okay so good luck

-Mod Mikan: Hello sweet nonnie! First of all, thank you for your kind words! I’m not very confident in my writing skills, but I still enjoy making X reader fanfics with my fictional crushes, so your feedback and praise means a lot to me, it really does! And this idea is SO CUTE! I had so much fun writing this, I truly love domestic life au’s, so thank you for your request!

“C’mon Mama! You have to show me around the beach!” Hana squealed, pulling her mother by the arm. The (H/C) female chuckled, as she power walked with her three year old daughter to the wide body of white sand. (Y/N) felt the rush of the grainy sand flood between her and the (F/C) flip flops she put on today. It was days like this where the ultimate (Y/T) had the day off. It was rare, but that’s what made her days off even more enjoyable. A day with the whole family was precious and the Komeada’s enjoyed every second of it

“Hey, wait for me!” Nagito ran towards the two beautiful rays of hope, slinging a black duffle bag across her shoulder. Hana giggled, holding onto her mother’s hand as they stopped at an unoccupied portion of the beach

“Sorry Papa. You’re too slow~” She giggled, earning herself a light scold from (Y/N), who was lying a Minnie Mouse beach towel for her daughter

“Hana, you know your Papa needs a little more time when it comes to our races. We have to encourage him, like we do with you all the time!” She explained, pulling the platinum blond up in an upsie. She peppered her face with kisses, making the toddler squeal in her mother’s arms. Cute giggles were muffled out by more baritone, deep laughs coming from her father

“Thank you, my angel. But don’t worry about me. The important thing is that we all made it, and now we can finally relax,” He said, running a lanky hand thorugh Hana’s neatly done braid. It was usually Nagito who does Hana’s hair in the morning, and 99% of the time, it’s a messy, but cute braid. (Y/N) has managed to braid her daughter’s hair this morning into a much neater and elegant design, even adorning it with tiny white flowers to match her two piece bathing suit

“You’re right, Papa. But can we explore? I want to build a sandcastle, go swimming, play volleyball, get ice cream, collect seashells, a--” Hana’s ramble was interrupted by her mother setting her down on the beach towel along with her pink barbie backpack

“Well maybe we can take it easy for a little while and start with that sandcastle, okay? Mama can help you out if you want,” (Y/N) flashed a sweet smile to her, already kneeling down. Nagito couldn’t help but let out a grin himself. It warmed his heart to see his angel and flower of hope playing together. As said before, (Y/N)’s days off were scarce, so saying Nagito lived for these moments would be an understatement--he considered them a blessing, even after all this time

“And Papa can go get some ice cream for us. Hana, cookie dough like always?” He waved his daughter’s favorite ice cream flavor in his question, making her (E/C) eyes light up. She nodded, whipping her braid back and forth as she did

“Yes, Papa, Yes!” She cheered, producing another series of cheerful laughs from Nagito. He then turned to his wife, asking her a similar question

“And you, my angel? (F/F), I assume?” He asked, earning a nod from the older female

“Thank you, Nagito,” She smiled. Nagito kissed both their heads before running off to a concession stand. (Y/N) turned her attention back to the three year old, as she started to shovel out some sand into her yellow plastic spade

“I want a big castle! Like the ones the princesses live in in the fairytales Papa tells me before bedtime. So we have to get A LOT of sand, Mama!” Hana exclaimed, dropping her bucket only for a split second, allowing her to motion the immense amount of ‘sand’ with her hands. (Y/N) chortled yet again at her daughter, but Hana’s cheerful smile faded into a neutral one, scooping sand into her bucket

“You....You’ll be able to read to me for bed tonight...right Mama?” The pale skinned three year old asked her mother. (Y/N) felt her heart ache at her daughter’s slightly gloomy smile, not wanting to disappoint her. After all, was she even going to say no?

“Sweetheart, I’d be more than happy to read to you any story you want for bedtime,” Her mother offered, making Hana look up from her filled bucket placed upside down in the sand. Her goofy grin was plastered back on her face, as she crawled onto her mother’s lap, kissing her cheek

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mama!” She hugged her tightly, (Y/N) nuzzling her cheek with hers. She felt some sticky lipgloss on her cheek, but she didn’t care. The hug was broken, only for (Y/N) to remove the bucket, revealing a mound of sand in the shape of the castle’s base

“No need to thank me, darling. Come on, let’s go surprise Papa with this palace fit for a princess!” She booped Hana’s nose, making her blush. Both girls worked hard for the next few minutes, molding sand into pillars, poking windows into the castle, and digging a moat around it. The sound of light footsteps shoveling through the sandy landscape signaled the return of Nagito, holding three ice cram cones in his hand

“Rocky road for my flower,” He flashed a bright smile towards Hana, handing her the waffle cone, making her gleam with the hope that Nagito adored. “(F/F) for my angel,” He gentle transferred the second cone from his hand to his wife’s. “And plain vanilla for someone like me,” Just like Hana’s, his joyous smile faded into an indifferent one, as he sat down on the beach chair. (Y/N) mentally shook her head at her husband. They’ve been married for three years and had Hana just a few weeks after their wedding. It would be safe to say that Nagito’s self confidence have been raised more than he could ever imagine and he certainly does feel more value and worth within himself, especially being near his angel’s side. But old habits that lasted since childhood are extremely difficult to break

Well...it’s progress from “worthless trash” (Y/N) thought to herself, a mature smile creeping back onto her face, as Hana licked her cone, still sitting on her mother’s lap. Hana turned to her father, surprisingly keeping her face clean from her sweet frozen treat as she continued to indulge in it

“Papa, what do you think of our castle? Me and Mama made it together,” She motioned her head towards the mountain of sand sculpted into an elegant design that resembled an ancient citadel. The white haired male simpered, admiring the work of the ultimate ballerina and the ultimate (Y/T)

“It certainly beautiful, my darling. But I can’t say I’m surprised. Symbols of hope like you two can only create the best!” He planted a kiss onto Hana’s forehead, making a faded pink blush dust upon her cheeks once again. Nagito moved to perform the same action onto his wife, but she just smirked, stopping him with pressing her index finger to his lips

“Oh? And is my dear marshmallow trying to steal a kiss from me?” She winked cheekily at him, making Nagito form a surprised expression on his face

“Huh? (Y/N) is teasing me today?” He questioned her, his licked getting slower as his vanilla soft serve shrunk in size. As for the (H/C) female, she quickly chomped the last of her cone, tossing the napkin into a nearby trash can

“Oh love, don’t think of it as teasing. Think of it asssss~” Just then, (Y/N) stood up, tightly holding Hana, her tiny legs wrapped around her mother’s bare waist. She ran off with her daughter into the ocean, creating a huge splash as they cannonballed into the lukewarm waters. The toddler shrieked from the sudden surprise and the water hitting her bare skin. However, she laughed joyously after her body became accustomed to the new temperature, still clinging onto her mother to support her tiny body in the large body of salt water

“Join the fun, Nagito! Hana is right, you are pretty slow~” She chaffed at her husband, lightly splashing water onto the toddler’s rounded face, making her yelp in a mix of shock and cheekiness

“H-Hey! (Y/N), weren’t you the one who told Hana to give me a break from running?!” He pouted, making his way into the ocean as fast as the sickly man could. He tossed his shirt onto the beach chair and kicked off his shoes before entering the vast ocean. He searched for his family, before spotting the two girls half swimming-half walking towards them

“Now that wasn’t funny, (Y/N)! Not only did you tease me, but you stole my flower away! This was supposed to be a family day,” He sulked, making (Y/N) place one of her hands on Nagito’s cheek, stroking it gently with her thumb

“Aw, poor baby. I’m sorry, Naggie. Can you forgive me??? Please???” She singsonged to him, pulling Hana up so their heads were at level with each other. Hana also made the same puppy dogged eyes with her mother, asking for his forgiveness

“Pwease, Papa???” She asked him too. Who was Nagito kidding? He couldn’t say no to his two favorite girls

“Well...just this once. After all, this is Mama’s day off,” His glower was replaced with his usual merry expression, making both girls shout in happiness

“Yayyy! Come on, Papa! I wanna swim!” Hana grabbed her father’s arm in her free hand, along with her mother’s in the other one. Half swimming and half walking, she treaded along the water’s surface before creating a tiny splash as her white skinned body flopped into the deeper waters, still holding onto her parents’ hands for support

“Hana, not too far, darling. We don’t want you getting kidnapped by pirates out in far waters,” Her mother joked, warning her to stay close. Nagito reached for his wife’s free hand with his, smiling at her before they joined their daughter in the salty ocean

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

“That was the best, Mama!” Hana exclaimed, tightening her little legs that were circling around her mother’s waist. (Y/N) flashed a smile, this time, a semi-tired one mixed in with her usual bright one

“I’m so glad you had fun, my flower. We should definetly do this again when I get another day off. And don’t forget, Mama still promised you a bedtime story when we get back home~” She nuzzled her nose with Hana’s, as Nagito let out a giggle

“Well that’s just the cutest sight ever. The angel of hope and the flower of hope cuddling!” He got inside the driver’s seat of the car, setting a small baggie down in the cupholders. (Y/N) blushed at Nagito’s statement, setting the toddler down into the warm cushions of her carseat. Hana squirmed a bit as (Y/N) secured the seatbelts across her little lap, as if she was trying to see what was in the contents of the baggie

“Papa, can I see my seashells? I collected a lot!” She asked her father, earning a side grin from the male. He reached his hand towards the mini drawstring, making it land on the toddler’s lap with a gentle toss

“There you go, my love. Now it’s time for my other love to join me in the front,” He winked at (Y/N), patting the passenger’s seat in the front. The (H/C) female kept her faint blush on her cheeks, crawling beside Nagito in the front of the car. As Hana poked a slightly chubby finger inside the cinch sack, thrilled to see the collection of shells she picked up, (Y/N) turned to Nagito, a relaxed sigh fell from her pink lips

“This was a much needed break. I missed this, Naggie...” She admitted to her husband, making Nagito form his usual, carefree smile on his face. He pulled out of the parking lot of the beach, turning onto the street

“Me too. It was so nice for your boss to let you have a day off when you’ve been working so hard, my angel. Hana really missed you,” He responded, keeping his keys on the road. He kept one hand on the wheel, the other one creeping to touch his wife’s. He stroked his thumb upon her knuckles, keeping her at ease. She looked down for a split second before turning to him, another smirk forming on her face

“You know, Hana loves her Papa as much as she missed her Mama. Would he care to join us for a bedtime story???” The female questioned him, every word of her sentences laced with a flavor of sweetness. Nagito’s smile crept wider, seeing his daughter admiring the elegantly spotted scallop shell between her fingers from his mirror

“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind someone like me intruding your mother-daughter time?” He asked his wife for reassurance, earning an eye-roll from her. However, this only lasted for a split second, as the thumb that was stroking her knuckles was yanked into a hand-holding position, each finger interlocked with each other

“We would be offended if you didn’t!”

#nagito komaeda #nagito komeada kin #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa x y/n #nagito x reader #nagito headcanons #nagito oneshots #danganronpa nagito #nagito x you #danganronpa oneshot #danganronpa goodbye despair

42 notes · View notes

atendersun-archived · 2 years

Text

Full Physique Guide for Muu

i. Face

Hair: In terms of color, it is a rather sandy / beige toned blond that is near indiscernible from being a very, very light shade of brown. Due to the fact of being in the process of growing it out from its prior tradition of being worn short and overly layered to the point of seeming unkept and childish, it is more often than not worn as an asymmetrical bob as said layers extend out to a point in which they will all someday rest evenly amongst his shoulders, or beyond. It is from a lack of knowledge regarding hair styling and general maintenance that he has gone with wearing it parted down the middle than any other way of sectioning it off. Only for the purpose of work will he really make the effort to prevent overgrown strands from appearing in his face by using neutral colored clips. More often than not, though, he will usually just allow it to rest naturally regardless of it how may do so on any particular day.

Eyes: Being that he has carried with him the same wide set doe eyes he'd been blessed with since birth, he has barely noticeable lids to shape around them. The only thing that really allows them to be seen beyond an initial glance is the fact that he has relatively long and light colored eyelashes that tend to draw in attention on occasion. Where exactly he inherited the genes to be birthed with such a unique set of orbs in comparison to the standard brown hues scattered amongst the majority of his immediate family is still to be determined, but Muu happens to really like the fact that his seem to be one of a kind in his small social circle. He absolutely admires his particular color way of green-hazel eyes due to the fact that differentiating streaks and shades of copper fading into an almost yellowish ring to separate them from going straight into the olive tone of his outer iris make it seem like his eyes are made of sunflowers. Sunflowers may not be his current favorite flower, but the were for so long growing up that to nearly see a pair of them every time he passes a glance at his face in the mirror is really beautiful to him.

Nose: Small and button like, though it does retain a very straight / angular shape that patterns well with the pointed chin of his heart shaped face. For the most part, the skin of the surrounding area is clear of blemishes. Only after being in direct sunlight for a consistent amount of time, such as in the summer, does it really go from being a blank canvas to that of a small section of skin scattered with tiny freckles. As with the season, they'll leave him every winter, but those few days of the year he allows them and his natural blush to be seen without any makeup to cover anything up are made all that little bit better by having shared his handsomeness with the world around him.

Lips: In contrast with his eyes, yet similar to his nose, they are very small in regards to them being thin rather than full. Even with the limited property available with their spacing, he will still find a way to pick at the skin should they go dry, so he has found it best to always have a reputable brand of chapstick on his person at all times when he's out of the house. That is typically the only product he will place on them since he isn't one to accessorize them any other way. Including the frequent times he begins his morning routine applying makeup, since his goal in doing so is to look appealing in the most natural looking of ways possible.

ii. Neck / Shoulders

Although he is not the most physically actively individual, Muu does consistently take care of himself when it comes to his body's wellbeing. Being that he is very inclined to music and engaging in his environment in a kinesthetic way, dancing and singing within the privacy of his home is typically where he both releases and rejuvenates energy to get through the day. He's also very in charge of meeting his own needs, such as cooking, cleaning, maintaining his personal hygiene, and fixing things around his home, that he is surprisingly fit and spry for someone both petite and in need of care in other ways.

Even so, his build would be best suited for someone with a flexible and interpretive manner of movement, such as a musician, or performer, rather than of a more stereotypical and more easily recognizable athlete. He's shoulder and neck muscle may be noticeable through their divots and angles, but neither are particular wide in the way they would be in someone that engages in hands on exercise, like sports, or applies far more consistency and trial into their habits in the way a body builder would.

In a way, even with their clear definition, the smallness of other pieces of anatomy attached to them, such as his arms, or the fullness of others, like his conjoined chest, the juxtaposition of all things considered leaves him appearing androgynous and almost frail in comparison to other men who carry the same definition in different, more confident manner.

#hisphysique

2 notes · View notes

kalebdoodlesanddrafts · 3 years

Text

(D&D Writing Prompt) a gaggle of bastards looking for their father figure

The tavern door opened upon a solid punt from a boot, casting the summer sun through the entryway. The silhouettes of these intruders were not kind on the eyes, but they were more kind than that of the blaring light casting around them. Patrons and barkeepers initially scowled upon the slam, but kept such an expression continuous through being blinded by the intrusion. Both doors. Why couldn't they just use one? The vampire guest the bar once welcomed was now huddling himself into the corner, nursing off of his drink—which was thankfully not another patron, lest he'd get escorted out like last time—and the chatter had stopped. Even more heinous? The tink of a lute silenced into the dry sound of callouses running across strings, a grunt to accompany the displeasure of being interrupted.

"Close the door!" That vampire cried, akin to a teenager whose parent had decided to make their entry to their room at an inopportune time.

When one finally took to close the doors behind them, the vast majority of them stood ramrod in the wake of stares aligned upon them, all unwelcome or aggravated with their decision in entry. There may as well have been eggshells beneath all of their shoes; crisp and cracking with the same fragility as the boundaries they had made for themselves. It took a matter of seconds before the double doors latched entirely behind them, replacing sun with those dim, low candles. That scent of smoke and ale had permeated the air, unfiltered by the brief breeze outside. One of the bastard children had nearly been knocked down by it.

The bastards, of which there were six. All of them were partially human—one possibly even entirely human, but his siblings were convinced that beneath some possible illusion, he might have been something horrific. This was the second eldest: A man whom they had found on a farm, scraping dirt beneath his hands, too poor to replace the brittle tools his mother had passed down to him. Too disowned by his father for not being his own to be given any better. Atop his head was sandy blonde hair, nose splotched with sunburn and freckles. Eyes were green, and like all of his siblings, he had a long nose. He, however, was one of the most built of them, on account of his work.

Then there was the eldest, a half-tiefling with silver tresses that met to his waist, slender with a staff affixed to his back. Though more vibrant, brought out by an excessive addition of makeup, his eyes were green, green as most of his younger siblings. But his skin was an off-violet, etched and marked with tattoos of deities usually quiet, adorned in jewelry and piercings. He had been the one to close the door, and his hand was still upon it.

The twins were next, two halfling girls with weapons egregiously large for their stature. Small or not, they dressed with the thickest armor they could find, plate and chainmail, with nothing but their mud-specked faces sticking out from beneath collars. Freckles, that long nose, and ginger tresses. Despite having brown eyes, their facial structure was recognizable to their siblings.

A convict was among them, ankle still raw from breaking off a chain with a relatively poor attempt that involved stacking the halfling sisters and wedging an axe into the chain. That shackle was still beneath their boot, a cane keeping them upright while they got a feel for their legs. A changeling, who if only for the sake of finding their father, wore themselves as they were born. A tuxedo with tails was fitted well to an androgynous figure, matched with the rest of the ensemble.

The final and the youngest of them was a half-kenku, with a build that couldn't decide between human and bird. What was his name? Not even they knew. He squawks. But? Those screeches hurt their feelings, somehow. None of the siblings knew what it was. If only to keep him from that behavior, they dropped a guitar into his hands and hadn't gone back since. Such was strapped to his back, flush against blackish feathers.

Arguing amongst themselves, save for that of the eldest, they squabbled over whom to ask first. The tiefling went ahead of them, rolling his eyes on the way. Landing himself ahead of the counter, he rested his elbows against it, opening palms if only to support his head. Curling his lips into a smile, he looked on past lashes at the man behind the bar, waiting for the tender's attention. Charisma? Check.

Whereas their brother was making chatter with the bartender? The rest of the siblings scattered, filtering through the bar in some desperate attempt to find who should have been there for them. Who had made the decisions he had. Some of them vengeful, bitter, the others of them hopeful. The only neutral one out of them was the changeling. But, in their defense, they tended to stay neutral on most everything. Such didn't stop them from helping, however.

While they made their rounds, the music quietly stopped, that torch passed to another. The man with lute in tow reached over his head, pulling a canvas hood over his vibrant green eyes. Rifling through a pocket, he hastily patted himself down for his sunglasses, jolting upon feeling another hand tap him. It wasn't his own. Teetering his gaze down, a cold wash touched his very blood, but a smile shifted the stubble at his jaw.

"Can I help you?" He'd ask, keeping his tone genial while that changeling stared closely at him.

Cocking their head slowly, a white tress escaped its placement from behind an equally pale ear, colorless eyes slanting while one squinted. "I think you can," they affirmed with a hint of intrigue to their intonation. "You're suited for travel. Bars don't pay too well. Think you could help us find our dad?" A brow quirked up along their forehead, hands balancing over the cane supporting their weight. "I'll pay."

The bard held his silence, tilting eyes behind fabric towards the other young adults terrorizing the bar. Mostly the twins. They were standing on the table with another man at axepoint, who was waggling his hands with a sort of terror that didn't usually come with such small people. It sure was today. The kenku had another in tears, and the eldest looked more as though he was going to take the bartender home than find anyone. Same with the second eldest, though he had found another woman of the fields, ale shared over the topic.

Ebbing out a breath, that calloused hand of his lifted, pinching at the bridge of his nose while he shifted his weight to one hip, palming over it. "I think I might just be able to."

#dnd #d&d #writingprompt #thetieflingisahottieandIshouldprobablydrawhim #new to tumblr #writing

1 note · View note

sunflowersstan · 4 years

Text

Andante, Andante

So. This is just a little snippet I wrote, and I’m not sure if I’ll continue from here. It’s Alpha!Steve Rogers/Omega!Female Reader (if you’re not into that, please ignore this as I wanted to try something out of my comfort zone). I tried to make the reader, although female, as neutral as possible (my goal was to not include any defining features that indicates she’s a specific race. If I messed up though, please feel free to correct me). Slightly nsfw, so be careful of wandering eyes.

This version of Steve was inspired by @howdoyousleep3’s Alpha!Steve in her fic “Like It’s the Only Thing I’ll Ever Do”. Please read it, it’s a fantastic series and will satisfy your stucky cravings. 😉

Thank you to @howdoyousleep3 and @leisurelypanda for the encouragement! Title came from the song “Andante Andante” by ABBA.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written fanfiction, so...please accept this garbage. *runs and hides*

The wispy autumn breeze caresses her face as a window is opened, bringing a welcome chill into a room that has been steamy for the past five days. Her eyes flutter open, a pleasant ache tingling through her core as she adjusts positions on the bed. Only the sheets are covering her, covers and pillows strewn all around the room. Her eyes land on him. An alpha. Her alpha.

Her alpha that is built like a jetliner, but is sweet as sugar. Sandy blond hair, a matching beard that is grown out a little longer than its usual length. Soft blue eyes that lets her know she’s home. Her safe place. Her refuge.

She can’t help but be in love.

He turns around, naked as the day he was born, eyes twinkling at what he sees. His cheeks flush, a sweet smile brewing at the corner of his lips. He crawls back into bed, immediately wrapping her in his burly arms. “How are you feeling?”

It’s a personal question. This was her first heat that she’s experienced with an alpha, which set off his rut. Their intermingled scent permeates the room. She could get used to this being a recurring experience.

“Good.” She answers, eyes flicking down to his plush lips and back up to his eyes. His long eyelashes frame those stunning eyes that are scanning over her body, landing on the new marks he scattered over he breasts, her collarbone, and her thighs. He smirks to himself, as if he takes pride in the picture he’s painted. He is an artist, after all.

“Yeah?” He responds, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Mmm sugar, you smell so good. Smell like me.” He mumbles, taking a deep breath through his nose once it reaches her scent gland. She lets a soft noise escape from her lips, fingers curling into his hair. “Glad I could be here, help you, provide for you.” He rumbles. If there is one thing she learned about her alpha from this heat, it’s that he is insatiable. He thinks of her as the most gorgeous person in the world, treasures her, satisfies her more than can be articulated.

“Steve,” she whispers, bringing a leg over his, a large hand gripping her hip, creeping down towards her ass to grab at it. “God, Steve Rogers, you are something special.” She lets out a breathy giggle, caressing his cheekbone one he looks back up at her.

He kisses her, hand landing in her hair as their lips move, press, and nip against one another. He reluctantly pulls away, tipping her chin up when he brings his hand back down to her face. “Could say the same about you, baby. You were a sweet girl for me during your heat, yeah?” She nods, biting her lip. “Course you were, angel. Always such a good girl for me.”

She melts against him. To other people, she is kind, but she can be feisty when needed. She’s independent and compassionate, capable in more ways than one. With Steve Rogers as her alpha though, how can she resist giving into her baser needs? Comply with what her instincts (and her designation) tell her to do? She’s never been so eager and pliant to please another man before.

#steve rogers/reader #abo #alpha!steve #omega!reader #steve rogers x reader #alpha!steve rogers #fanfic

103 notes · View notes

kaffeinic · 5 years

Text

Dropping | Bang Chan

Dear talented people of tumblr, what about soft-skater-bf!Chan?

- @ethereal-chanracha

1 | 2

Pairing: Reader x Skater!Bang Chan

Genre: Neutral // Fluff // Romance

Warnings: Fem!Reader

Preamble: Christopher Bang, better known as Chan by his friends, was the walking definition of a skater boy. With a charming smile, adventurous personality, and unapologetically flirty attitude, you were determined to keep your distance from him.

You’re really not the type of person who actively wants to go to the beach. It’s always been more of a family thing or something your friends have dragged you into. Today was no different.

“Sorry, guys!” Sarah said. “They said they’ll be here soon!” Sarah was your close friend of four years. She had invited you and two other friends of yours to go to the beach with a group of boys from your school. You knew most of them and didn’t want to let anyone down or seem like a prude, so you agreed to go.

“It’s fine, Sarah. They’re only five minutes late.” Megan said. You nodded.

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” You assured her. Kat popped open a bottle of sunscreen which spewed dots of white all over Megan, who squirmed.

“Hey! Watch it.” She said, rubbing the lotion into her arms.

“Banana Boat is the only thing standing between my skin and the dangerous rays of the sun. You should be happy you got some.” Kat retorted. Meg rolled her eyes as she held out her hand for more. You and Sarah took one look at each other and smiled.

“Banana boat~” You said together. “Fun sun protection!” The four of you burst into laughter as two boys approached you. Harry and Matthew chuckled at your horrible chorus, smiling.

“I see you boys finally made it.” Kat said. Harry feigned offense with a hand to his chest.

“Excuse me, but we aren’t even fifteen minutes late. Take a chill pill.” He said. “Chan is, though.” You looked around at the two boys who joined your party.

“Who’s Chan?” You asked. Harry smiled.

“Hey, Y/n, it’s good to see you. Chan’s one of my mates from primary school.” He explained. “I invited him.” You hummed in understanding and nodded.

“Cool.” It was then that you saw a man with a mop of curly blonde hair skateboarding towards your small village of friends. He came to a stop, propping up his board to pick it up.

“Hey guys, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching the clock.” He explained. You looked at the stranger intently, trying to see if you recognized him. He wore white and blue swim trunks and a black sleeveless shirt. His hair was tousled from the wind, and his eyes squinted at you in the sun.

“It’s all good, bro. Let’s get going.” Matt said. The young band of excited beach-goers made their way to the sand, and you followed suit. Your flip-flops smacked your heels with every step, increasing your hatred for them at every clap of sound.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Chan.” The blonde haired boy held his hand out to you as you trotted to the shore. You shook it lightly.

“Likewise. I’m Y/n.” You said. He flashed a smile at you. “I like your skateboard.” You said. It was relatively plain, but there were a few stickers dotting the bottom that you enjoyed looking at.

“It’s not much, but I wanted to customize it myself.” He explained, proudly holding it up. “Do you skate?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No, but I’ve tried. I just don’t have the balance for it.” You said. Chan openly laughed at that.

“Maybe I could teach you.” He said, smirking. You rolled your eyes and continued on your journey to the beach. Once you all decided on a good spot - which took forever, thanks to Kat - you chucked your flip-flops into the sand, laid out your towel, and immediately whipped out your bag of snacks.

“We haven’t been here for ten minutes and Y/n already has her food out.” Meg said, laughing.

“My kind of girl.” Chan said, briskly walking past the two of you. You and Meg took one look at each other and giggled, knowing full-well that this day was going to be filled with flirty comments from each and every one of the boys who joined you.

“I think he likes you.” Megan said, poking your arm. You pulled away, laughing.

“That type of guy is never a good idea.” You said. “Skaters are always getting themselves into trouble.” You added. Meg laughed.

“Well, you’re not wrong, mate. However, being honest, I’ve never seen Channie in trouble.” She said. You raised a brow.

“You knew him, too?” You asked. She nodded.

“Yeah. I was in Harry and Chan’s class a long time ago.” She said. “We just kind of fell out of touch. He’s a really good guy, though.” With that, you smirked.

“Oh? He’s a good guy, huh?” You elbowed her side, teasing her.

“Mhmm. You should see him shirtless.” She added. “Which it seems you’ll be seeing pretty soon.” She gestured to the boys who were removing their extra articles of clothing to jump in the water. Matt first, then Harry, and then Chan removed their shirts, casting them aside. Harry and Matt were facing you, their gloriously hairless torsos shining in the sun. Chan was facing the two of them, his back turned to you. The muscles on his back alone told you what you’d probably be expecting in the front.

“The real question is why do you know what he looks like shirtless?” You asked Megan. She laughed.

“It’s not the first time we’ve come here.” She replied. “I tried with Chan, but he didn’t seem interested.” You heard her audibly sigh. “It’s a shame, really.” You smiled devilishly.

“The great Megan Callan, turned down by a cheeky skater boy.” She pouted at your words.

“Hey!” You held up your hands in surrender.

“I kid, I kid.” You said. Matt yelled your name.

“Y/n! Meg! Come on! The water’s great!” He exclaimed. His hair was already damp, his eyes squinting as he looked in your direction. You and Meg stood from your sandy seats and ran over to the rest of your party. You stood just outside of the waves’ grasp, watching as they folded over themselves.

“Are you coming?” Chan was standing in front of you, his ankles in the water. He ran a hand through his soaked hair, shaking at you like a dog. You flinched.

“Hey!” You laughed playfully. He grinned at his successful attempt to make you smile, holding out his hand.

“Come on.” He said. You stared at his hand, trying to avoid looking at the toned muscles you knew were being flashed in front of you.

“I don’t usually go into the water.” You admitted. Chan’s brow raised in confusion.

“What? Then why did you come?”

“To make sandcastles,” You replied. “And eat.” Chan rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand. You instantly began to fight him. Once he realized that you weren’t just playing along, he stopped

“I’m sorry! Are you okay?” He said, turning back to you. He craned his neck downward to look at your face. “Did I hurt you?” Worry was painted on his face and in his tone.

“No. It’s just-” You began. “I’m afraid to go in the water. I should’ve specified.” You said. Chan nodded his head in understanding.

“It’s alright.” He said. You were visibly embarrassed, hiding your face to the best of your abilities. “Do you wanna build a moat?” He asked. A scene from Frozen suddenly flashed through your mind.

“A moat?” You asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. For our sandcastle.” He said.

“Our sandcastle?”

“Yeah. I don’t want you to have to be all alone.” He explained. You put your hands up.

“No. I’m not going to be the reason you don’t have any fun. Go swim! Shoo!” You shooed him away like a fly. He placed a large hand on his chest.

“Excuse me, but shooing is a punishable offense.” He said, turning around. You thought he was walking away to go swim, but instead, he cupped some sea water in his hands and threw it on you. You squealed from the sudden cold feeling that rippled through your skin, shuddering.

“Hey!” You bent down and did the same to him. Within seconds, you two were in your own little world. You squealed with delight when you splashed him with a handful of water. As you turned, you narrowly avoided stepping on a crab that decided it was a good idea to walk between the two of you as you waged war with water. Alliteration, whoops. In an effort to not kill the crab and/or not get attacked by said crab, you spun sideways, landing flat on your back in the wet sand. Remnants of a wave slapped your face, causing your nose to burn as the salty sea water found its way into your nostrils. You wailed.

“Ow!” You sat straight up, blowing forcefully out of your nose to remove the intruding water. Chan crouched next to you, face dripping from the effects of your battle. He had a brow raised and a smirk on his face.

“Did this widdle cwabby scare you?” He mocked. You pushed his chest lightly, feeling just how solid it was.

“No, I just didn’t want to hurt him.” You said.

“Yeah, sure.” Chan said. He reached across your body, picking up the crab gently. “He looks gnarly.” He commented. You rolled your eyes.

“He looks like a crab. I highly doubt he wants to be picked up.” As the words left your mouth, Chan exclaimed as the crab pinched him. He chucked it a foot away, inspecting his injury.

“Awe, did the widdle cwabby give you a boo-boo?” You returned his previous mockery, earning an offended stare.

“I’ll go get him and put him in your hair.” He threatened. Your eyes widened.

“No!” The both of you giggled, rising from the sand. Chan ran a hand through his hair, grinning.

“Hungry?” He asked. You nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.” He said, turning to inform your friends. You waddled back to your towel, wrapping yourself in it. Soon, your entire party was making its way to the food stands near the beach.

Did I just start another fanfic when I have three others to finish? Yes, yes I did.

Some insight into the title:

“Dropping!”: Some skaters will yell this to prevent a collision as they drop in to a section of a crowded park.

A bit of foreshadowing there..... Hint, hint, wink, wink. Lmao sorry, I’m a dork.

I know I usually use a gif, but those selfies were perfect for the story. As always, please like and reblog if you enjoyed! I truly appreciate all of your support and feedback! Have a nice day~

* DISCLAIMER: I do not own any gifs/photos used in this post. I do own the written content. Do NOT repost/edit. *

🏷 @a-toxic-galaxy • @hoshithehamster • @woo-for-woojin • @lovely-little-lesbib

#kpop #fanfictions #headcannons #reactions #ships #imagines #stray kids #skz #3racha #bang chan #chan #christopher bang #cb97 #skater #skater au #beach #boyfriend #cute #fanfic

121 notes · View notes

today-we-will-survive · 5 years

Text

Spectrum: Preview

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Soulmate!AU, Punk!AU, College!AU, romance, angst

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.7K

A/N: This is a preview for the second fic in my “Punk Soulmate Collection”

I’m sorry you’re having a bad day, you think as you gently stroke the currently blue colored tattoo encircling your left ring finger. It’s been changing colors all day, staying within the blue and purple hued spectrum signifying that your soulmate—whoever they are, wherever they are—has been going between feeling bad and worse. You noticed it that morning when you woke up. That’s always the second thing you do when you open your eyes. Turn off your alarm, check your ring. Usually it’s somewhere in the red to green range meaning they’re in a good mood—or at least neutral, but not this morning. It seems to have started off a melancholy teal and gotten more purple from there, now tinted a bold indigo.

What’s going on? You wonder and pull your bottom lip into your mouth, your manicured brows furrowing a bit with concern.

The sound of your name being called has you jerking your head up off your desk, eyes shooting to the front of the room as everyone else’s focus on you.

“You still with me?” your professor asks and you feel your cheeks heat up as you slink lower in your chair, nodding your head just slightly enough to get him to continue his lecture.

Thankfully he does and you breathe a sigh of relief when you feel the dozens of other eyes fall away again. Sit up, pay attention, you think and straighten your spine so you’re sitting tall. You try to pay attention, try to listen to the lecture, but you can’t help the little inkling gnawing at the back of your brain and you glance down again at your tattoo. It’s turned a deep violet and you feel your heart sink. What’s going on?

Your apartment on the top floor is outfitted with the plush trappings of the most luxurious kind. Only the best for the princess of the Upper East Side. At least that’s what you overheard the movers say as they carried each carefully wrapped piece of furniture and decor up the weekend before you were to start your second year of college. Your mother was aghast when she heard that freshmen were required to live in the dorms on school grounds—even though you were given one of the more well kept rooms in the best building. You’d tried to tell her it was fine and even went so far as to admit that you were excited to have a normal college kid experience, but of course, she wanted none of that, whisking you out to go apartment shopping the minute the last semester ended and then having it renovated and curated to her liking for the extent of the summer.

Now you’re well into fall quarter, doing homework at a marble and oak desk in this grand study in a ridiculously huge, extravagant apartment and you’ve never felt lonelier in your life. Your mother insisted you get the whole place to yourself because, “valuable things tend to disappear and end up in dirty pawn shops when you invite others to share your home with you.” You doubt she knows this from experience but rather from the years of having it drilled into her own head that if someone doesn’t have as much money as you, they will try to take yours. That’s why she insists that you only interact with others of your stature—or rather those closest to your stature since no one is actually at your level, right mom?

So when you hear your phone vibrate and see it skitter across the marble desk top, you know without looking that it’s one of three people. Kim Seokjin, a boy that seems to like the fact that his social standing puts him miles above the rest of the students he goes to school with a little too much and someone your parents have been trying to set you up with, Min Yoongi, the only other person that seems to understand how absolutely ridiculous it is that as young people above the age of independence, your parents still somehow have complete control over every aspect of your lives, and Park Jennie, A-list socialite who throws the best parties and can get away with anything with a flash of that perfectly sweet smile, aka your best friend. And now when you pick up your phone, you’re met with that very smile. With a curl of your own lips, you hit “accept” and bring the phone to your ear.

“Hey J—”

You can’t pull your phone away from your poor ear fast enough to save it from the high pitched scream that comes hurtling at you through the speaker. For a split second you think something is horribly, horribly wrong with your friend, until the scream devolves into a fit of giggles.

“Babe!” she screeches, “You’ll never guess where I am!”

“Hopefully somewhere devoid of people since you probably just made anyone within a mile of you deaf.”

“I’m at Choi Marie’s trying on my birthday dress and it’s ah-mazing!” she continues completely ignoring your comment. “It seriously is so perfect—well, almost perfect. If I can convince daddy to let me make the neckline a little lower and the bottom hem a little higher, then it’ll be perfect.”

You can’t help but shake your head. “Of course it will, J,” you chuckle. “Every eye will be on you.”

“It better be,” she says. “I’m not shelling out this much dough just to have someone upstage me at my own party.”

“No one would dare,” you say, shutting your laptop and leaning back in your chair. Your spine makes a satisfying crack.

“Oh! That reminds me,” Jennie says. “Your dress is here to.”

Now you quickly sit forward again. “My what? J, you didn’t. I was going to wear the dress I got in Milan last spring.”

“Of course I didn’t. Daddy did, ” she says then lets out a giggle. “Besides, my best friend isn’t going to be wearing some closet vagabond garb from last season. You should come now. It’s here for you to try on.”

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. With an excited squeal, you end the call and jump up from your desk, leaving your text books and laptop strewn all over its top. You know they’ll be in a neat pile when you return but you don’t want to think about that now as you grab your purse and keys and head out of your apartment.

“J, this is too much,” you say half an hour later when you’re looking at yourself in the full-length mirror at Choi Marie’s. A sequined, powder blue dress hugs your every curve, ending midway down your calves. Jennie stands beside you playing with her own dress that would be the same as yours if not for the gold sequins, rhinestones and jewels and the fact that it’s, you know, much more…her. She hikes the hem of hers up to mid-thigh, showing off more of her porcelain legs and tilts her head in thought.

“Should I go shorter?” she asks still studying herself in the mirror.

You laugh. “You won’t have any dress left if you go shorter,” you say teasingly and Jennie sneers at your reflection. “Seriously, though, J. This is too much.” Your palms run down your stomach over the ridges of the blue/gray rhinestones. Then you catch sight of the dark band around your finger and your stomach sinks. You’d been so caught up in studying for your exams and then ogling this dress that you hadn’t noticed the band darken further from the violet it had been last time you checked.

“It’s really no big deal—” Jennie says, not noticing that you’re staring at your tattoo. “But if you really want to pay me back, there’s this Gucci choker I’ve been eying for a while and…” At last she catches on, watching you bring your hand up to your face and touch your knuckles to your lips, deep in thought.

“Moody boy at it again?” she asks though her eyes are sympathetic.

“It seems to be happening more often now,” you reply. “I wish I knew who he was or had a way to communicate with him, ya know? Just so I could try to make him feel better.”

“You have such a heart of gold, babe,” Jennie says putting her hands on your arms and giving you a squeeze. “Your boy is probably one of those hot brooding types.” Then she wiggles her own red-ringed finger. “Mine can’t seem to calm down.”

You smile in amusement. The only time your best friend’s soulmate tattoo isn’t a bright scarlet red—the happiest color—is when it’s tinged closer to green—signifying calmness—and that’s usually only in the morning and really late at night when any normal person would be sleeping.

Jennie lets out a growl as she tugs her dress up higher. “You’re gonna get James Dean and I’ll get Bozo the Clown on crack,” she mutters.

The laugh escapes before you can catch it and you slap a hand over your mouth to try to hide it but it’s no use. Jennie’s already dissolved into fits of laughter as well, clinging on to you to keep from toppling over in her four inch stilettos. The two of you look ridiculous in your sparkling dresses and heels, hair in disarray and faces red and shining with laughter. You’ve already forgotten about the dark ring encircling your finger or the meaning behind it.

The hard case of Kim Taehyung’s cell phone bites into the plaster of his dorm room wall before clattering to the carpeted floor below. He rakes his hands through his sandy blonde hair and lets out a heavy sigh, falling backward on his bed and bouncing on the mattress. Another rejection. It seems that’s all he gets nowadays. No after no after no. For once, he’d like a yes. For once he wishes he had some good news for his bandmates. That they actually get to play the venue they’ve been trying to get into for months. That the label they’ve been pursuing has actually listened to their demo and liked it. Instead it’s no. No, no and no.

Taehyung drags his hands down his face, the thick, gun-metal silver band encircling his left ring finger catching on his lip. He pulls his hands back and uses his thumb to lift the ring. A red stripe stains the skin beneath and a pang of jealousy stabs at his chest.

At least one of us is having a good time, he thinks, then slips the ring back down over the tattoo. Out of sight, out of mind.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfic preview #spectrum #wip #bts fanfiction #bts taehyung #bts soulmate au

101 notes · View notes

bloodsworn-marshal · 5 years

Text

REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! good luck !

TAGGED. @cielcrd TAGGING. Anyone who would sell their souls to complete this as I have

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Pipin Tarupin

NICKNAME: Pip (Prefers None)

AGE: 25

BIRTHDAY: 19th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon (August 19th)

ETHNIC GROUP: Dunesfolk Lalafell

NATIONALITY: Eorzean

LANGUAGE(S): Common Eorzean

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual/Unsure

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteroromantic/Unsure

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single

CLASS: Soldier / Military / Gladiator

HOMETOWN / AREA: Ul’dah / Thanalan

CURRENT HOME: Goblet

PROFESSION: Flame General / Marshal of the Immortal Flames

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Long locks of sandy almost ash-blond hair. Typically wild and loose with a side braid.

EYES: Coal Black

NOSE: Dark and pudgy

FACE: Very round chubby cheeks

LIPS: Average, always smiling to an extent

COMPLEXION: Tan, mixtures of dark depending on amounts of sun exposure.

BLEMISHES: Slightest almost unnoticeable freckles.

SCARS: Multiple small scars and calluses.

TATTOOS: Twin dark black tattoos on either upper arm. Somewhat akin to Raubahn’s, but typically hidden.

HEIGHT: 91 cm ( 3′0 )

WEIGHT: 20 kg ( 45 lbs )

BUILD: Small and somewhat built in muscle. More than your average Lalafell.

FEATURES: Fairly average, most notable being his small stature.

ALLERGIES: None

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Loose and free.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Deep look of concern and strictness. A burning determination that makes one think his mind is always set on what it is that he’s doing. A little too much so.

USUAL CLOTHING: Oft seen in Immortal Flames uniform whether it be his battle armor or coat for more political-sided ventures.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR(S): Deep Water, Failure, Losing loved ones.

ASPIRATION(S): Cleaning up Ul’dah, picking up where his father left off.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Confident, Brave, Loyal, Honest, Fun Loving

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Impatient, Cocky, Mistrustful, Self-Conscious

ZODIAC: Leo

TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine

SOUL TYPE(S): King / Warrior

ANIMALS: Falcons

VICE HABIT(S): Drinking / Overworking

FAITH: The Twelve / Azeyma the Warden

GHOSTS?: Yeeees

AFTERLIFE?: Yes

REINCARNATION?: Yes

ALIENS?: Um...

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Democratic?

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: He’s not too sure what this even is.

SOCIO POLITICAL POSITION: Left?? He’s not too sure about this one either.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Hardly any. Knows how to read and write at best.

FAMILY.

FATHER: Raubahn Aldynn ( adoptive father )

MOTHER: Unknown / N/A

SIBLINGS: None

EXTENDED FAMILY: None

NAME MEANING(S): Pipin/Pippin: Highly admired or very admirable person. Or an apple.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: Being related to Dunesfolk lineage, Pipin shares a lot of the typical characteristics such as dark skin, pupil-less eyes, neutral colored hair, and having a yearning for the desert.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: None

MOVIE: n/a

5 SONGS: n/a sort of, but he favors the little shanties sung by soldiers and sailors alike. Easy to pick up on and pass on through song.

DEITY: Azeyma

HOLIDAY: Little Lady’s Day

MONTH: September

SEASON: Fall

PLACE: Sagolii Desert

WEATHER: Clear sunny day with a breeze on the winds.

SOUND: The clank of blade hitting against blade.

SCENT(S): Spices

TASTE(S): Bitter and Savory foods.

FEEL(S): The soft cushion of his cot after a long day. The hilt of a sword in hand.

ANIMAL(S): None in particular.

NUMBER: 100

COLORS: Black and Gold

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Passioned speeches, Swordplay, Singing, Leading, Commanding, Puns

BAD AT: Cooking, Sitting still, Writing, A lot of domestic normal stuff

TURN ONS: Reciprocated love, fierce determination, displays of power, fairly vanilla

TURN OFFS: Unsure... we’ll leave it at that.

HOBBIES: Training, Exercise, Collector

TROPES: Long-Haired Pretty Boy, Pint-Sized Powerhouse, Badass Creed, Four-Star Badass, Happily Adopted

AESTHETIC TAGS: The rising sun, piercing eyes, tousled locks, thunder, coffee, natural charisma, calloused hands, a burning flame, iron and steel, weaponry, inspiring loyalty, intimidation, reckless force, to war for battle, scars, liberation, rust, the light in the dark, change, lighthearted laughter

GPOY QUOTES: Not exactly sure what this is...!

FC INFO.

MAIN FC(S): Himself, obviously.

ALT FC(S): n/a

OLDER FC(S): n/a

YOUNGER FC(S): n/a

VOICE CLAIM(S): Adam Howden - English, Nobuyuki Hiyama - Japanese

GENDERBENT FC(S): n/a

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: IF YOU COULD WRITE YOUR CHARACTER YOUR WAY IN THEIR OWN MOVIE, WHAT WOULD IT BE CALLED, WHAT STYLE WOULD IT BE FILMED IN, AND WHAT WOULD IT BE ABOUT?:

Goodness I’m not so sure! If I were to think really hard on it, it would be something like a high action-packed movie filled with small comedy bits and epic animations to an extent. When I think of Pipin, I imagine he’d prefer his name to be known to the ends of time, that he was more than just a simple soldier. What better way than to show all of that off and be thought of as a valiant person of great strength?

Q2: WHAT WOULD THEIR SOUNDTRACK / SCORE SOUND LIKE?:

A lot of emotionally powerful songs. The kind that make your heart leap and are epic in sounding, making you feel the adrenaline of going into a battle!

Q3: WHY DID YOU START WRITING THIS CHARACTER?:

For the longest time I was too nervous to do so. Back then I didn’t have too strong of a connection with Pipin just yet and even when I began writing as him I would occasionally feel lost for words and the connection weak. But when I saw that some very few people actually cared for this character, I wanted to do him justice! And provide content to make him more known and appreciated.

Q4: WHAT FIRST ATTRACTED YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:

Literally the very first meeting I fell in love. At the time I too played a lalafell with some similarities to Pipin-- not to mention he goes the extra mile of showing off his appearance and proudly proclaiming his connection to his father. And just... anytime you see him after that, he’s such a wonderfully emotion-driven character whom is willing to do his damndest to right all wrongs.

Q5: DESCRIBE THE BIGGEST THING YOU DISLIKE ABOUT YOUR MUSE:

His screentime really... give him more SE! Out of all the msq, Pipin is the only lalafell you’ll actually see on the battlefield and to be taken seriously too! All too oft... no one takes them seriously and its such a pleasure seeing him out there giving his all.

Q6: WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN COMMON WITH YOUR MUSE?:

What do we have in common indeed... very few things! But perhaps it would be things such as enjoying spicy foods, staying dutifully focused on our jobs and enjoying them, perhaps even the same feeling of wanting to grow stronger in a sense.

Q7: HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL ABOUT YOU?:

Fairly neutral, probably! Though I do make him suffer when I can-- he probably enjoys being given a voice and having the opportunity to show a side of him that is just barely hinted on.

Q8: WHAT CHARACTERS DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE INTERESTING INTERACTIONS WITH?

One being an obvious Nanamo ul Namo, they have a rather interesting relationship that the game hardly touches on. Much of their moments have come from writing tales and mentioning the other in passing, with Stormblood finally giving a tiny peek to a degree. I have the smallest hope of something happening in 4.55, but we shall see.

And of course Raubahn. Their relationship is more than just father and son. They are also mentor and apprentice. Leader and second in command. Best friends even! Theirs is shown quite a lot in game, and even more so in depth in writing. I could go on and on about these two, but suffice it to say I love their interactions most!

Q9: WHAT GIVES YOU INSPIRATION TO WRITE YOUR MUSE?:

Ultimately it comes down to loving the character so much and wishing to see other people love him as well. The moment I have an idea for writing for instance, I want to share that bit with not only myself but to those who also could get a gleam of the character!

Q10: HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE YOU TO COMPLETE?:

A good couple days actually... good god

#meme #some of these were entertaining to answer #and some interesting tidbits here and there

10 notes · View notes

giftapfelina · 6 years

Text

A Very Merry Unbirthday

Chapter 2: Madhouse

I hate mornings.

Even as the effects of sleep has faded away, the thought whirls around Lorina’s fuzzy head. Poking the fluffy texture of scrambled eggs with her finger, she stares accusingly at her sister’s back.

Apparently, her dear sister, Edith, finds it’s a brilliant idea to scream into Lorina’s ear while she is asleep. While it effectively does prove to be the best wake-up call, Edith disregards the fact that it almost gives Lorina a heart attack and sends her to kingdom come.

Lorina closes her eyes tiredly, letting her finger slips further into the breakfast.

There’s the sound of bird chirpings, greeting the first break of dawn.

There’s the faint barking of an enthusiastic dog from afar; probably the baker’s son taking his golden receiver out for its usual, morning walk.

There’s the chattering of a couple, who live in the cottage across theirs, stomp about, slam doors as they hurry for their daily morning routine.

Lorina is about to be lulled back to sleep when Edith gives her nose a well-aimed flick.

“Ow! What was that for?” protests Lorina, cupping the reddening spot. Edith stands there, grinning. “For sleeping on me. Didn’t you hear what I was talking about?”

“Should I?” Lorina fakes interest, looking out the nearest window and seriously considering jumping out of it.

“Of course!” cries Edith passionately, jumping into Lorina’s line of vision. The grimacing girl, however, could almost see hearts in Edith’s eyes—that could only mean one thing. “I was talking about the formal audience. The Red Army is scouting for King Lancelot’s dance partner!”

Lorina let out a heavy sigh. “I sincerely hope something hinders you from going.”

“Don’t you start!” Edith jumps her sister, shaking the girl violently. “You already cursed me last year! I was coughing my guts out because you forbade me from meeting the love of my life!”

The look Lorina gives Edith is absolutely dead-pan. She’s dead exhausted; last night, she had to clean up the mess that Kyle dude had unintentionally left, while at the same time a certain hatter was being a total jerkass. Adding to that, the lack of sleep has her temper on short fuse.

“I’m done. It’s too early to deal with this,” she claims, moving to get up, but the firm grip on her shoulder tells her otherwise.

Edith continues to smile sweetly at the taller girl. The sparkle in her eyes indicates any other objections will henceforth forever fall on deaf ears. “Lorina~”

“No, I refuse,” Lorina says immediately, not needing to know what kind of task her insane sister would demand. Her hands are already grabbing the threshold to shake the girl off but Edith is equally if not more relentless.

“Can you let go?” Lorina asks impatiently when Edith begins to grasp the hem of her pants, not letting her sister leave. At least not without having her dignity in tatters.

“Let go.”

Before they know it, Edith is dragging Lorina through the bustling streets of the Central Quarter. The Chattaway sisters look exceptionally beautiful, as they are now clothed in ones of their best clothes.

In the beginning, Lorina did try to make a run for it, but Edith was no easy match as she forced Lorina into the dress.

Lorina glances over at her sister. They may be siblings, but Lorina has always felt Edith is the more favoured one. While Lorina prioritizes hard work, Edith would charm her way to the top. Even her hair shines radiantly, quickly catching the eyes of men around her.

The older sibling looks down at the peachy hand wrapped around her more tanned one, watching in a daze as their family heirloom—a silver bracelet dangling innocently around Edith’s wrist.

Lorina unknowingly furrows her eyebrows.

Unbeknownst to the girls, a man is observing them from afar. He isn’t the most striking chap out there, yet the lithe young man with a genuine smile and prominent cheeks is exactly what people see—the only son and heir to the aristocratic Godspeed family.

“Fenrir, what is it?” a sandy-haired girl approaches him, noticing the hint of fondness in his eyes.

There was a time where one of the Chattaway sisters used to joke how dazzling Fenrir Godspeed’s smile was. So dazzling that he could blind an entire squad of bullies. Ever since then, the two girls have been important figures in his youth.

“Oh, just saw some friendly faces,” says Fenrir offhandedly, smiling.

The girl looks over his shoulder, seeing only the back of a black-haired girl, disappearing in the direction of the Red Bridge.

“As I just said, state your business.”

It isn’t uncommon there are biased, anecdotal views of the Red Army. As a neutral Cradle resident, Lorina tries not to get involved with politics. And she does this by not taking sides, but at the moment, the Red Army is making it hard not to.

Particularly this gate guard, who pulls out the inspection card on Edith and her. Lorina assumes it’s because they don’t appear ‘trustworthy’ enough.

Talk about power abuse, Lorina thinks sourly.

“I told you, we’re simply going to attend the interview,” insists Edith, though she too is beginning to lose patience. “Please let us through.”

“Last time a commoner is let into the headquarters, we were reduced to humiliation by that lowlife Ace of Spades,” says the man, gritting his teeth in reminiscent anger.

Lorina smirks smugly. She’d have to thank a certain gun-wielding maniac for that. “Why? It’s not our fault that you’re not trained well,” she retaliates dully, ignoring the nudge Edith sends her as well as the soldier’s hostile once-over. “Look, buddy; sooner or later, you’ve to let us in.”

“Or what?” his hand inches closer to his sword.

“Cause I really need to pee, like right now.”

There’s a taut pause, and then the man splutters. “Y-you’re kidding, right?”

“On the contrary, good sir! My sister has a rather small bladder,” chimes Edith, clueless to his flustered expression. “But she’s rather good at aiming! Would you like a demonstration?”

“No, thank you!” the blushing soldier has all but screamed. “You’re free to go inside!”

“You sure?” asks Lorina, hands lifting the hem of her skirt up, revealing her ankles. That manages to scare him as he takes a huge step back, frantically dismissing them.

The ladies then casually continue their way, the disturbed look of the soldier following their retreating forms. Once they are out of view, Edith glomps Lorina, forcing kisses on each of her cheeks. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou! See, I told you coming here would do you good! Breathing the same air as King Lancelot clears your head! Amazing, isn’t it?”

Lorina begrudgingly rubs her cheeks. “Your number of thank yous is amazing.”

“Oh, look at the time! We need to hurry!” When Edith tries to grab Lorina, Lorina swiftly dodges her hand.

“You go on,” Lorina indicates at the head entrance, where a cluster of girls is gathering. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I had to pee.”

Edith has a disbelieving look on her face. “Again? You and your unavoidable visits to every restroom…Alright, meet me somewhere in the middle of the queue. Hear me? Don’t you dare run away!”

With a dismissive wave, Lorina hurries away in search of the restroom.

Lorina somehow manages to give herself an unprompted tour of the place. It’s definitely not her first time at the luxurious barrack of the Red Army, yet she can’t seem to recall the way leading to the ladies’ room.

“Why the heck do they have so many rooms?” Lorina mumbles to herself as she trudges along one of the halls. The sound of her footsteps is muffled by the richly-carpeted floors. Paintings of previous Kings and Queens adorn the walls, making her feel as if she is being watched by their expressionless eyes.

In her haste to get away from the creepy ‘hall of fame’, Lorina rounds a corner too quickly that she almost run into a surprised pair of blue eyes. With a gasp, the brunette narrowly avoids bumping smack dab into the person.

Their eyes meet, and Lorina swears her heart has skipped a beat.

Edith will be jealous when she hears this.

“Who are you?” asks the King of Hearts, narrowing his eyes. “This side of the building is off-limits to visitors.”

Lorina has a feeling that if he doesn’t like the answer, there will be serious consequences. Everything, from his polished shoes and his cape to the tip of his blond hair, just emits an air of authority.

She straightens immediately, praising herself for not sweating buckets under his steely gaze. “King Lancelot, sir, I seem to have lost my way from the crowd,” she inwardly flinches at the increasing falsetto in her voice. “Would you happen to know the way to the restroom?”

A dawning look flickers across his face, softening his gaze a bit. “Ah—you must be one of the girls who is being scouted for the dance…”

Lorina’s face reddens slightly at that. “Uh…it’s very unlikely that I will be chosen for that but yeah, that’s…the idea.”

It must be hard to evoke emotions in this bloke of ice, but at the moment Lorina barely manages to detect the tiniest smile forming on the corners of his lips. “If you walk down the hallway from here, you’ll see the ladies room on your right side.”

“Ah…cool—I mean, that’s good to know,” Lorina grimaces in a sad attempt to smile. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“Yeah.” Lorina pointedly ignores the brief shiver running down her back as she hightails out of there. He has a nice voice.

Thump! Thump!

The several bangs on the door surprise Lorina. Scowling at the reflection of the door, she aggressively wipes her dripping, wet face, deciding that the person knocking can just wait for a minute or two.

“Hello? Hello! Open up!”

Lorina flinches at the very masculine voice before strutting over to the door, unlocking it. “Hey, this is the ladies’ room!”

There’s a blur of red, and Lorina finds herself being shoved back by the sheer force of the opening door. She trips and lands, hard, on the floor, causing her elbows to ache in protest from the fall.

Pristine, white trousers scuffle into the room. And as Lorina raises her head, she sees that they belong to—

“Kyle? Kyle Ash?”

Kyle pauses and looks down. He has just caught sight of Lorina, who is still laying on the ground, looking nothing less of vulnerable with how she is displayed to him. “What’re you doing down there?” he asks dumbly.

Her face is twitching, and she abruptly sits up, annoyed. “What’s it look like I’m doing? You pushed me! Jeez, what’s with you and making my life difficult?”

Kyle openly stares at her for a moment before offering a hand. He is evaluating his chances of a harmless exchange of pleasantries as she accepts his hand, when—

“You work here? Does your employer know of your tendencies to puke everywhere you see fit?”

The redhead feels his lips thinning. “If you’re still angry about yesterday, I told you I’m sorry, didn’t I?”

Lorina, however, makes as though she doesn’t hear him. “So why are you hiding in here, may I ask?”

Resigned, Kyle indicates at the door. “Just don’t let them catch you.”

Making a show of rolling her eyes, she pushes past him and looks through the small opening. All along the corridor, armed soldiers are rushing around, faces alert and wary.

“Apparently someone thinks it’s a genius move to douse Jonah with tea,” chuckles Kyle from behind. “So—our Queen, being his majestic, forgiving self, decides to..uh…I quote ’cut her fingers off and makes her eat it to rue the day she soiled his perfect hair.’”

“And that explains why you’re hiding in the ladies’ room…?”

It took a while for the ginger to consider this. “Do I look like a guy who would want to get involved in anything physical?” he deadpans.

God help me. Lorina sighs, her bangs fanning upward before resettling again over her blank eyes. “I’m getting out,” she announces, no longer bothering to keep civility. She feels like she’s going to lose a brain cell or two talking with this man.

“No,_ wait_!”

It’s too late. Lorina throws open the door, just as the soldiers are moving to the next searching location. Several pairs of eyes land on her as she stands there, expression blank, grey eyes staring aimlessly ahead.

It goes downhill from there though.

There’s a heck of lot yelling, quickly followed by blades pointing at the tip of her hair to her toes. Quite literally.

The girl nervously smiles, feeling a trickle of sweat on her spine. “H-hi.”

It is then, that another gentleman marches forward, the rest of the soldiers moving out of his way in synchronization. His steps are quiet, movement regal and graceful as he comes to stand before her.

“There you’re,” this man’s beautiful features contradict the condescending air that lurks beneath his amber eyes. “After the atrocious act you just pulled on me, you don’t think you can get away from it, do you?”

What’s in the blazes hell?

Before she could even defend herself, she feels the telltale clasp of something around her wrists. Looking down, Lorina isn’t sure what to make of the handcuffs securing her hands together.

“Ms Edith Chattaway, you’re hereby charged with assaulting the Queen of Hearts,” declares a Red officer. “Anything you say may or may not be used against you in a court of law.”

Her gaze turns flat. Of course.

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #fanfiction #mystery suitor #fenrir godspeed #lancelot kingsley #kyle ash #jonah clemence #averymerryunbirthday #text

9 notes · View notes

waltzofsunbeams · 7 years

Text

Fic (AU): Rookie Mistakes

Content Warnings: Drugs, alcohol, guns, a scenario vaguely similar to date rape, stabbing, near finger trauma/torture, the very smallest hint of sex talk, death (implied)

Despite what one might have expected, Janice Grant did not particularly like parties. There were too many people in one small area. Even at a charity gala such as this one, where most people were just here to show how rich they were or to curry favor with those wealthier than themselves, the constant chatter of voices over the music was oppressive. In fact, the near-constant onslaught of information coming from all sides was almost enough to overwhelm. Almost. Janice was far too experienced in this environment to let it distract her from the reason she was here.

She glanced across the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns. She had been keeping her mark visible out of the corner of her eye since he'd arrived, waiting for the right moment to approach. He was well-dressed. She hadn't expected any less from an heir to a major technology conglomerate and well-known playboy. Still, she had to give him props for taste, assuming his parents had not chosen his outfit for him. Black tie, as a dress code, was often so limiting for men, but he wore his tuxedo well, probably as a result of how well-tailored it was. He accessorized well too: some simple gold jewelry, a pair of white gloves. Tasteful, but expensive.

The mark was with one other person: a freckled figure with hair nearly the same sandy blonde shade as his, in a tux that fit slightly less well. It almost looked off-the-rack. If she had to guess, a bodyguard. That would complicate things, but she could work around it. She had certainly run jobs more difficult than this.

Janice began to push her way across the room, carefully guiding the hem of her gown out of the way of the dancing feet between her and the pair. When she came within their line of sight, she turned slightly, and made as though she was going to walk past them.

And then, deliberately, she stumbled.

Before she could come close to hitting the ground, Janice felt an arm grasp her gently around her midsection, carefully placing her back on balance. The grip was stronger than she had been expecting, but it didn't exactly hurt. She turned to face her rescuer, putting on a show of nervous laughter.

"Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry about that," she said in an uncomfortably nasal, geographically-neutral dialect. "You must think I'm awfully clumsy."

"Are you alright?" he asked, swiftly removing his hand from her waist.

Janice forced herself to make eye contact. His eyes were gray, silver almost. Unusual. She wondered why she'd never noticed them in pictures.

"Other than a bruised ego, I think I'll be quite alright," she said, making a conciliatory gesture with one hand. She paused for a moment, pretending to forget her train of thought. "Oh, silly me!" she said finally, and offered one hand. "I'm Juliette Crane. You really saved my bacon, you know?"

"Caleb Haas," he replied, shaking her hand.

She giggled.

"I know who you are, Mr. Haas. I wasn't born yesterday." The irony was lost on Caleb, but that was fine.

"Do you?" Caleb replied, quirking one eyebrow curiously.

"In a manner of speaking," she said, smiling coyly, "but I'm not opposed to learning more."

Caleb raised both eyebrows at that, and offered her a hand.

"Would you like to dance, then?"

"Oh, I would love to."

Janice was finding that Caleb and his bodyguard were becoming simpler to handle the more drinks they had consumed. Not, honestly, surprising, but very convenient. Caleb, had, in fact, excused his bodyguard to the restroom a few moments earlier. It wasn't a wise move, in her opinion. Then again, Caleb had no idea of the danger he was in.

"Your bodyguard isn't very talkative," she said teasingly, glancing over her shoulder in search of another flute of champagne.

"Should they be?" Caleb asked curiously, spinning her so she could see in the direction she'd been trying to look. How gentlemanly.

"Oh, no," she replied. "I'm afraid I'd much rather have you to myself. You're a man of mystery, Mr. Haas."

He chuckled.

"There isn't much about me you couldn't find in a tabloid, Miss Crane," Caleb argued.

"I very much doubt that!" she said in turn. "For instance. A full night of dancing, and you've never even indicated if you like the music. To me, that's the behavior of a man who doesn't much like to talk about himself. That in itself is a surprise from the tabloids."

That seemed to give Caleb a moment of pause. He danced her around in silence for a moment.

"I prefer swing dancing," he admitted. "This is a little slow for my tastes."

Janice took a small step forward in their dance, moving their bodies closer together.

"Oh," she said, still carrying the very edge of a joke on her voice. "So you're the sort of man who prefers to move...quickly."

Caleb laughed again and spun her away from him.

"You've trapped me, Miss Crane."

"Oh, I'm exceedingly good at that," she replied, letting go of his hand with a wink. "How about I grab us some more champagne?"

She disappeared into the crowd before Caleb could say anything, the coy smile dropping off her face. She needed to move quickly. The bodyguard was going to return in short order, and she needed to be gone by then or she was going to miss her opportunity altogether. She flagged down a tuxedoed waiter with a tray of champagne flutes, and carefully took two.

This would be the tricky part. She shielded the flutes with her body and carefully, carefully, used her teeth to open a compartment in her ring and drop the contents into one flute. She swirled the bubbling liquid inside around until the powder was fully dissolved. A cursory glance around revealed that nobody had seen her drug the drink. Good. Everything was getting back on schedule.

By the time she returned to Caleb, the smile was back on her face. She handed Caleb the drugged flute of champagne, curtsying just a bit. He held his flute up and she clinked hers against his with a wink before they both drank.

She was out of the woods now. Now all that remained was to convince Caleb to dodge their bodyguard until the drug had taken effect. When it finally did manage to take effect, she just had to convince him that he was sick and offer to drive him home. With Caleb as drunk as he was, and the drug in effect, it wouldn’t be hard for her to get him into the car, and by the time they arrived at the hotel, he would be unconscious. The perfect crime.

And she didn’t have to worry much about the charm anymore, since Caleb would probably barely remember this.

Janice stared at the clock on the wall of her hotel room, chewing absentmindedly on a hotel pen as the time ticked away. The face of the clock was barely visible behind the thick layer of plastic that she’d hung on the walls and floor before she’d set up. She didn’t anticipate this should get messy, but she had long ago learned that it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides which, the plastic had the dual advantage of keeping both her and Caleb from leaving fingerprints all over the place.

Speaking of Caleb. He was certainly taking his sweet time in waking up. She’d had more than enough time to bring him to the hotel, zip-tie him to a plastic-covered chair, change from the constricting gold ball gown she’d worn to the gala into something less uncomfortable, more conducive to business. A green blouse and a pair of gray slacks were a far more practical choice, with her hair braided back and her contacts replaced with her usual pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

She sighed and rose from her chair, deciding to check over the equipment in the corner of the room one more time. She was no computer expert, so it wasn’t much: a video camera on a tripod, aimed at the chair where Caleb was tied up. The camera was connected to a wire that fed into a laptop computer, the hinge of which was held together only by duct tape and prayers. It wasn’t yet set to record. She needed Caleb conscious for that, and she had a few words for him before she could begin.

A groan from the center of the room snapped Janice back to attention. It seemed that her hostage was waking up. She spun on her heel and returned to her own chair near Caleb's as he slowly regained consciousness. The corner of her mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile as she saw him attempt to get up, only to end up tugging bemusedly at his restraints. Finally, his gaze turned to match hers. His expression was unreadable. Odd. Some fear would not have been inappropriate.

"Rise and shine," she said wryly, crossing one ankle over the other in her seat. She'd allowed her voice to slip back into its natural cadence, since there was no real point in pretending to be someone else at this point.

"Where am I?" Caleb demanded, blinking the drowsiness out of his eyes.

Janice didn't offer him an answer, instead rising from the chair and stretching, working the stiffness out of her back. It wasn't a bad idea if Caleb didn't know exactly how long she had been sitting there.

"Did..." Caleb tried again, clearly wracking his memory for answers. "Did you roofie me?!"

"Ketamine," Janice corrected disinterestedly.

"What?"

"Ketamine, not Rohypnol. Takes effect more quickly, and I was just looking to knock you out." she said. Caleb frowned. "Don't look at me like that. I haven't done anything but bring you here and tie you to that chair. This isn't personal."

"Ah," Caleb replied, rolling his eyes. "Good to know this isn't a personal kidnapping."

"Smart boy," she said, tapping him gently on the head as she crossed to the other side of the room. Maybe it would be best to let her mother know she had secured the target. She pulled out a burner phone and began to type.

"Is there a real Juliette Crane?" Caleb asked calmly. Janice looked up from her typing, amused.

"Not anymore," she said matter-of-factly. She changed voices back to the abrasive voice she'd used for Juliette, her expression morphing to one of mixed outrage and horror. She'd observed the real Juliette well enough to imitate her almost flawlessly, at this point, and she was pulling out the stops now.

"S-stop what you're doing," she commanded at thin air, hands shaking. "When my father realizes I'm gone- you have NO idea who you're messing with! You'll wish you'd never been born, you miserable bitch! L-look, if it's money you want, I can pay! He can pay! Just let me go!" She started sobbing. "Oh my GOD, what did you do to my HAIR? What the hell is wrong with you, you monster?!" She broke off into a soft chuckle, slipping back into her real personality with the familiarity of putting on an old glove.

"I think I really did her more favors than she deserved. The real Juliette Crane wouldn't have been nearly clever enough to flirt with you. Your profiles really don’t do your personality justice."

Caleb looked unimpressed.

"You're quite the actress," he said.

"I know," she replied simply. "My talents are wasted as a contract killer. C'est la vie."

She returned to her text message, finishing it and sending it off. She replaced the phone in her pocket.

"Is that why I'm here?" Caleb interjected again. He didn't seem frightened, just curious. Janice wondered if it was a front. "Are you going to kill me?"

"You're trying to keep me talking to buy yourself more time," she noted disinterestedly. "Clever, but ultimately pointless. If I had wanted to kill you, I would have poisoned you at the gala. Messy deaths aren't much my style."

"Then what, this is about money? A ransom?"

Janice laughed out loud and gestured around: to the posh hotel room under all the plastic, the golden ball gown still hanging in the corner, to her own clothing which, while practical, was all visibly designer.

"Do I look like I need money, Caleb?" she asked in disbelief. "Oh, may I call you Caleb? I feel as though we know each other that well at least."

"That depends," Caleb replied, leaning forward as best as he could while still zip-tied to a chair. "Do I get to know your name?"

Janice winked and shook her head, bending down and picking up another package of zip ties. She wasn't entirely comfortable with the range of motion Caleb had right now. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but it would be better to overcorrect than to leave a flaw in her setup.

"Very nice try, Mr. Haas," she said, leaning down to add another zip tie to his leg, "But no cig-"

She stopped mid-sentence and frowned as her hand touched something distinctly unlike flesh through the fabric of his tuxedo pants. She glanced up at Caleb for a split second before rolling the leg of his pants up to his knees and stared for a moment at the leg underneath.

Below the knee, where Caleb should have had the rest of his leg, was a shiny metal prosthetic limb. She raised one eyebrow and knocked her hand against his other leg, and hit hard metal once again. How had she not noticed this when she'd tied him up? Obviously, she'd had a little too much champagne at the gala to have overlooked something like this. Sloppy. Slowly, she got to her feet, crossing her arms.

"I wasn't aware that Caleb Haas was an amputee," Janice said mildly, patiently awaiting an explanation.

"I'm not," Caleb said, nursing a hint of outrage. "I was born without both legs. Not that that is any of your business."

Janice reached over and removed one of Caleb's gloves on impulse. She wasn't particularly surprised when she found that the hand underneath was also a prosthetic, albeit a considerably more impressive one. It recoiled from her touch as the glove came off, and she could see hints of complex machinery underneath its plated surface.

"Were you also born without a hand?" she asked as a slow feeling of dread collected in her gut. "Or both hands?"

"Just the one hand," Caleb protested. This was the most emotion he'd shown all night. "And yes, for your information, I was. You're being incredibly insensitive."

"Funny how that was never publicized," Janice mused, stepping away to look something up on her phone. "And how nobody ever noticed, despite your reputation as an incurable playboy."

Finally, she found what she wanted and held the phone up so that Caleb could see, looking a little miffed.

“Also funny,” she said, “is how Caleb Haas has hazel eyes.”

Fake Caleb swallowed, but looked largely unfazed. Janice pulled her phone back and placed it back into her pocket, trying not to be visibly irritated. She’d kidnapped a decoy. That was a rookie mistake, if she was being honest with herself. If she’d done just a little more research, she wouldn’t have fallen for such an obvious trap. But there was no point in getting angry about it right now, when she had a mess to clean up.

“What’s your name?” she asked, doing her best not to sound too impatient.

“Caleb Haas,” Fake Caleb said, giving her an inscrutable look.

“No it’s not,” Janice said, turning away once again. If the imposter was going to be difficult, she would just have to incentivize them to be more cooperative. She began to rummage in a case in the corner of the room.

“It is,” Fake Caleb said. It was clear by their tone that they didn’t really think she would believe them, but were instead lying so they wouldn’t give her anything useful.

“Uh huh,” Janice said, unconvinced, as she stood and walked back to the chair, spinning a shiny, serrated knife in one hand. “Let’s see if we can’t change that answer. I hope you aren’t particularly attached to any of the fingers on your good hand.”

With her free hand, Janice practically yanked the glove off of the hand that wasn’t replaced by a prosthetic. With surgical calm, she held their index finger down and pressed the knife to it, drawing a bead of blood. Fake Caleb hissed.

“You can stop me any time,” she said carefully. “Just tell me where the real Caleb is, and what your lovely n-”

Janice’s sentence was cut off by a sudden inability to breathe. It took her a moment, gasping and clawing for breath, to realize what had just happened. While she had been focused on threatening Fake Caleb’s good hand, they had broken out of the zip ties holding their other arm in place. The prosthetic must have given them some kind of enhanced strength. What a juvenile failure to plan ahead. With their arm now free, Caleb was taking advantage of the opportunity to choke her. Janice withdrew the knife, and attempted to shift into a position where she could gasp in a little bit of air.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she wheezed, taking in shallow breaths, “I would think you were flirting with me.” She smirked.

Fake Caleb’s grip grew a little tighter and she choked, but didn’t stop smiling. Janice realized with a start that they were smiling too, but theirs was tight and their eyes were icy cold. It seemed she learned more about them every minute. Huh. Still, she wasn’t concerned. She could figure her way out of this one, just as she had every other difficult situation she’d been in. Those cold grey eyes would not be the last thing she’d ever see.

“You’re incredibly fucked up,” Fake Caleb told her calmly as she tried in vain to pull their hand away from her throat with one hand.

“And- and you’re not?” she replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say that.”

She took another shaky breath, black spots beginning to crowd the edge of her vision. Like hell was she going to give Fake Caleb the satisfaction of passing out on them.

“So this is flirting?” she managed.

“I didn’t say that either,” they replied, one finger digging into her jaw. She let out an involuntary sigh.

“S-shame,” she struggled. “You’re kinda cute when you’re vicious.”

And with her free hand, she plunged the knife into their shoulder.

“Fuck!” Fake Caleb shouted as their hand loosened involuntarily, just enough to allow Janice to yank free from their grip. She stumbled backwards, gasping great gulps of air into her lungs, grinning wildly.

“Name?” she asked, panting, trying to comb a mess of flyaways back into her braid.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh well. Had to try.” She doubled over, still trying to catch her breath. Something was occurring to her. The bodyguard. If Caleb had been for real, their bodyguard would never have left them alone with her. What had they looked like? Dirty blonde hair, freckled skin, hazel eyes. She grinned wider.

“Say, Fake Caleb. Wherever do you think your bodyguard got off to?”

For a split second, an expression of horror crossed their face. Bingo.

Practically tripping over herself, Janice returned to the case she’d gotten the knife from, pulling things out at a frantic pace.

“Stop,” Fake Caleb warned, sounding choked. “They’ll realize I’m gone. You’ll never make it. You don’t stand a chance.”

Janice ignored them, emptying a pile of handguns onto the floor.

“Glock, Magnum, or Smith & Wesson, do you think?” she asked out loud to nobody in particular.

“This is suicide,” they tried again. “Back off. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“I think I’ll take them all!” Janice said, shoving them all into a duffel bag. She added a few grenades (smoke and otherwise) for good measure. Standing, she threw the bag over her shoulder.

“They’ll have doubled security,” Fake Caleb said desperately. “You’ll be outnumbered ten to one.”

“Good!” she chirped, loading one last handgun and putting it in her pocket before heading for the door. “It’ll be a fair fight!”

“Don’t do this,” they begged, trying in vain to pull free of the other zip ties. Janice leaned on the doorframe and turned.

“You love him, huh?” she asked, not waiting for their response. “Don’t worry, then. I’m gonna reunite you, because I’m just that nice of a person.”

They tried to spit at her, but fell short by several feet.

“Don’t move,” she joked. “I’ll be back in an hour at most.”

She closed the door behind her and walked away.

#ooc #HEY #SO I WROTE A VERY LONG THING #ABOUT K AND JANICE

10 notes · View notes

kyubicled · 5 years

Text

Daphne Greengrass scenes from SpaceBattler ashez2ashes’ “What’s Her Name in Hufflepuff : Chapter Seventeen, Sugar Momma Valentine”

What’s Her Name in Hufflepuff is written by ashez2ashes.

The excerpt below is quoted directly from the Space Battles Forums.

This story can also be found on Fanfiction.Net.

____________

I own nothing quoted down below. I figured I’d liven the Daphne Greengrass hashtag by promoting something I truly enjoy. ~ @pompadourwampus

____________

I stopped. Standing in the middle of the row was a Slytherin girl in my class with long sandy blonde hair reading a large tome entitled, “Etiquette, Customs, and History of the Most Noble Houses”.

What a stroke of luck. Sally-Anne Perks was on my list of potential Slytherin friends and here she was all alone with no other mean girl backup. Try number two of Operation: Slytherin Friendship is a go!

“Hi Sally. How are you?”

Sally squeaked, hastily shoved the book back into the shelf, and then turned around to cover it with her body.

“H-hello!” She saw who I was and relaxed slightly. “What do you want?”

I feel like she was trying to sneer but it was coming off as more of a cringe.

I smiled and held out my hand. “I just wanted to introduce myself properly. I’m Kasey.”

Sally started to reach out to shake my hand and then abruptly pulled away. “It’s Sally‑Anne. Not Sally.”

That sounds like a hillbilly name from the American south…

I dropped my hand to my side. “Do you like to read?”

“No, why would you think that?” Sally-Anne asked while leaning against the bookshelf. I think she was trying to look nonchalant, but the gesture looked really forced.

“Uh, because we’re in a library and you were reading a book?”

Why was she trying to hide that book from me?

Sally-Anne flipped her hair over her shoulder and laughed nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ooohkay.” Time to change tactics. “What did you think of the Transfiguration quiz? I think I did okay, but when I tried to reverse the transfiguration my flower pot never quite made it back to being a proper mouse. It still had a floral pattern on its fur.”

“It was quite difficult wasn’t it? I only ended up with a flower pot that squeaked…” She trailed off. “Not that it’s any of your business of course! Excuse me, I have um, things to do!”

I started walking in the same direction.

“Are you following me?”

I actually wasn’t following her on purpose. “This is the way to the checkout desk. I like your bag by the way. Did you get it at Boudica’s?”

I vaguely remember seeing one like it at the boutique.

“Oh yes! They have a lot of cute purses. Mother got it for me for Christmas. I gave her the-err I mean she went and got it…” Sally-Anne frowned. “Stop talking to me!”

“Sorry?” I asked sarcastically. I don’t think I’d done anything to merit her treating me like I had a contagious disease.

Sally-Anne halted abruptly and gasped. “Priscilla!”

A strikingly pretty young girl with immaculate blonde ringlets and blue eyes was standing in front of Sally-Anne. “Oh there you are. I was wondering if I could copy your notes on…” Priscilla trailed off as she noticed me. Her friendly expression morphed into a sneer and hers didn’t come across as fake at all. “You weren’t talking to this… Hufflepuff girl were you?”

I mentally crossed Priscilla Runcorn off of my list.

Sally-Anne shook her head quickly. “No! Of course not. She’s bothering me.”

Daphne Greengrass stepped around the corner as well. She was carrying a bundle of books and acknowledged me with a slight nod and a soft, “Hello.”

I smiled. “Hi Daphne. How are you?”

“Fine,” Daphne replied in her usual monotone.

Priscilla scoffed. “Daphne dear, do you know her?”

“She’s in our year,” Daphne stated neutrally.

Priscilla was hitting the nineties mean girl routine so hard, I bet she told people to wear pink robes on Wednesdays.

I rolled my eyes. “We literally have half our classes together.”

Priscilla ignored me and turned toward Daphne. “You know you can’t associate with someone like her.”

Suddenly, the temperature in the air seemed to plummet and one of the lights above us flickered. Sally‑Anne took a step back. Even I felt a little chill down my spine.

Daphne had narrowed her eyes slightly. As in an ACTUAL EXPRESSION.

Yikes.

Daphne took a step toward Priscilla… slowly. “Are you… telling me what to do?”

Priscilla held her ground, but I could see the hand at her side trembling slightly. “No!” Priscilla gulped. “But you know we’re of a different… sort than her.”

“I’m still here,” I reminded them.

Sally-Anne nodded in agreement with Priscilla. “Uh yes, we are all a different sort.”

Priscilla crossed her arms across her chest protectively. “We stick with our own kind. You wouldn’t want to sully your reputation. You have to take into account the implications.”

Daphne took another step forward and this time Priscilla did take a step back. “So you’re telling me I’m not ALLOWED?”

That last word had actual inflection in it. Dangerous murderous inflection.

Priscilla however must have been a bit dense because she kept talking. “Not in those words, but I’m glad you understand.”

Daphne nodded, her expression blank once more. “Oh yes… I understand.”

“Priscilla, you’re sure doing a lot to fight that reputation that all the evil people get put in Slytherin. Good on you for defying those stereotypes,” I interjected sarcastically.

Priscilla finally turned back towards me, anger apparent on her face.

I put my hand in my pocket where I kept my wand.

“We uh, have to get going!” Sally-Anne grabbed Priscilla’s hand and started to drag her away.

Daphne watched them for a moment, shrugged, and then followed at a slower pace.

Huh, guess I’m not about to get detention for dueling in the library. Cool.

“Bye Daphne! By Sally-Anne! By Priscilla! So glad we got to talk!” I said intentionally loud enough for the group of older Slytherins sitting at a table to the right of me to hear.

Sally-Anne looked over her shoulder, red-faced. “Don’t bother me again!”

I watched them go as Sally-Anne quickly pulled Priscilla towards the library door.

That had been interesting.

I didn’t mark Sally-Anne off my mental list quite yet.

—-

—-The Oliver in the scene below is not Oliver Wood but another. His surname has yet to be revealed.—-

—-

Eh, better steer the conversation away from that topic. That’s the first thread in an unraveling sweater of lies. In the end though, I didn’t have to change the topic, because something strange and unexpected happened next.

Daphne Greengrass strode into the club room.

She sat her bag down next to the wall and without hesitation walked over to the group. She stopped in front of the wood pyre, cocked her head to the side, and muttered a soft, “Huh.”

“Daphne?! What are you doing here?” I asked.

Daphne turned towards me and said, “I am here for the club.”

“I didn’t tell you about the club…” I trailed off. And I didn’t invite her.

“And yet, I have come.”

This is what I wanted? I guess?

“Do you want to join?” I asked hesitantly.

Daphne shrugged. “Not really.”

I took a deep, calming breath. “Then why are you here?”

“I was told I was not allowed to come. So I am here.”

Oooohkay.

Oliver bounded over to Daphne and got right up into her personal space. “Hi! You’re that pretty blonde girl that sits next to me in Herbology class right?! Are you going to join the club? It’s really fun! I’m Club Leader today! We’re going to set me on fire!”

Shockingly, Daphne didn’t send a curse at Oliver’s face. Instead she turned toward him and said, “I too enjoy fire.”

Oliver grabbed Daphne’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you the fire starting and extinguishing spell so you’re caught up! You’ll love Spell Club! It’s lots of fun!”

I watched in shock as Oliver dragged Daphne over to a corner. Literally dragged. I think I saw her feet go slack a few times. Oliver’s self preservation instinct must not be working correctly… or he might not have been born with one.

Neville and Anthony tied the “Litch King” to the wooden pyre with some thick rope as Oliver blasted Daphne with his unique brand of oblivious enthusiasm. After a few minutes, both groups were done and Oliver and Daphne walked back over to us.

#daphne greengrass #harry potter #fanfiction #from the depths of spacebattles #what's her name in hufflepuff #self insert #fanfic #kasey thompson

0 notes